TO: Youngest Son
FROM: Janitorial Services
RE: Bathroom usage
Realizing that you are young and are unaware of the world around you and realizing that many daily tasks are actually your "first rodeo" I thought it important to let you in on a small tidbit of truth that will serve you well throughout your lifetime. The side of the bathtub is not, actually, your personal urinal. If you desire such equipment, please make your request known to the CEO and I'm sure he'll see to it's purchase post-haste. Janitorial Services has grown tired of stepping in baby pee and then having to clean floor, tub and bathmat. Also, in case you were unaware, there is a contraption in the adjoining room known as a toilet. If, by some miracle, you have decided that diapers are no longer necessary please feel free to use the device as needed. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated. Hugs and Kisses always.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Open Letters from this weekend
While the menfolk were busy in the backyard tackling the fort project, I was in the house working on more domestic pursuits (mainly preparing breakfast/lunch/dinner/snacks to keep them all fueled up for the massive undertaking). During some of my excursions I ran into some folks who need a good stern talking to. I passed the opportunity to dish out the tongue-lashings but thought I would share with you the thoughts that ran through my head.
Dear Lady at Starbucks,
I realize that there is socially acceptable status that comes with purchasing beverages at Starbucks; for some inexplicable reason it makes one seem sophisticated. However, may I remind you that the current temperature is hovering around the 40 degree mark with a 700 mph north wind. You are bundled from head to toe with every winter accessory you have ever purchased -- probably to prove to your husband that these items are not, in fact, superfluous purchases. Given all of this information I need to ask -- why in creation are you purchasing 7 (that's right SEVEN) vanilla bean frappucinos???? First, do you realize that you are purchasing an overpriced MILK SHAKE???? Go down the road to Jack in the Box -- I promise you theirs are better AND just as bad for you as the ones you are purchasing!! There is absolutely NO coffee or caffeine related products in your purchase which begs, again, the question -- WHY ARE YOU IN FRONT OF ME???!!!! Second, do you realize that it is extremely COLD outside?? And do the people you are taking these SEVEN frappucinos to(because no one person can drink seven right??) also realize it is FREEZING outside? Seriously. All I need is venti drip to complete my grocery venture. Please...move...
(this conversation changes if the weather outside is warm -- because then I can understand the icy deliciousness of a frap over the heaviness of milk shake).
Dear Man at the Self Checkout Machine in Randall's,
I'm not sure if you realize it or not but these machines are for people with a few items -- like me for instance, needing only a block of cheese and some macaroni to complete my chilimac meal. They are not, actually, for people like you with a mountain of groceries. Did you check this out before you began because, really, does the machine look like it's set up for that kind of load to you??!!??? Furthermore, in case you were confused the title "self checkout" implies that all the check-outing is to be done by SELF!! This does not mean that you stare at the machine until the poor kid who is supposed to monitor all 4 spaces has to come check out (and bag) all of your groceries for you. If you would like that kind of service -- which I'm sure you would given the amount of food you are purchasing, I know when I do my shopping for the week I like some help -- PLEASE go to one of the regular lines. It's better for everyone!!
To both I end, sincerely,
The Frustrated Mother of Two in Line behind You
P.S. Next time we meet I cannot promise that I will contain the beasts that shop with me. I cannot promise than even if I can contain them, that I will...
Dear Lady at Starbucks,
I realize that there is socially acceptable status that comes with purchasing beverages at Starbucks; for some inexplicable reason it makes one seem sophisticated. However, may I remind you that the current temperature is hovering around the 40 degree mark with a 700 mph north wind. You are bundled from head to toe with every winter accessory you have ever purchased -- probably to prove to your husband that these items are not, in fact, superfluous purchases. Given all of this information I need to ask -- why in creation are you purchasing 7 (that's right SEVEN) vanilla bean frappucinos???? First, do you realize that you are purchasing an overpriced MILK SHAKE???? Go down the road to Jack in the Box -- I promise you theirs are better AND just as bad for you as the ones you are purchasing!! There is absolutely NO coffee or caffeine related products in your purchase which begs, again, the question -- WHY ARE YOU IN FRONT OF ME???!!!! Second, do you realize that it is extremely COLD outside?? And do the people you are taking these SEVEN frappucinos to(because no one person can drink seven right??) also realize it is FREEZING outside? Seriously. All I need is venti drip to complete my grocery venture. Please...move...
(this conversation changes if the weather outside is warm -- because then I can understand the icy deliciousness of a frap over the heaviness of milk shake).
Dear Man at the Self Checkout Machine in Randall's,
I'm not sure if you realize it or not but these machines are for people with a few items -- like me for instance, needing only a block of cheese and some macaroni to complete my chilimac meal. They are not, actually, for people like you with a mountain of groceries. Did you check this out before you began because, really, does the machine look like it's set up for that kind of load to you??!!??? Furthermore, in case you were confused the title "self checkout" implies that all the check-outing is to be done by SELF!! This does not mean that you stare at the machine until the poor kid who is supposed to monitor all 4 spaces has to come check out (and bag) all of your groceries for you. If you would like that kind of service -- which I'm sure you would given the amount of food you are purchasing, I know when I do my shopping for the week I like some help -- PLEASE go to one of the regular lines. It's better for everyone!!
