Summing me up, spiritually.

Ok, so I've been told that I may be "too liberal" to be a Christian (don't worry, Jodi. Not originally by you. Someone else sparked my comment to you.) I started thinking about it because it took me by surprise a little bit. I don't consider myself liberal. I think abortion is a terrible thing, for both the mothers and babies. I believe that according to the bible, homosexuality it wrong. I believe we should obey the laws of our country unless they contradict God's laws directly (you know, in like a "if-another-Hitler-should-come-along" kind of way. Not a "screw-the-whole-government-I'm-joining-a-militia-group" kind of way.) But having said all of that? Who cares what I believe? It's not for me to judge, it's for God. It's my duty, as a Christian trying to follow Jesus' example in the bible, to love people. Regardless of whether they're "wrong" or not. God will deal with the judgment part. He said so. He did not say "please go and alienate people by treating them like crap in my name."

I kind of feel like I need to clarify some of my reasoning for the things I say. So you know, I don't rant to be cool or politically correct or whatever. Hearing people being so mean about the whole immigration thing right now? Hard to take. Why do I care? Because the angry talk about immigration just breeds more anger. And that anger has some people treating Spanish speaking people like crap, regardless of their legality. And? Because my brother-in-law is originally from El Salvador. He's "legal", he has a job, a social security number, pays taxes and owns property. He speaks English but has an accent. Some people don't seem to realize that not every Spanish speaking person is Mexican. There is no way to tell if someone is illegal by listening to them talk or by how they look. I don't think the borders should just be open to everyone. I never said I did and that's just a dumb idea. And I understand that illegal immigration has stretched a lot of the U.S.'s resources too thin and controlling immigration is an important thing. But I'm not talking about the laws and the structure of the country and such, because they are laws and things we can't immediately change. We aren't the police or INS and we don't personally deal with the law on a day to day basis. But we do come face to face with some of these people every day and it's our choice to either love them in Christ or treat them badly because there's a chance they may be illegal (because they speak Spanish!) and therefore done something wrong. I don't think we should treat anyone badly because they've done something wrong. Because I've done something wrong. Lots of times. And where in the bible does it say, "treat thine brother like crap because they have sinneth against me?"

I don't want anyone to think I'm a raving loon. I wasn't really that into politics or issues or anything before. I'm really still not "into" politics. But I'm more aware that the world I thought was pretty ok? Really isn't. My sister, whose husband is black? Has had someone tell her that her daughter is "too dark" to be hers and harassed her to the point of tears. And her daughter is only six months old. How much more crap will she have to hear? Why is it considered liberal to stand up for someone's feelings?

One of my closest friends died of AIDS two years after I moved here. I knew him for ten years, he went with me and helped me buy my first car, met and decided Rusty was good enough for me, and was a really, really great guy. But he never told me he was gay or when he got sick because he knew I'm a Christian and was afraid I "wouldn't love him anymore" (hearing someone tell me he said that nearly broke my heart because this guy was like my brother.) I found all of this out two years after he died. He apparently went to very great lengths to hide it from me since I met him when I was in high school, I worked with him, I hung out with him all the time. Do you have any idea how convicting that is, to know someone hide something like that - something so painful and life altering - because they were afraid you wouldn't love them anymore? It made me reevaluate my faith and why I bother having it if it's going to make "less-than-perfect" people worry that I'll love them less. Being a Christian should make people realize you'll love them MORE. So, even though I have personal convictions on being gay? Who am I to withhold the love of God from someone based on what I believe?

But if we are the Body
Why aren't His arms reaching
Why aren't His hands healing
Why aren't His words teaching
And if we are the Body
Why aren't His feet going
Why is His love not showing them there is a way
Jesus paid much too high a price
For us to pick and choose who should come ...

I'm not doing my own interpretation of the bible. I'm trying to live what I've been taught and what every Christian song and book and slogan claims to promote. This isn't supposed to be a lecture or rant. It's more just "clearing the air" so you understand that the things I say are for a personal reason and not just to stay on the "cool", PC side. Why does it matter? Because I'm tired of Christians getting a bad rap. Actually, I'm tired of God getting a bad rap. Not like my opinion is so earth shattering, but it's one more thing out there counter-acting all the crappy stuff.

Friday Update.

