Friday, January 29, 2010

Storytellers

I'm trying something new!  I just set up a blog titled "Storytellers".  It's a game blog. 

I used to take part in a simliar blog that was tons of fun!  The authors of the blog would take turns beginning a story that commenters were supposed to add on to.  Some stories were great, some kind of bombed, but there was hilarity and good endorphins enjoyed by all who participated!

It doesn't matter if you are a writer or not.  If you enjoy silliness, head on over and join the fun!

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Giveaway!

Ok, so the giveaway isn't mine.  It's my sister Karen's.  She makes the cutest, most realistic felt toy food you ever will see!

Here are a few of her faux culinary delights!  

 





These are even more impressive in person and very durable. My children want everything Aunt Karen makes! Head over to The Whimsical Gourmet to enter to win your choice of her adorable creations up to $15.00!  Be sure to check out her "past sales" on her Etsy page to see what else Karen can whip up for you your children.  Fish, sushi, falafel...the sky's the limit!

The giveaway ends Sunday night at 11:59 CT, so head on over!

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Coming Clean

Last Sunday, Professor's Primary teacher stopped me in the hall. "I don't know Professor that well yet, but is he usually jittery?  I didn't know if he would tell me if he needs to go to the bathroom or not.  I want to make sure he knows it's ok to ask." 

I thought for a moment.  Professor, jittery?  This son of mine has a hard time keeping still unless he's reading Charlie Bone or Harry Potter.  In those instances, a tornado could pass over his head and as long as it didn't suck the pages out of his hands, he wouldn't notice. Otherwise, he's always fiddling with something.  Pretty normal for a nine-year-old boy I suppose. He's always chewing on his shirt or picking paint off the doorjamb.  (Grrr.) But jittery?  Not really. Unless he had to go to the bathroom...

"Not really.  Sometimes he doesn't realize he needs to go to the bathroom right away when he needs to, so I ask him and sometimes he does and sometimes not. I'll talk to him about it."

That cleared up, we spoke about some other things, then went our separate ways.  I asked Professor a little later if he felt comfortable asking to go to the bathroom in his new class.  He said there was no problem, so I figured I would just let it go.

A couple of hours later at home, Professor was on the couch whining.  "I'm so itchy. Iiiittttcccchhhyyyy!"  I don't tend to pay too much attention when he's complaining about something, because Professor is a bit of a hypochondriac.  He lives life out loud--literally.  He will scream and cry like his arm is hanging by a thread if he is stung by a bee.

His complaint slid in one ear and began to slide out the other when it caught on the edge of a memory.  I recalled him mentioning something about soap sometime earlier. ( I pay attention to my children, but when you have three constantly talking to you and a baby crying you do tend to miss things.)

I remembered the uncharacteristic "jitteriness" his teacher mentioned.

It clicked.

"Professor," I asked warily, "did you say something about soap before?"

He looked at me sheepishly.  "Last night when I was in the tub, after I let the water out I took the soap and slid it around the tub and then I slid in it."  He gave a slightly embarrassed, goofy chuckle with a touch of hysteria.

Oh no.  "Did you rinse off afterwards?" I said, sighing, knowing the answer already.

"No."  The giggling was accompanied by a slightly wild-eyed look.

I then informed James as to what his eldest son had been up to, including that the soap he had used was particularly drying.  Professor was a tad unhinged by that point, still giggling.

"Ok Professor, go into the bathtub and wash yourself."

He got up and stomped to the bathroom, laughter suddenly turning to unintelligible rage. "HERRREGGEWARRRFFA"

"Stop that right now!" I demanded.

"But you told me to wash myself!  You want me to use MORE SOAP?"

I sighed.  "My dear, sweet son--you are the bar of soap!  You are a human soap cake!"

Silence.

"Oh!" he exclaimed in another fit of laughter, as he semi-gently shut the bathroom door.

Running water was the last I heard for a long while.

You can guarantee there was no slipping and sliding down a soapy slope after that bath.  I think he learned his lesson--for now.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Early AM With a Bean

It's 1:30 in the morning.

Quiet.

Well, except for the ginormous dog snoring intermittently in his bed.

His bed.

I like the sound of that.

Well, not his bed.  It stinks.  It needs washing, like so many other things around here.

I want to be sleeping.  I am not, however, asleep.  If I could sleepblog that would be an amazing feat, would it not?

