Inviting a Blizzard? Moi?

Remember Chuck's threat last week? His warning not to take any garden talk seriously, and most certainly, not to go outside and work in the yard?

He gave up.

He noticed our neighbor, our ever-conscientious neighbor, taking care of his yard - and mowing the lawn. In mid-March. In Wisconsin. This, my friends, goes way beyond planning the garden or even buying seeds.

To show you how much this disturbed him, I just need to tell you this: Chuck's response was in Haiku, followed by limerick.

Garden prep, lawn mown,

Spring is in the air.

Blizzard Marches in!

A warm March day in the air,

Lawn mowed, garden planted out there;

Her hubby did warn

Of inviting a storm

Now she's freezing off her derriere.

I must respond.

Dear husband, the one I adore,

I might play a little outdoors,

But all I will do

Is grow food for you

And can homemade goodies galore!

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Taking pleasure in the small things

The week ended the same way it began - badly. I spent the drive to Chicago alternating napping and checking email on my phone, trying not to entertain too many work-related thoughts because I felt like I was rocking uncontrollably, hanging on for dear life and wailing "Where am I going, and what am I doing in this handbasket?!"

But after a simple veggie burger and fast food fries for supper with a little Andes mint custard for dessert, my stressed-out stomach began healing and my outlook started facing up and forward, not down and back. Eventually we dropped La Petite at the spare room that was her destination and checked into our treat, a hotel room.

That's where I began to count my blessings in the form of simple pleasures.

-a lumbar pillow, just the right size to rest my aching back while I read a book in bed

-in-room coffee maker, a personal favorite

- and a little hazelnut flavor to make it go down smoothly.

With simple pleasures like these included in my overnight stay, all must be well with the world.

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True friendship lasts: The Girls from Ames by Jeffrey Zaslow

The phone rang just as President Obama started speaking. I thought, "Oh, no! I'll let voice mail catch it." Then I saw the caller ID in the corner of my TV (technology is handy that way), and I leaped out of my chair.

It was a close friend calling to tell me that another close friend had lost her father to kidney disease. He'd been failing for a while, and they all knew it was coming, but she needed us. All of us, her closest friends.

We became friends through work and school: five teachers in the same elementary school building earning our graduate degrees together. The others in the program nicknamed us the Fab Five. We car pooled together, we exchanged ideas on projects, rehashed the good and the bad from our weekend on Mondays in the teachers' lounge. And after our final projects were mailed and graded, after the diplomas arrived, even after I moved to a new job in a different school, we remained friends. We still share the good, the bad, the hilarious, and the traumatic. We email each other. We turn up in each other's dreams. We still get together to drink coffee and shop, but mainly to talk.

I imagine the ten women who call themselves the Girls from Ames are a lot like us.

The Girls from Ames: a story of women & a forty year friendship is true. It reads like a novel with history and flashbacks, but the back stories are based on scrapbooks and diaries, not an author's imagination. The book is illustrated with a photos from then and now, but more than that, it's illustrated with the stories of relationships.

The "Girls" became friends when they were young. Eleven individuals, all unique, bonded with each other during their high school years in Ames, Iowa. Their hometown, a Midwestern college town, provided the kind of stability and small-town atmosphere typical of America's heartland in the 1960s and 1970s. After their high school graduations, they separated to attend colleges in different states. In a pre-Internet age, without the benefit of email or cell phones, these women stayed in touch and shared marriages, divorces, children, family illnesses, even the death of one of the original eleven.

I've heard it said that men take a long time to get to talking, while women take a long time to get to companionable silence. This is a book about women, written by a male author, chronicles the uniqueness of friendships that have lasted more than forty years. Jeffrey Zaslow (also co-author of The Last Lecture) earned the trust of the Girls from Ames and learned from their talk and their silences. He pulled together eleven different life stories into one coherent collection, much like the eleven women still pull together for each other. His book is truly their story: the story of friendship, life, and love.


The Girls from Ames has a companion website with pictures, video, discussion, questions, and other women's stories of friendship.


I'll be joining the rest of the Fab Five on Monday to support one of our own friendship circle. Blog readers, as you read The Girls from Ames, I hope you will continue to cultivate your own friendships, strengthening and maintaining bonds for life.