Ok, so it's come to my attention (thanks, Jodi) that I have been neglecting this blog. In my defense, I have been writing on another faith and art related blog (http://faithandart.blogspot.com), putting up the crown molding in the kitchen (up but needs another coat of paint), painting shutters (would be done if it would stop raining, thanks), re-painting the kitchen (ok, so that's actually happening as soon as I finish with this), cutting down all of the shrubs in the front of the house (oh yes I did) and working on some web graphics, an article, and digital scrapping items for RockyMountainHobbies.com . Oh, yeah. And baseball started. Hard.
Liam has been waiting to play baseball since... well, ok, for pretty much from the time he first threw a ball and realized it was a game. He adores baseball. He plays Backyard Baseball on the computer, plays imaginary baseball at the grocery store or waiting for me to pick him up at school or in the bathroom when he's supposed to brushing his teeth (though the teeth brushing is just as often interupted by Kung Foo. But that's a different post.)

When I say baseball started "hard"? I mean that once it started it has been an almost full-time thing for us. He has practice twice a week and two games a week - one on either Tuesday or Wednesday evenings and one on Saturday mornings. Anyway, Rusty is one of the coach's helpers so we're pretty much living our lives according to baseball right now. It's not hard core competitive or anything. It's coach-pitch and the only reason they have so many games is because they have so many teams. Apparently baseball is one of the most popular boys' sports around (this is the first year the teams aren't co-ed. The girls now play softball.)

So, am I surprised by Liam's baseball obsession? No. Seriously, have you ever met my brother? Did you ever meet my Grandpa Joe (you'd totally remember if you did; every other word was "Dammit, Grandma!" or "Horseshit" or "insert-your-own-spicy-sentence-enhancer here.") My family has always been enamored of baseball. Grandpa played semi-pro and his brother played major league in the AA division so they knew the game inside and out. Their sister, my Great-Aunt Dixie, was a "Rosie Red" and a long-time season ticket holder which is why my family ended up going to so many Cincinnati Reds games when I was growing up.

Growing up. Specifically, growing up in Cincinnati in the late 70's. I was born in 1972 and I knew all the names of the Reds starting line-up when I was four years old (Yes. I'm serious. I also had a pair of Cincinnati Reds Keds sneakers when I was four and apparently never wanted to take them off. Because, dude. They made me run so fast.) Anyway, it wasn't because anyone drilled the starting line-up into my head. I don't really remembering trying to know their names. It was because the Reds dominated the National League in the 70's and every kid in Cincinnati knew the Big Red Machine. If it was between April and September? Marty and Joe were just about the only thing on the radio at my Grandparents house (Grandpa used to watch the game on TV with the sound down and listen to Marty and Joe call the game on 700 WLW.) Hearing "Johny Bench, Tony Perez, Davey Concepcion, Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, George Foster, Ken Griffey, Cesar Geronimo..." over and over must have sunk in sub-consciously .

So Liam? Never had a chance. His Uncle Jason is a die-hard Reds fan (every year he so genuinely believes "this could be the Reds year") Ok, totally off the subject... sort of, I mean it's baseball but it's random. In 1988, Cincinnati hosted the All-Star game. It was really hard to get tickets so we were out of luck. My brother was thirteen. We went down to the plaza level outside the stadium to hear my cousin's school band play for one of the events an hour or so before the game started and my brother was just dying to get in and see the game. He started praying. Out of the blue, a total stranger walked up to my brother and said he had two extra tickets and did he want them? True story, I was there. I can't remember if Jason had to pay for them or if they were free. Crazy.
Anyway, baseball has been welcomed into our home this spring as Liam plays his first season of real, no "T" involved, baseball. It's nowhere near "serious" but just competitive enough that it holds the kids' attention (well... most of them.) It's fun to watch a group of seven year old boys pretend they're big leaguers. And Liam is totally loving it.

Still disgusted.

Ok. I know already that some of you will not believe me. You will think I'm making this up. But I saw it with my own eyes (unfortunately.) It's five days later and I still cannot stop being grossed out.

Scene: Family room. Monday night. CSI:Miami on DVR (which was amazingly cheesy this week with all the heavy dramatic music that cued the uncomfortable emotional conversations that stopped suddenly and turned back into "do you have that bullet fragment for me?"... the hell?)

Me: Rusty, there's something on the floor. Kill it please.

Rusty: Ok... EW! It's nasty looking!

Me: Kill it. Please.

Rusty: It's all big and looks like it could jump up my leg and get me.

Me: Kill. It.

Rusty: Ugh, that's gross.

Me: For the love of Horatio will you just kill it already? (ok, I just thought up that last part. But it sounded like it fit the scene so it's staying.)

Rusty steps on the spider and lifts his shoe to see? A big squished spider. And 5 or 6 tiny spiders running around. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit typing that last line. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't believe it. But just by appearances? The big spider was pregnant and Rusty "induced labor" by killing it. Oh holy hell. Now I'm full blown nauseous thinking about it.