My Bean is awake.  Has been for hours.  He has been nursed, given formula, nursed again, given more formula.  He has been changed, given teething tablets.  He's on the floor on a Spongebob blanket, a blanket that was purchased in a moment of weakness before banning all things Spongebob. ( I decided I didn't want my children imitating Spongebob-like behavior, breaking off limbs and developing humongous bloodshot eyes for example.  Or driving hamburgers.  So, he has now been relegated to the floor and is hidden when people visit.  Spongebob.  Not Bean. )

Little Bean is five months old.  He should know better than to make Mommy stay awake for hours at night, non-functional during the day.  He should know that Mommy can only take so long staring bleary-eyed at Bejeweled Blitz, watching her scores plummet lower and lower as her index finger gets sorer and sorer.  He should be snoozing.  Not Bean.  (It's easy to expect a baby should know these things when Mommy is wasted.  Can I say that when it applies to sleep deprivation?  Feels appropriate.)

He turned and looked up at me a few minutes ago while eating before his floor playtime, his smiling eyes reaching deep into my soul.  We have a deep connection, my little son and I.  His beautiful, wise-looking, baby face melts my heart.  Curly hair brushed gently under my fingers, I kissed his Daddy-shaped forehead.

I adore this little tyke.  I love his pterodactyl screeches of delight, the way that I make him laugh more than anyone else.  The others thought Daddy was the hilarious one.  It's a great feeling that someone finds me humorous on a regular basis.  Good for the ol' self-esteem, even if it's just faces and cartoony voices. 


I yearn for my bed, but I treasure my baby.  And in a few years from now, I will look back with gratitude and a twinge of sadness--

Gratitude that I am able to sleep once again, and sadness for the memory of those innocent, blindly trusting and loving eyes gazing so deeply into mine.

Now he is fussing.

Crying

Nursing

Ouching

Colic Tablets to the rescue!  (Hyland's Colic Tablets are worth their weight in sleep gold.)

Nursing

Squirmy

On my shoulder, his body relaxes, so trustingly. Breathing slows.  He's sleepy.  Sleeping.

My laptop reads 2:13 AM.

Come, my dear one.  Let's snuggle and dream.

Friday, January 8, 2010

No Strings

Ah, it's been a long, long time.

It's not like I haven't been online.  I'm on Facebook all day, and I browse my share of crafting blogs plus a couple that have no real substance to them at all.  I have a five month old baby who doesn't do well when he's not on his mother's lap most of the day, and in her arms nearly all of the night.  He's one of the sweetest babies I have ever known, and one of the most demanding as well.  So I play online while the world falls to pieces around me.

I'm not sure what's up with my head.  I do tend to have a rough time postpartum for about a year after childbirth.  Baby blues, nothing really heavy, but it's enough.  I miss my friends, if they'll still count me among their friends.  Friends don't leave and not visit blogs for...oh...months and months.

It's just that....I tend to do more meaningless things when I can't handle any more emotionally.  I have some bloggy friends who are INCREDIBLE writers, women whom I identify in so many ways.  (Kim, Laura, and Heidi to name a few.)  When I read their words they touch me, I laugh and sniff (sadly, not haughtily), and they reach for and touch my soul.  I connect.

That connection is what I've been avoiding for months now.  Things that tug at my heartstrings or reach out and grab me, I can't handle much of.  There's too much in my head, I just can't deal with it for some reason.  Give me things without emotional substance, I'm fine.  I have no desire to watch dramatic movies for that same reason.

It's been far too long since I've written anything.  I wrote a few lines of a song parody today on Facebook and like old friends, the words seemed happy to come back to play.  I missed them.  It felt good, like a furry, warm velour blanket.  Deep crimson and snuggly.

So, I may write now and then again.  But for now anyway, I'm turning off comments.  I don't have the emotional capacity to worry how many I have or the reason why someone is commenting.  Most of you are genuine, I just can't handle the game of someone stopping by to comment only to gain more readers because I just can't do it any more.  I don't want anyone to feel obligated to leave a comment if they enjoyed what I wrote.  I'm hoping to write for myself, just to put things out there--at least, that's where I'm coming from now.  No obligation, no strings. Just words.

Perhaps writing some again will help--if I can handle what comes out of me.  Goodness knows I have a difficult time letting anything in these days.

I hope those of you I have known here for a long time will forgive me for not visiting your blogs much.  I will be around, I do come around now and then but I don't always comment.  Sometimes I forget, sometimes I just don't know what to say.  I hope you will not think me a terrible person, but if you do I will accept that.

Thanks for reading.