Gotham Books provided me with a copy of The Girls from Ames in order to read it and write this review. I received no other compensation for the review.

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Photoworks and Baby Phun

Babies and pictures and photo albums go together like a horse and carriage, peanut butter and jelly, or green eggs and ham.

I have a new baby niece, so when Mom Central asked if I'd like to try out the new Photoworks site and build a baby book, well, of course I said, "Please, pretty please, may I?" Then I gathered all the photos I have of our new little sweetie and uploaded them to the site.

Uploading was easy. I created a login and password, chose my book style, and then filled my own photo album with any and all potential book pictures. Placing the photos in the book was as easy as ABC, 1-2-3, do-re-mi, or drop and drag.

As soon as I got started, I recruited La Petite to help out. She's the most talented photographer and layout pro in the family, so I shared my password and let her go to town. But people, you don't have to be a tech expert or a professional photographer to make this work. Photoworks albums are simple to make and produce high quality results.

And that just gives me another excuse to visit and take more photos of our cute little dumpling!

I wrote this review while participating in a blog tour campaign by Mom Central on behalf of American Greetings PhotoWorks and received a free photo book to facilitate my review. I feel lucky to be a part of this tour; it's such good timing for my extended family.

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Tyler's Ocean

For La Petite's friend Tyler, who is in his last days. Tyler's Ocean collection is being organized by Tyler's good friend and former roommate, Eric. Here is Eric's letter and request.



One thing Tyler really wanted to do again was see the ocean one last time. Unfortunately that is now impossible. However, with your help, we can do the next best thing for him. We can bring the ocean to him. I don’t know exactly how much time we have left but I speak for all of us when I say that I’m not going to just sit around and do nothing while I wait for his time to come. Tyler is still here, this is NOT over, and we can still help him.

So here is the plan. We need ocean pictures. If you have pictures of the ocean, we need them! We are going to take all these pictures and cover his entire room with them. This way Tyler can be at the ocean with all of his friends.

The first way and probably the easiest for everyone is just to email them to an email account I set up just for this. The address is TylersOcean at gmail dot com. This saves people trips and hassles. With your help we can give Tyler something as close to one of his last wishes as possible. With just a little effort you can help us bring Tyler the ocean! --Eric


This is not an anonymous Internet urban myth; this young man is La Petite's friend. If you have ocean pictures that you're willing to share, you can send them to Tyler's Ocean.

tylersocean@gmail.com

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Climb on the wagon - the spring garden wagon

This wagon was in my inlaws' garden shed when they moved to their senior condo. Mother-in-law (MIL) knew she wouldn't use it again, but she resisted giving it away or leaving it with the house. Like many of their "heirlooms", the wagon landed at our humble abode. Husband suggested putting it in the rummage sale. We don't need it; we have a wheelbarrow. Our yard is so small; we don't need to transport brush or leaves any distance, really.

But we couldn't quite bring ourselves to let it go. I considered setting it up as the centerpiece of a flower display, with the pots arranged artfully inside it and various ivies draping over the sides. With La Petite's flower expertise and artistic asistance, possibilities abound.

Then Husband cut down the ornamental tree that had gotten too big for its branches, blocking the morning sun and poking its higher reaches into the phone lines. He filled the wagon with brush (while I used the wheelbarrow elsewhere in the yard), and then stacked firewood in it.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I won't hazard a guess as to the value of this wagon, with its metal mesh sides and base and the heavy duty handle and wheelbase. It's probably old, but not an antique. There's no damage or rust, even after spending the winter next to the garage in the (recordbreaking) snow. Rust proofing on a garden implement? Maybe. Just lucky? Maybe that, too.

But for now, I like it. We'll use it for firewood or build a flower-scape around it. Cute, it's not, but it's solid. This little green wagon has a history, too. I think we'll keep it around.

Woodpile: lighter colored branches are the fresh pieces.

They'll weather and dry for at least a year before they're fireplace-ready.

The "new" old wagon made this process a little easier.

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It's not spring yet, honey!

I tried. I really tried to feel like spring, but Mother Nature did not cooperate.

I spread the compost on the garden and started using the bin again. I had to wear a knit hat and warm gloves while I did it. It's not spring yet; I had to wear gloves to keep warm, not just work gloves for leverage.