P.S. He got rid of the little spiders to. And no, we're not "spider-mover-outsiders." We are "yell-for-Rusty-and-Rusty-smushes" kind of people.

Edited to add: The big one may not have been pregnant. Apparently some spiders carry babies on their rear ends. Good times. Either way, I'm sick.

Blankets for Perry.

So, do you have kids? A baby, or expecting one? Ever go on picnics or to the beach or to baseball/softball/soccer/t-ball practice and need a nice dry place to sit? Do road trips with the kids? Well, why don't you hike it on over to the Blankets for Perry blog and order yourself, or someone you love, one of their super adorble, amazingly simple yet marvelously practical blankets hand sewn by Perry's Grandma ("Geegaw".)

Blankets for Perry was set up by my friend, Jodi, for her son Perry. This is Perry (to the left, with Jodi.) Perry is in the second grade this year and is dealing with some language based learning disabilities as well as ADD. He's been on medication for about a year now and it's not helping his issues overall. He has been evaluated at Children's Hospital in Cincinnati and was referred to The Springer School in Cincinnati.

In Jodi's own words:

"So being the keen investigator I am, I investigated, only to find the perfect learning enviroment for my child in my very own city. A special school for kids with learning disabilities. Problem was the cost......completely comparable to that of a college tuition. So I applied for financial aid at the school, and was awarded a good amount but not enough to get the tuition to fit into my budget. So as God would have it I began finding other means, considering my husband was completely stressed about the cost. Oh yee of little faith! If it's God plan it'll happen, that's just who I am, and so it is. Blanket selling seems to be quite successful, and will get me where I need to be, I am completely confident in that. Thanks to my multitalented sewing maniac mother. If you recieve a blanket and the stitches are slightly off, that's because we have lots of orders and I had to chip in." That pretty much sums it up.

Blanket stats (copied directly from Jodi's site):

54" x 44"

Great for babies, kids and adults

Awesome for summer camp, nursing homes, sporting events and traveling.

One side is flannel other side is cotton

sewn with great love by Geegaw

The site is called "Blankets for Perry" and you can get there by clicking here, on the any of the links in this post or by typing in and going to:

http://www.blanketsforperry.blogspot.com/

Jodi is willing to take requests if the fabric is available and is also selling premade blankets on Ebay under the username: Yoda0419

Please consider passing this along to anyone you know who would be interested. And order yourself or someone you love a Blanket for Perry.

Liam on film.

Things to notice in this picture:

1. He is not blindingly white. El muchacho blanco has finally obtained some color.

2. I'm pretty sure I gave my mom that same exact look for at least eight or nine years of my life. Starting when I was ten years old or so. Possibly earlier. Probably earlier.

3. My "Valentine's/Mother's Day/Anniversary Gift" takes blindingly beautiful photos, does it not?

4. Liam is growing up fast.

Sunday confession.

Once again, it's time for me to confess something I would otherwise keep to myself (fear not, there are no badly made 80's movies involved in this one.)

Ok, my confession is? I like some of those cheesy songs I claim to not like. You know, the ones that sound like they were written for the soul purpose of making you get sniffy? For instance? That Lee Ann Womack song, I Hope You Dance. I don't really like much about the actual song. I'm not big on Lee Ann Womack's voice and singing style. Sorry, just the way it is. Nothing personal. And this song has been over-used, over-played and just generally overdone. There are bookmarks, t-shirts and inspirational books. The lyrics to this song are put on at least 1/3 of the little girl themed scrapbook pages I've seen in my life (and believe me, I've seen a lot of scrapbook pages.)

You might be thinking, "So what? What does it matter if it's been overdone?" Well... you'd be right, actually. Even though every cell in the creative side of my brain revolts against the idea of using something so hideously overdone to create something? I can't help it. The song be damned. It's the words that I keep coming back to.

If you, like me, are just sick to death of the song itself? You'll have a hard time reading the word "Dance" without hearing it sung to you, in your mind, like this: "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaance." This is just the way it is. If you have any interest in investigating the lyrics, you'll have to make a conscious effort to ignore the music. Just focus on the words. There are quite a few things expressed in this song that I honestly do feel for my own kids. I do hope they always feel very small when they stand on the beach in Ocean City, just down from the amusement part where we always seem to set up the umbrella and lay out the towels. I want them to feel small when they look out at the Atlantic Ocean and realize that's it. That water goes on and on and on. There are living things there, people farther out that we can't see traveling to other places on large ships on that same water. That ocean front spans from Maine to Florida. The beaches may be different - rocky, sandy, private, public, whatever. But it's still the same gigantic ocean. I want them to understand that they are not the biggest most powerful things in the world and be awed by it. I want them to know there are things on this earth that they cannot control. Should not control.

