Please Tell Me You're Joking

I don't consider myself a fashion guru. At all. On the other hand, I can usually manage to dress myself well enough to avoid showing up on the "People of Walmart" website. I like to think I can chose appropriate clothing that flatters my post-childbirth body at least moderately well. I'm no supermodel, but let's be honest, neither are THEY, really.

While I agree that first impressions make a difference, I just don't understand why people will spend $500 on a pair of jeans. Really?! For JEANS?! You'd think such stupidity would be illegal in some way. You'd think. I mean, if you put pictures of the same woman wearing different brands of jeans, say, from Walmart and whatever brand of ridiculously overpriced jeans you choose, and I'd be willing to bet the majority of the female population couldn't tell which ones were the expensive pair.

Now, when you spend what amounts to an entire year's worth of pay for the child in the sweat shop that MADE the item you purchase, is that something you're actually thinking about? Do you rationalize it in your head as "charity work"? It's not like the kid would get so much as a grain of rice without your buying that handbag that pays for their hours of labor. Right? Of course, maybe you've "earned" it. Driving to and from soccer practice on the nanny's day of is SO much work!

Even if I won the lottery nineteen times, I STILL would not have the desire to spend thousands of dollars on a handbag any more than I would have the desire to wipe my rear end with dollar bills. It's a BAG. It doesn't cook or clean, or even help you find your freakin' car keys! It does the same thing a less expensive bag would do. Although, I can pretty much guarantee that if an ink pen leaks all over your designer handbag, you're going to be a LOT more upset than I would be if the same thing happens in my cheap purse.

Have you ever noticed how the people who PAY for labels are the very people who claim they don't care about them? They get some weird self esteem boost from flashing their little labels, never realizing that it's actually more like a "Hello, My Name is Gullible" badge. I suppose it's sad, really. Except, I find it funny. I like imagine the looks on their faces when they step in a "surprise" left behind by a "designer" dog, or find out someone keyed their fully-loaded luxury SUV in the parking garage. What can I say? It's the little things!

So don't expect to see me bust out the big bucks for Chanel or Prada anytime soon. Or ever. I carry a "purse", not a "handbag". When you walk past proudly flashing your labels and you hear a choking sound, that's me. Trying not to spray Coke out through my nose as I laugh. Wouldn't want to get anything on those expensive shoes!

A Lesson in Life/Death

I'd known this day was coming since the day we brought Templeton home from the local animal shelter. The day we'd have to say goodbye. Still, part of me hoped it wouldn't come so soon. Sitting here, looking into his empty cage brings tears to my eyes, as does the lack of sound coming from it. He liked to hang out with me on the couch after everyone else had gone to bed. I've managed to keep from crying until now. Now that I'm alone, it really hits me. Templeton is gone. His tiny, perfect little paws are cold, in spite of the little blanket we wrapped him in.

He'd been having trouble breathing and had lost weight recently. Part of me wonders if things might have been different if I'd taken him to the vet sooner. He wasn't young anymore, though. It must have just been his time. At least I know he had a happy life here with us. He knew he was loved. We made the time he had with us the best time of his life.

Some people don't believe animals go to Heaven. I'm not one of those people. Maybe they don't have souls in the same sense that we do, but my heart tells me I'll see my beloved pets again, someday. I refuse to believe that God would let me love something so much if death were really the end for it. In fact, I'll bet Templeton is making friends with my first pet rat, Bella, while he gets a welcoming bath from my sweet puppy, Paddington.

Rest in peace, dear Templeton. You will be missed.

Recent Moments in Parenting (?)

Every, single one of us who calls themselves "parent" has had, or soon WILL have, those moments when, through your giggles of shame, you begin to question your parenting skills. Or lack thereof. If you're a new parent, don't take this the wrong way, but your day is coming, and yes, I'm smiling a knowing, albeit sadistic, smile as I write this. We all BEGIN with perfect little angels that quickly drive the humiliation of their delivery from our minds. (You want to bring a class of students in to watch? Sure!!! Why not?! Nothing everyone else in this hospital hasn't seen! The more the merrier!) These wee bundles of joy could never cause trouble for us! MY child is going to be perfectly wonderful and I am going to be the best mother. I'll never raise my voice to my child or have to discipline them because they'll love me so much, they will want to make me happy! Hey. We've all been there. Enjoy the denial while it lasts. As I might have mentioned, your day is coming.