I washed all the blankets and comforters at the laundromat (an annual spring cleaning chore) and put a different, thinner comforter on the bed. Husband was too cold and couldn't sleep. It's not spring yet: I had to put the fluffy blanket and thick comforter back. (So much for avoiding those elder-mama night sweats, grumble grumble)

We opened windows just a crack to enjoy a little fresh air, but then we forgot to turn the heat back on. In the morning, with 37 degrees F on the outside thermometer, we piled on the blanket throws while we read the Sunday paper and waited until the hardworking furnace worked hard to reheat the house. It's not spring yet; we still need heat.

Husband won't put away the snow shovels. He's superstitious that way. A coworker talked about putting away his snowblower, "...and we had two major snowstorms the next week! It's not spring yet!" He'll take care of the snow tools in May -- or June, if he's really uber cautious. If we put the snow removal devices away, we'll get a blizzard.


But Husband did give in and work in the yard with me. He took out the chain saw to cut down an ornamental tree that had gotten too big. This was an adventure; the uppermost branches were tangled in the telephone wires. He called AT&T, knowing they wouldn't want him messing with the wires in any way. After going through all the switchboard options (no, we don't need service; no, we don't need billing), he finally got a Real Person on the line. That Real Person told him to remove the tree and call them back; they'd take out any remaining branches that hung from the phone lines. Luckily (I think), the branches untangled themselves and came down as he cut out the bigger branches below.


The garden plot is closer to ready. The sun-blocking tree is gone. The compost is spread, waiting for soil-turning. Unfortunately, it's not spring yet. But when Mother Nature turns that corner, I'll be ready. Shhh: don't tell her I'm ready now!

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Magic Blankie

It's just a blanket throw, offwhite in color, nothing special to look at. But it's down filled, and cozy as can be.


Magic Blanket comes with us in the car or minivan on long road trips. It lives on the couch most of the time -- except when one kid or the other takes it for their own. Amigo will wrap up in it on the den floor while he watches college football. La Petite will nab it for her futon when she comes home to visit.

I always 'steal' it back.

I call it Magic Blankie because it is my favorite for naps. Amigo doesn't get the whole nap concept. "Mom, why do you nap? Why don't you just sleep in?" "Well, honey, I'm not a teenager." "Huh?"

Amigo calls it Magic Blankie because it makes him feel better when he's sick.

Whatever the reason, this ordinary-looking blanket is a keeper. Who says toddlers are the only ones with blankets? Not me. In fact, as soon as I put the turkey in the oven, I'm going to curl up with the newspaper, a cup of coffee, and Magic Blankie.

Happy Love Thursday, everyone, and have a wonderful Thanksgiving Day. May the magic be not just in your blankies, but also in your hearts.

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When all else fails, bake.

I've been coughing so much my ribs hurt. I slept past noon Sunday, and I never sleep late. Never.
Amigo still has a sore throat from his endoscopic tests. We may have more clues to solve the mystery of the stomach pain, but for now, he's still coping one day at a time.
A major virus hit our main desktop computer overnight. We are rebuilding from scratch, from what husband and his engineer pals call "First Birthday." Nothing, but nothing, survived.
I spent 45 minutes cleaning up and responding to my school email -- on a Sunday night!!
My world is spinning out of control.
I cope by accomplishing something simple: I bake. This time, I baked cookies. The dough was pre-made, a tub in the refrigerator from a choir fundraiser. Turn on the oven, scoop the dough onto the cookie sheets, and fifteen minutes later, voila! White chocolate macadamia nut cookies.
Bringing things down to a more elemental level helps me feel better in control. It takes the spinning world of emails and illnesses and work-family balance and lets me accomplish something worthwhile in a short period of time. Baking allows me to simplify, to slow down in a speeding world.
No recipe this time, folks. The recipe here isn't for cookies: it's for simplifying a complex life, taking down the stress level by focusing on a small success.
I think I'll go have a cookie now.
Happy Love Thursday, everyone.