To both I end, sincerely,
The Frustrated Mother of Two in Line behind You
P.S. Next time we meet I cannot promise that I will contain the beasts that shop with me. I cannot promise than even if I can contain them, that I will...
Sunday, January 11, 2009
A life painting
I wish I could paint my life in crayon -- not fancy artist crayon -- crayola crayon, all with perfect new tips each time I reach for a color. That way the colors would stay, wouldn't run or bleed into each other, wouldn't smear or smudge as I paint the scenes that are my life. I could paint this morning and then when I return to paint the afternoon all the colors of the morning wouldn't try to crowd out, or blend in to the new picture. I wouldn't have to worry about the "finished" pictures -- only the immediate would demand my attention.
I wish I could paint my life in crayon. That way I'd have precise control over every stroke, every mark. I could press down hard on the things, the moments I want to remember forever. I could lightly shade the days when I only want a tint of color to cover. I could reach into every crease and crook ensuring that the life lived, the picture created was complete, whole.
I wish I could paint my LIFE in crayon. That way any marks that strayed off the paper could be easily cleaned with a lysol wipe or a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. I wouldn't have to worry about ruining the rest of the world with my colors, with my life; things would be contained. The entire painting would be clean and I could stand back at the end of each and proclaim "wonderful" of all my creations.
Rather, it often seems like I paint my life with a broad-stroke brush dipped heavily in runny watercolors. The paint oozing from one picture to a next so it becomes impossible to determine where one stops and the other begins, where I have to focus not only what I am currently doing but what I've already done and what I might do later. My brush doesn't always seem to paint dark enough on what I've deemed important and it often emphasizes the very things I'd like to forget. The paint rarely stays exactly within the lines, usually either missing the edge and seeming incomplete or running with abandon over the lines I've made. It lacks precision, control, follow through of my plan. I often step back only to have my tongue caught just short of praise because rather than seeing the masterpiece I'd imagined I see something quite different and often unfinished and sometimes just plain messy.
Sometimes I wish I could paint my life in crayon...
"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord" Jeremiah 29:11
I wish I could paint my life in crayon. That way I'd have precise control over every stroke, every mark. I could press down hard on the things, the moments I want to remember forever. I could lightly shade the days when I only want a tint of color to cover. I could reach into every crease and crook ensuring that the life lived, the picture created was complete, whole.
I wish I could paint my LIFE in crayon. That way any marks that strayed off the paper could be easily cleaned with a lysol wipe or a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. I wouldn't have to worry about ruining the rest of the world with my colors, with my life; things would be contained. The entire painting would be clean and I could stand back at the end of each and proclaim "wonderful" of all my creations.
Rather, it often seems like I paint my life with a broad-stroke brush dipped heavily in runny watercolors. The paint oozing from one picture to a next so it becomes impossible to determine where one stops and the other begins, where I have to focus not only what I am currently doing but what I've already done and what I might do later. My brush doesn't always seem to paint dark enough on what I've deemed important and it often emphasizes the very things I'd like to forget. The paint rarely stays exactly within the lines, usually either missing the edge and seeming incomplete or running with abandon over the lines I've made. It lacks precision, control, follow through of my plan. I often step back only to have my tongue caught just short of praise because rather than seeing the masterpiece I'd imagined I see something quite different and often unfinished and sometimes just plain messy.
Sometimes I wish I could paint my life in crayon...
"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord" Jeremiah 29:11
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Jack's heart -- UPDATE
After almost a month and a half dozen requests from the pediatrician, the hospital finally sent the results from Jack's EKG and chest x-ray. Both tests are completely normal. YIPEE!! We have a cardiologist appointment February 12th -- the earliest available. Hopefully there Jack will be cleared for surgery and things can get back on track with the tonsil/adnoid thing. Breathing a sigh of relief over in the Pearson house.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
If I wrote a book
**Penned in pre-dawn hours. Too awake -- from spirit unrest and ill-advised late night coffee -- to find slumber. Edited in daylight when shadows disappear and all is just a bit clearer than before.**
If I wrote a book it would be about my boys. Every good writer knows that to be truly successful you must write about the things with which you have the most intimate knowledge. And what do I know best? The people I spend 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with -- my boys.
If I wrote a book I think I would title it Two-stepping with Tornadoes. It has an obvious "Texas" tone but again, that's all I've ever known. I was born less than 75 miles from where I currently live and have only ventured about 250 miles away from that point ever in my existence. Lame, some may cry; me, I find comfort in the familiar. Do I dream of venturing to far-off places to experience "different"? Sure but I'm just as happy, just as comfortable, just as starry-eyed dreamt here. I also know that hurricane would be a more accurate weather pattern for the title given where I live but I like the "t" alliteration of tornado and after all it's my book.