For me, the most recent Questionable Parenting Skills Moment (QPSM) came while I was weeding the garden this afternoon. I made the mistake of thinking that, because the children had food in their hands when I saw them five minutes before, they would be occupied. (When will I learn?) I caught a short, tanned, streak dash across the neighbors' backyard toward the stream/drainage ditch out of the corner of my eye. There was that split second of my brain processing the message my eyes had sent... Oh... OH!

My dear, sweet, NAKED little boy was heading off to play in the water in the neighbors' yard. Or should I say, the water that backs SEVERAL of the neighbors' homes. The boy has no shame. He must get that from his father. I don't even like to be naked in front of MYSELF!

Needless to say, the little streaker was quickly ordered to go back INSIDE and put some clothes on. I would like to say that I kept a straight face through the process, but I at least managed to cover up the horrified laughter that crept out by pretending to shield my face from the sun. Thank goodness he was too young to realize the sun was actually behind me!

As I watched his nekkid little butt disappear into the house, I looked skyward and pleaded with God to give that boy some modesty and SOON! Send an extra helping for his big sister, too. She's quickly growing out of skirts with shorts sewn into them.

I Need an Android, Too!

I have to come clean about something...

I haven't actually FINISHED the book I'm going to share with you. I do apologize, but between the kids, the cats, the garage sale, and my perpetual battle with the weeds and the rabbits, I don't have nearly as much time for books as I would LIKE to have. This book also has several more pages than "Dawn of the Dreadfuls". If these excuses fail to satisfy, feel free to insert your own as a substitute. However, should you choose a questionable excuse as a substitute, you may also feel free to keep it to yourself!

So...

"Android Karenina"

Considering I am a person whose only real experience with androids comes from the "Star Wars" saga and the Verizon store, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect from "Android Karenina". The thought of the Russians having light sabers wasn't really a stretch, but I figured I was jumping the gun a bit by assuming that Vronsky would whip one out and go to town on some rebels. I still haven't read anything about light sabers, but the thought of having my own robot is certainly appealing. Or, at the very least, having a "Surcease" setting on my kids.

Ben Winters done a masterful job of merging the pomp and frivolity of high society with the gears and oil of futuristic machinery. What would be a delicate balance, at best, begins to show signs of distress in the first few pages of the novel. A classic tale of what we have never quite being enough for us. We always want something more. Anna and Count Vronsky's first meeting throws sparks that neither can deny, but neither are exactly in a position to pursue the other. They must both decide if the passion they feel is worth the risks they will take to embrace it.

One of my favorite things in this "new" version, is the way the dances are written. No longer simply dancing, the dancers literally waltz on air. Their Class III droid companions glow in various colors providing a magical light around the ballroom. Personally, the thought of dancing on air several feet above the ground terrifies me, but I can certainly appreciate the beauty of it.

I've really enjoyed this book so far. I'll have to add a followup review when I finish it, because I KNOW I'll have more to say! I'd have more to say now if my brain weren't trying to pull itself in thirty-seven different directions. I just have to survive the garage sale this weekend...

http://www.quirkclassics.com/index.php?=QuirkClassicsContest_AK_Reviews

Dawn of the Delightful

The fog lies heavy upon the ground as I gaze out my windows. Through the darkness, it gives the streetlights the appearance of spectres in the distance. It seems at once beautiful and terrifying. A chill races up my spine as I think to myself how perfect this weather would be for zombies.

No, I've not gone off my rocker. Not yet. I've been reading a new book. A book in, what I consider to be a bold, daring style. It is Steve Hockensmith's new novel, "Dawn of the Dreadfuls". It will likely have all of those stuffy, purist Jane Austen fans sniffing their smelling salts and hurling tea cozies. Technically, this novel has nothing to do with Miss Austen, but rather, serves as a sort of prequel to Seth Grahame-Smith's rousing rendition of an Austen classic, "Pride & Prejudice & Zombies". (Naturally, that last bit is not original Austen.)