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Pre-op day ramblings

How to approach this subject without resorting to TMI mode? Metaphors and euphemisms, that's it. Amigo (age 16) goes to the big state children's hospital tomorrow for tummy testing. He's preparing today, with clear liquids and the Pre-op Cocktail designed to, well, cleanse. (Oh, geez, I'm sure the spam will be tremendous on that reference)
I could tell he was nervous because his hand shook as I handed him the first glass. He was relieved it didn't taste too bad. With the radio set up in the bathroom, he settled in for the duration while I set the timer for 20 minutes until the next dose.
The timing here is either bad or good, but not much in between. I have a nasty cold, stuffed up head, weepy eyes, and painful sinuses. If I didn't have to stay home with Amigo, I'd probably take a sick day of my own to rest. In short, I'm feeling lousy, in need of rest, and not sure I have the strength to help the teenager deal with his pre-op anxieties. It seems like a classic case of mom taking care of everyone else first, then falling ill herself. Even though I know better, that's my big weakness.
In between handing Amigo his every-20-minutes glass of Pre-op Cocktail, I'm dosing myself with fluids and vitamin C. I had healthy toast (whole wheat with flaxseed) with local honey for breakfast. I'm inhaling the steam before I drink my coffee; does that count? Eventually I'll make myself some lunch, but I don't want to make anything that Amigo will covet, since he can't eat real food today. Eggs and toast might fit the bill: healthy basics, comfort food, nothing too exciting. Tonight it's tomato soup and stuffed pork chops, not his favorite either. He'll have chicken soup (no noodles) and jello. I made two flavors; lime and orange. No strawberry or raspberry; the nurse told us anything with red dye can appear in the tests and skew the results.
Meanwhile, I'll work in the garden and the kitchen. I have schoolwork in my bag, but it's too nice out to waste the day indoors. I opened the windows and turned off the heat, and now I'll harvest the rest of the spinach and a batch of tomatoes if they're ready. The math facts papers will wait; I can correct them while Amigo's in the O.R. and recovery.
If Amigo is up to it, he can study for the World History test he'll miss while he's gone. After he's done with his, um, dumping festival, he might stretch out on the couch and read the chapter once or twice. He has an ongoing novel project in the works now, too. He can work on that at the computer, which is fairly close to the Activity Room, so to speak.
We parents, moms especially, seem prone to the thought of "I have to do something! I must make this downtime worthwhile!" I still feel a bit of guilt putting off the math papers until tomorrow. Amigo will let me know if he's not up to studying today; why can't I be so straightforward?
Maybe that's the enlightenment of the day. It's not the test results tomorrow. It's knowing that it's okay to let things slide at work for a little while; the papers will still be there on Saturday. I can take care of myself and my teenager today.

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We bicker like family.

Our staff meetings are loud. Passionate, enthusiastic, fast paced, argumentative. People interrupt each other, speak forcefully, gesture with their clipboards and coffee and pens and knitting needles (knitting needles? I thought knitting was supposed be calming?!). No one wants to give in; each and every one of us wants what we need and what we want. Bend an inch? No, thank you. Putting together a testing schedule, accommodating requests, making class lists, establishing services for special groups, balancing budgets, determining goals or mission statements, and getting enough supplies... all take cooperation and compromise. Somehow, we get it done, and we do what's best for the children we serve.

Lunch periods are rushed. I usually spend my 40 minute lunch break making copies, setting up math materials, cleaning up science labs, and returning phone calls and emails. That is, if I'm not fielding concerns from one or two of the many teachers in my team or listening to colleagues rant because they know I'm a safe sounding board.

But when push comes to shove, I cannot imagine a more caring, spontaneous, and supportive group of coworkers.

I walked in last Friday morning exhausted, lugging my heavy schoolbag, my purse, my lunch bag, and a special treat for surviving a challenging week: a cup of hazelnut coffee from Jo to Go. I walked down a few stairs to put my lunch in the lounge refrigerator, back up those same three stairs and tripped. Hard. Down on my knees, rammed my right wrist on the floor, and lost the entire cup of coffee. As I watched that precious liquid coursing across the floor, I felt ridiculously close to tears.

Immediately, before I even stood, I was surrounded by five people sporting rags and paper towels, helping me stand, asking if I was okay, wiping up the coffee, moving my bag and purse so they didn't get damaged, and generally taking over to make sure all was well with the world again.

And then the physical education teacher brought me a fresh cup of coffee from her own personal stash in the office off the gym.

Again, even as I laughed at my klutziness, despaired of my bruised knees and ego, I had a sense of gratitude and a feeling of being very, very lucky.