Even the line, "I hope you dance", with all it's overdone-ness, is legitimate to me. My kids? They dance. When something comes on that moves them? They shake booty. Seriously. Liam seems to be moved by old school rap at the moment. Run DMC makes him shake it. Beastie Boys? Ha ha ha ha. Seriously, good stuff. Now That We Found Love by Heavy D? Gets his whole body going. Sean, on the other hand, has three favorite specific songs that he asks for over and over... and over... again. Catchafire by Tobymac, Blitzkrieg Bop by the Ramones and I'm Different by Butterfly Boucher. Something about these songs ignites something in the boys that allows them to let loose and let their bodies do what their words cannot. They dance like they are insane. And it is wonderful to see. Think about it. How many people have you heard utter the words, "I can't dance"? There are people who will not dance, at all, for fear of looking stupid. And you know those people were once kids and probably dance their little tushies off when something moved them to it. But somewhere along the way they adopted the idea that they weren't good enough or it wasn't diginified or it was just plain wrong. Whether it was something someone said to them, something that was somehow implied, or even something they were taught by someone in authority (whether that authority be real or merely imagined.) These people would rather sit down and be still than get up and move to something that moves them. Or maybe they wouldn't "rather", maybe they're too embarrassed. That makes me a little sad. They're embarrassed that something they feel would make them look stupid. I never want my kids to lose that face they make when they love the music they're listening to. The way they crack themselves and enjoy however their little bodies respond to the music.

I'm going to pause here to mention someone who has not lost their will to dance and be silly: my husband. The man will cut a rug to the BeeGee's like nobody's business. He does more disco moves than I ever thought possible (Scary side note? He learned a good deal of those disco moves at YoungLife camps, weekends and club programs. Thanks, YL!) Maybe it's because my husband is not old enough to have experienced the horrors of disco firsthand? I don't know. But he thinks it's fun and funny and does it. You go, Rusty, with your The Sprinkler, Dealing the Cards and funny arm wiggly wave move.

Anyway, ok. This song. I like it. Or at least, I like the lyrics. And I'm guessing I like the lyrics for the same reason this song was overdone to the extreme. Something about the words struck a cord in a lot of people. Things you may have forgotten feeling are remembered - whether it's your own experiences or someone else's that you relate the words to. Your children, your childhood friends, your siblings or even yourself. And so, whether I like the singer or the style? I still have to concede that it's a good song for me to think about. Because in its own way it makes you think and feel something that takes you to someplace you can't return to. And it makes me realize that as a mature (ha), responsible (ha HA) adult I have to consciously remember to make some of these choices or I will fall in the "mature, responsible" adult trap of not really seeing the Atlantic in front of me when I'm hauling a tote bag and towels onto the beach or not wanting to dance for fear of looking like an idiot. If you don't agree with me, that's cool. No problem.

I'm sure there are a few other songs out there that share the same qualities and my same dislike. I'll have to examine more closely why it is that I don't like them. Though I can tell you now, no amount of reconsideration is going to make me like, or even tolerate, that "Shoes for my Dying Mom Christmas Nonsense" song. Because, come on.

P.S. We won't discuss my opinion of "Butterfly Kisses". I don't have daughters so maybe I'm missing something because I think that song sucks. Hard.

He's a big kid now.

It's official. Liam is old. He's joined the ranks of the "big kids" and learned to ride a bike. We bought his new bike two weeks ago on a very rainy Friday. He insisted on learning to ride as soon as he got home from school. The lessons started with me but Rusty took over when he got home from work so I could take pictures. Which is good. Because? My arms were about to fall off from holding on to the bike seat holding Liam up. I swear, for me, trying to teach someone to ride a bike was harder than potty training. Seriously, trying to explain and put in words the actual movements you need to execute to maintain your balance and ride a bike? It's lunacy. You sound like a nut.

Anyway, by the next day Liam had learned not only to ride but to also get himself on and off the bike on his own, get himself going and turning without totally wiping out. Mostly. He was soaking wet and loved every minute of it.

This? Is a totally fun part of having kids.

Our lives without an immigrant? Would really suck.

In the languages of those who mean so much to my family and I. For my my Great, Great-Grandparents on both sides, my Uncles Carmine and Emilio and their families, and my brother-in-law Joel and his family.