Those of you with no imaginations can go ahead and roll your eyes. (I'll wait...) However, I find this idea absolutely brilliant. Just think about how many people will pick these books up when they would never in their lives consider reading Jane Austen, herself. Especially teens. Granted, it HAS been awhile since I was in school, but I remember having to read books of our own choosing for class. How many teenage boys would want to read "Pride & Prejudice"? Exactly, but you add in some zombies and martial arts, and they might actually ENJOY it. Then, there are the movie possibilities! I sense a perfect date movie in the making. Frilly dresses and balls for her. The undead and brain-eating for him. Magical.

"Dawn of the Dreadfuls" (DOD) is a smashing success, in my humble opinion. What begins as a shocking occurrence at a local funeral quickly turns the Bennet household upside down. Having been blessed with five lovely daughters and no sons, Mr. Bennet worries for his family's future should the "incident" happen to herald the coming of many more "dreadfuls", as they are called in polite society. Having been a veteran of the first battle against such horrors, Mr. Bennet, much to Mrs. Bennet's dismay, decides sacrificing his daughters' position in society is well worth the price if the training he thrusts upon them is successful. Training in the deadly arts.

The girls, being well brought up, initially have a difficult time accepting their fate. When a mysterious man shows up claiming to be a "master" sent to train them, things really begin to change for the Bennet sisters. In spite of lovely Jane's reluctance to partake of such tasks, and Kitty and Lydia's whispering and giggling, the master manages to push them all to become fearsome warriors. It takes skill to fight the dreadfuls in a dress, after all!

When word comes that a mere one hundred men are all the army will be sending, things seem dire, indeed. The living seem too frightened to take up arms, while the dead crawl from the earth in greater numbers each day. Even with all of their training, will Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters be able to put an end to this plague before it wipes out the entire town?

As I said before, I believe this novel is brilliant. Refreshing and original, in spite of the stench of rotting flesh. I look forward to many more of these twisted-classics from Quirk in the future! I wish I could spend an afternoon hanging out with these authors. Now, THAT would be delightful! Keep up the good work! For more information, please click on the title of this post and protect your head (just kidding about the head part). Thanks!

Morning Musings


Have you ever spent much time considering the phrase "crack of dawn"? Probably not, but you will now. I was doing that very thing a couple of days ago. As I tried to, in a quite vampire-like fashion, hide from the piercing light streaming through every tiny gap around the blackout drapes, my mind began warming up to run its daily marathon. At that point, it's pointless to try to go back to sleep. Especially with Perrin AKA Chatty Cathy bouncing on my bed and starting his perpetual asking of questions. He's lucky he's so cute.

So. The crack of dawn. I challenge you to think of a positive use for that word. Think about it. Cracking a mirror brings you seven years bad luck (or maybe just three and a half if it's not completely broken), a cracked windshield is something you can be written up for, plumbers' crack, smoking crack, crack the whip, saying someone is cracked, step on a crack break your mother's back... Need I go on? I don't think this is coincidence. In fact, I think it's surely intentional. A fitting phrase coined by someone who, like me, was NOT a morning person.

I found this on a website called Romance Reader at Heart.


At the Crack of Dawn: of course we all know this means early. Another American term in origin, the crack was from the German word, Krach, which means a loud noise. Loud noises are usually sudden, and so the Crack of Dawn in the saying refers to the sudden appearance of the sun when its rays first reach out in the horizon of the east. It's first appearance in print is thought to be in Outing in 1887.

Sudden loud noises at dawn sound pleasant, huh? Of course, the sudden part was what we are meant to understand. Either way, I don't care for anything sudden in the morning unless it's more sleep. Fat chance of that! Once Perrin is awake, he sees to it that everyone else is awake too. I can hear Abby yell at him to go away when he tries to get her up. She's not a morning person, either, but he's persistent. Unfortunately for him though, Abby doesn't find him as cute as I do. She is not above resorting to physical violence if she really wants to go back to sleep. From there, it all spirals downward with astonishing speed.