If I had to have a bad day, I'm glad I work here.



Happy Love Thursday, everybody.

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Actual "discussion" at the supper table

We were discussing, of all things, social skills and social awkwardness.

La Petite: I have good social skills. *Braaap*
Husband: That's *Braaap* Excuse me. Care to try that again?
La Petite: *Braap* Excuse me. Was that better?
Me: (hides behind napkin and pretends not to be at the table with these two heathens)
Husband to La Petite: She's going to blog this.
Husband to me: It's spelled B-R-A-A-P.

Where was Amigo? In the den, already finished with supper, laughing and wishing he could belch on command like his sister and father can.

Happy Love Thursday, everyone. I hope your families are more civilized than mine.

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role reversal

I came home from the July Fourth Fireworks to find La Petite sitting on the couch holding a clipboard: my clipboard, with my latest and greatest rough draft of a grad school project. She had pen in hand and was proofreading, revising, and making suggestions.
I used to do this for her. The last time I proofed one of hers was a full three years ago, when she was a freshman in college. Now she helps her friends when they need advice, and now, yes, now, she's helping her mother.
The comments all sound like a 21-yr-old. Here's a sampling:


This is a long and confusing sentence.
What the cr** is this supposed to mean?
Make this verb active, not passive.
Check APA style.
Is this really related to (the topic)?
RUN ON! OMG!


Then there were the comments she made that built on my own comments and revisiions.
My notes: Run-on
Hers: Yup. You dangled a participle, too.
My notes: best word?
Hers: Yes.

The next morning she referred to my run-on sentences as "Awesome" as in "Mom, that run-on sentence that was the whole paragraph by itself? That was awesome."
Maybe she meant awe-inspiring. After all, I did teach her writing class in 6th grade. She got some of her skills from me, somehow.
Later, though, she had to ask me how many cups were in a quart. Then she had to ask if we had any three-quart containers for the planting kit she wanted to assemble. Snicker. Mom still knows best. Wait...I was her math teacher in 6th grade, too....

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April Showers bring May -- flowers?

PTA decided to extend Teacher Appreciation Week to be two weeks long. They asked kids to bring in flowers. Despite the poor quality photo from my cell phone camera, I think you can see that I feel appreciated. Yes, that's my messy desk behind the vase. Hey, it's May. My workload is at its heaviest right now. In other words, it's the perfect time for kids to give me flowers.

But I must say I like these flowers even better.

P.S. PTA gave us "breakfast" in the lounge at recess, including Starbucks coffee. W00T!!

Happy Love Thursday, everyone.

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What's your return policy?

It isn't wordless, so it's not Wordless Wednesday. It's definitely not an illustration of dedication and unconditional love, familial or otherwise, so it's not a Love Thursday. I see this sign every time I take La Petite grocery shopping, and I finally had to take out my cell phone and snap a picture. Taken literally, it just doesn't work. Come to think of it, the sign doesn't really click in the figurative sense, either.

I still think it's crying out for a caption. But maybe, just maybe, the label stands on its own. Perhaps I should say it parks in its own...never mind.

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I can see the ground!! And -- and -- more!

It's not exactly aesthetically pleasing. Muddy brown, with old half-decomposed leaves, sunbleached boards that soaked up their share of snow for months, and a snake-like dead zucchini vine.

It's not traditionally beautiful. The trellis is falling down, and that is an old broom handle leaning against the wall. One lone (dead) raspberry bush, if you can even dignify it with the term, stands weakly in the dirt, untrimmed last fall and uneaten by the neighborhood wild bunnies over the winter.

But walk around the corner and look closely. Not green, but red: the rhubarb is poking its head through the matted blanket of last fall's leaves. Mmm. I can taste the muffins already.

Happy Love Thursday, everyone. I hope you'll all see the sun, and soon.

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Valentine, will you be mine?

I've never been a big celebrator of Valentine's Day. Husband and I used to go out for lunch or dinner when we were young and childless. Now and then we'd get a sitter and do the same thing. But now, we rarely celebrate this seemingly created-by-Hallmark date on the calendar. We have some nice Valentine stories in our past, and it's a good time to look at wine glass as half full rather than half empty or (in engineering language) twice as big as it needs to be.