If I wrote a book I think it would be like my memories -- snapshots of wonderful, of sad, of anxiety and of peace, with no real transitions. Small snips taken from the fabric of my life that is being woven with each passing second. Or perhaps it would be like a series of dances, each different and wonderful in it's own right. Some so fast and exciting that you can feel the wind whip across your face with every turn on the dance floor. Some so slow that you are able to remember each step, each breath, each glance. Others friendly and light-hearted, allowing only memories of the fun but not the steps that made it a dance; and still others somber, a dance in mourning, or fear where all that can be remembered is the partner, the rock on which you lean.
If I wrote a book I wonder if I would ever actually finish it. And if it was finished, I wonder if anyone would read it. And if people read it, I wonder if anyone would like it. And if no one liked it or if everyone loved it, I wonder if that would matter.
If I wrote a book it would be about my boys. Every good writer knows that to be truly successful you must write about the things with which you have the most intimate knowledge. And what do I know best? The people I spend 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with -- my boys.
If I wrote a book I think I would title it Two-stepping with Tornadoes. It has an obvious "Texas" tone but again, that's all I've ever known. I was born less than 75 miles from where I currently live and have only ventured about 250 miles away from that point ever in my existence. Lame, some may cry; me, I find comfort in the familiar. Do I dream of venturing to far-off places to experience "different"? Sure but I'm just as happy, just as comfortable, just as starry-eyed dreamt here. I also know that hurricane would be a more accurate weather pattern for the title given where I live but I like the "t" alliteration of tornado and after all it's my book.
If I wrote a book I think it would be like my memories -- snapshots of wonderful, of sad, of anxiety and of peace, with no real transitions. Small snips taken from the fabric of my life that is being woven with each passing second. Or perhaps it would be like a series of dances, each different and wonderful in it's own right. Some so fast and exciting that you can feel the wind whip across your face with every turn on the dance floor. Some so slow that you are able to remember each step, each breath, each glance. Others friendly and light-hearted, allowing only memories of the fun but not the steps that made it a dance; and still others somber, a dance in mourning, or fear where all that can be remembered is the partner, the rock on which you lean.
If I wrote a book I wonder if I would ever actually finish it. And if it was finished, I wonder if anyone would read it. And if people read it, I wonder if anyone would like it. And if no one liked it or if everyone loved it, I wonder if that would matter.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Rockettes
I'm just now emerging from three days in the world of wardrobe. I have been schlepping costumes for the Rockettes during the Radio City Christmas Spectacular Arena Tour. Wow -- that was a mouthful. Boy did I learn some stuff...and I saw even more but that is TMI.
Some things I learned:
1. To be a rockette not only do you have to dance like an all-star but you have to be between 5'6" and 5'9". They put the tallest girls in the middle and with the three inch height difference they all look about the same height.
2. weird people work in theater careers. not the girls but all the folks behind the scenes...wow! Also -- there is a surprising lack of dental healthcare in that profession.
3. According to one wardrobe girl I was with, tattoos on your boobs is trashy. Scrawl pictures of skulls all over your biceps and forearms though and you are in the clear. Good to know in my opinion
4. From the same girl, there is a sex shop in Montrose that sells leg lamps (I guess like from Christmas Story -- I was too afraid to ask) for $200. It is right next to catbirds or something -- in case you are in the market for a good leg lamp.
Believe me there is more...so much more. But I have standards y'all -- that stuff just isn't appropriate for a published venue.
In all seriousness, the Rockettes I worked with were awesome girls. We had a lot of fun and it was actually a privilege to work with them on the last stop of their 4 month long tour.
Some things I learned:
1. To be a rockette not only do you have to dance like an all-star but you have to be between 5'6" and 5'9". They put the tallest girls in the middle and with the three inch height difference they all look about the same height.
2. weird people work in theater careers. not the girls but all the folks behind the scenes...wow! Also -- there is a surprising lack of dental healthcare in that profession.
3. According to one wardrobe girl I was with, tattoos on your boobs is trashy. Scrawl pictures of skulls all over your biceps and forearms though and you are in the clear. Good to know in my opinion
4. From the same girl, there is a sex shop in Montrose that sells leg lamps (I guess like from Christmas Story -- I was too afraid to ask) for $200. It is right next to catbirds or something -- in case you are in the market for a good leg lamp.
Believe me there is more...so much more. But I have standards y'all -- that stuff just isn't appropriate for a published venue.
In all seriousness, the Rockettes I worked with were awesome girls. We had a lot of fun and it was actually a privilege to work with them on the last stop of their 4 month long tour.
No title...too hard to think creatively
Seriously...all the titles for this post were DUMB so I opted for no title. This is a shout-out to my blog-stalker -- the one I know about and the others I hope are lurking in the shadows. I myself am a blog-stalker. I was talking about this the other day with a friend and really it stems from a desire to know stuff. Not for gossip -- just to keep up with other people and their lives. Real stalking = creepy; blog-stalking by people I know = awesome. There it is in simple math like terms. The end...
I know this is a totally pointless post but I wanted to let folks now I'm still out here...just too tired to put thought into posts...
I know this is a totally pointless post but I wanted to let folks now I'm still out here...just too tired to put thought into posts...
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