Now, whenever you wake up bright and early, you, too, can sit in bed and wonder about the crack of dawn. Then, if you're lucky, you can roll over, pull the covers over your head, and go back to sleep. Sleep a couple of hours for me while you're at it.

Time Flies


Four years ago, I had one of the most interesting and exciting days of my life. I got up before the sun to head to the local hospital for a labor induction. My body was feeling the strain of lugging around another human being inside of it for months and I was more than ready to meet the sweet little boy that kept trying to push his tiny foot through the skin of my belly. Don't get me wrong, I still think pregnancy is an absolute miracle, but it's far from comfortable toward the end. Anyone who says differently is being blackmailed.

I half expected it to be a long day. The other half of me thought that, this being my second child, things might go quickly. Especially, since they had the first time around. I filled out the various forms and got settled in my room around 6:30-7:00 in the morning. They put in an IV line and started a Pitocin drip to get the contractions started. Heath and I watched television and I tried to catch a few more moments of sleep. Around 11:00, my OB came in and did the usual "check" to see how things were coming along. She said I was at about 5 cm dilated. She broke my water and said she had to head over the a neighboring hospital for a C-section delivery, but that she'd be back to check on me after that and lunch. She also gave the okay for an epidural. I admire women who brave the throes of labor without medication, but that is NOT me. I told the nurse to send the guy right up and get the epi going. He showed up about fifteen minutes later and hooked me up. Normally, it doesn't take long at all for the epi to take effect, but another fifteen minutes later, I was still feeling a LOT of pain on my left side. So, Dr. Feelgood had to come back in and give me another dose. This time, it worked wonders. The nurse told me to lay on my right side and that she'd come back in about fifteen minutes and help me roll to the other side.

I finally felt like I could fall asleep. Mornings are not my favorite thing. My dad had shown up so Heath had someone else to talk to and I didn't feel so bad about sleeping. Pretty soon, I started to doze off. A short while later, through my semi-conscious haze, I started hearing these weird, wet sounds, but since there were two men in the room who were not shy about bodily functions and the expression thereof, I didn't really give it much thought. A heard a muffled cry and I remember thinking, "Awww, the people in the next room must have had their baby!" as my eyelids fluttered.

The next cry was much louder. In fact, it chased all thoughts of sleep from my mind instantly and my eyes flew open. Heath, my dad, and I all realized at the same moment that the crying was NOT, in fact, coming from the next room. As a less than motherly phrase passed my lips, Heath jumped out of his chair and tore back the blanket covering me. Lo and behold, there was our infant son squirming and crying, having delivered himself entirely without my knowledge. My dad ran to the hall and yelled for the nurses. Like a flock of loving mother hens, the nurses filled my room almost as quickly as if they'd been beamed down from the Starship Enterprise. There was a flurry of excitement as they began their rituals of cleaning up and checking vital signs. They were all in shock, as was I, that I hadn't felt a thing and it all happened so fast.

In moments, our squirming, darling little bundle of boy was snuggled happily in my arms beginning what will likely be his life-long obsession with boobs. When my OB came by after lunch, she was more than a little surprised. I asked her if she'd ever seen another delivery like mine. She told me that she'd delivered thousands of babies and had only seen it happen once before. Apparently, my delivery was the talk of both hospitals that day. While, I'm sure I was the envy of more than one new mother, when things settled down, I had time to really think about what happened. What COULD have happened. What if he hadn't cried and hadn't been able to breathe? What if my body hadn't instinctively reacted and pushed him out? What if he'd gotten stuck? But these things didn't happen.

That night, as I stood holding my precious son by the window in my room, the snow fell softly outside and I had one of those moments when everything was perfect. It was dark, Heath was sleeping on the roll-away bed, the snow was falling in huge, fluffy flakes, and everything was quiet and peaceful. One of those moments you never forget.



Today, my sweet baby boy turned four. Where did the time go? He's growing up to be such a loving, caring boy. He feels things deeply and personally. He's my snuggler. God was watching out for him the day he was born, and I know He still is. I am forever thankful He chose me to be Perrin's mother. I'm beyond lucky!