In the deep and philosophical approach, a day when Husband knew what I needed and took care of it, would be nice. But those days don't happen very often because, well, we don't need them very often. We take care of ourselves and each other a lot, but we also make sure there's a little specialness now and then.

My February 14th would have been exhausting and crazy, if I'd been in school. I feel for my substitute! Being sick on Valentine's Day was not in my planning book. My students are usually almost as hyped as they are for Christmas. Sugar, holiday, big snowstorm, long weekend ahead...oh, this sub might never speak to me again.

Husband has Friday, February 15th off, but it won't be an easy day. He will be home with Amigo all day because teachers have staff development and students have no classes. They'll probably sleep in, have a late breakfast, and then Husband will start packing for his weekend train show. As soon as I get home (if I'm well enough to go, that is), he'll hit the road.

I don't need a celebration of the hearts and flowers type. I'll put a simple supper on the table Thursday as usual for a weekday, maybe simpler than usual due to the extra stress of being ill. If Husband is home early enough, maybe we'll break open a bottle of wine and relax a little bit.

But I have to admit, he surprised me this morning with a coffee mug flower arrangement and a small package of really nice chocolates. What a sweetie!
Happy Love Thursday, everyone.

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Winter Break, and the livin' is (not) easy

To do list for today:

• Clean bunny litter boxes
• Return overdue book on tape to the library
• Pay fine on overdue book on tape (cringe)
• Buy bunny food and bread
• Sign and mail adjudicator contracts for 2008 music festivals
• Update family prescriptions
• Take Amigo to doctor to look at potential ear infection
• Pick up prescription for ear infection (When Amigo says his ear hurts, he's usually infected)
• Fill car with gas for La Petite's trip to job interview at her university
• Prepare car for possible winter emergency in case back roads are bad on the way to university
• Remind La Petite to pack food, since her apartment cupboards are bare
• Make sure all errands are done before La Petite leaves us temporarily without wheels
• Laundry, including La Petite's extra baskets
• Pack boxes for thrift store pick-up tomorrow
• Clean kitchen (again)
• Fill refrigerator with fruit from music dept. fundraiser
• Write thank you notes for student gifts (smile; fourth graders are still cute)
• Grind coffee beans (oh, such a sacrifice: two Christmas gifts inlcuded whole bean coffee)
• Nibble on Christmas cookies
• Read A Wrinkle in Time with Amigo (he got the Braille edition for Christmas)
• Snuggle up on the couch and watch CNN or the Weather Channel
• Catch up on Time Magazines and sip coffee or hot cocoa

Come to think of it, maybe the livin' isn't so hard after all. Any to-do list that includes reading, nibbling on cookies and sipping coffee can't be all bad.

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Three things I hope my children will inherit

There won't be any heirlooms or trust funds, surprise visits to the Antiques Road Show, or other unexpected windfalls for my children to inherit. Instead, I wish for them these three thoughts, these three concepts.
I hope my children will inherit a passion for learning. Whether they seek knowledge through books, the Internet, or quality cable television, I hope they will always want their minds to grow.
I hope my children will inherit an attitude of caring and stewardship for the world they live in. They might take on the reality of slogans such as Think Globally, Act Locally and Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. Maybe they'll grow gardens or have compost bins of their own. Their generation may find new, more efficient ways to care for and preserve our Earth. Whatever the future holds for the land around them, I hope my children take an active part in it.
And finally, I hope my children will inherit an appreciation and enjoyment of stories, their own and those of others. Family stories, often passed on in the oral tradition, are part of the fabric of our lives. ("Brother, you're adorable." "Mom! She called me adorable! Mom, what's adorable?") Those stories we learn from others are part of their fabrics, woven to complement and contrast our own. Stitched together, they make a patchwork quilt of both harmony and dissonance, and ultimately a richness that cannot be equaled.

Would you like to join the Group Writing Project organized by Jordan at MamaBlogga, click here for more information or a submission form.

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Love is -- family conversation

Ever since last summer's lightning strike, we've been very careful. The conversations in our house run something like this.

Husband: I hear thunder.
Daisy: I'll turn off the computer.
Husband: Don't forget to unplug the modem!
La Petite: Must you be so paranoid?
Daisy and Husband: YES.

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