Reizende Dame Liberty
With ihr Buch von Rezepten
und von feinsten, die sie hat,
ist der große amerikanische schmelzende Topf
der große Anerican schmelzende Topf.
Welche gute Bestandteile, Freiheit und Immigranten.
(German)

La signora bella la Liberty
With il suo libro delle ricette
e di quella che più fine abbia
è il POT di fusione americano grande
il POT di fusione grande di Anerican.
CHE BUONI INGREDIENTI, LIBERTÀ ED IMMIGRANTI.
(Italian)

Señora encantadora Liberty
With su libro de recetas
y la más fina que ella tiene
es el gran pote que derrite americano
el gran pote que derrite de Anerican.
Qué buenos ingredientes, libertad e inmigrantes.
(Spanish)

Lovely Lady Liberty
With her book of recipes
And the finest one she's got
Is the great American melting pot
The great American melting pot.
WHAT GOOD INGREDIENTS,
LIBERTY AND IMMIGRANTS.

Schoolhouse Rock. So simple, yet so profound, no?

**EDITED: (como meu amigo maravilhoso Linda que faz a minha vida muito mais divertimento desde que nós nos encontramos com!)

A senhora encantadora Liberdade
Com seu livro das receitas
e da que a mais fina tem
é o potenciômetro de derretimento americano grande
o potenciômetro de derretimento americano grande.
QUE INGREDIENTES, LIBERDADE E IMMIGRANTS BONS.

(I tried for the Chinese but just got a bunch of little squares and question marks as the result.)

Perfect timing.

Thank you, Betsy. This made me laugh out loud (of course, Liam now wants me to have four babies so they can sit around and laugh.)

On a happier note.

This is Sean. And this is what Sean drew on the driveway the other day. In case you can't quite make it out, it says "Sean loves Mommy" (a super cute little heart = "loves.")

Sean did this on his own. He wrote it on his own, spelled it all on his own, and thought of it on his own.

In case you didn't catch my last post, Sean is driving me crazy with his four-year-oldness. But he also makes me smile. A lot.
 

Poop.

Yes. That is my basic feeling right now. Actually, it's an edited version of my basic feeling. A memory I have of my Grandpa Joe's voice yelling "Horseshit!" (usually came out sounding like one word.) I'm going to warn you right now, this is not a perky post. It is a slightly depressed, irritated, tired and unsure post.

We have been back from Cincinnati now for almost two weeks. Good visit, more on that when I'm a little more upbeat and I can do it the justice it deserves. With pictures, even.

So this is my list of irritations: Sean is acting very "four years old" lately and it's driving me out of my mind. Rusty has interviewed with three different companies now and we're waiting to hear if and when we'll be moving. I? Am fat. Or I feel fat, anyway. I miss running. Which is very lame on my part. Because? We have a ginormous treadmill in our family room. Smack in front of the TV. But is my lumpy butt on it? Oh, noooooo. Of course not. Of course, if I sit here long enough I can think of every single thing that's bugging me -- the chainsaw won't work long enough to cut down the bottom half of the bush out front, the kitchen still isn't finished and I have drywall dust in my hair, I want a damn basement already... blah blah blah blah blah...

Then I go and read this and remember that I am so blessed beyond belief compared to most people on earth. Just being born in the U.S. is a major thing. Liam can walk into school not having to worry that guerilla fighters will kidnap him to fight as a child soldier. My home, the one I so endlessly complain about - complain about renovations, no less - is save from soldiers, insurgents, militia, armed gunmen and kidnappers. My biggest worry at night is whether the boys will stay asleep so I can get some sleep, not whether I'll wake up to find them missing having been kidnapped. Or wake up to find them returning from their night in a shelter as the only way of keeping them from being kidnapped.

I know, this post is getting so very depressing. And you know the worst part of it? I don't have to make that terrible stuff up! It's happening, every day, to millions of people. We're caught up in the war in Iraq (and I'm not condoning or condemning that) that there is even more tragedy taking place and it's getting missed by many of us. Africa -- Aids, genocide, rape, kidnapping. Men, women and children are being wiped out. It sounds so cliche, and old news. Because, really, isn't there always some country in trouble or some people dying or children starving? We're so used to it that we don't even hear it or see it anymore. And sometimes it's not even reported on as much any more.

I stumbled onto a site called savedarfur.org and found a place to send a postcard to President Bush asking him to make good on his promise to not let the genocide continue (which I applaud the president for caring and hope he acts on it.) I clicked on a photo one another site and was shocked to see photos from a relief organization that showed people -- including a young child -- that were murdered in their homes. I've never seen a photo of a murdered child. I'm still crying, actually (if you don't believe me, click here and see if you can stand to not do something . Be warned, these are tough to see.)

So. What to do. At first, I was going to send out a mass email to everyone I knew. Then I remembered what I do with 90% of the emails I get where the subject line leads me to believe it's a "Forward." I'm not sure I even understand the scope of this enough to make someone else understand, and I'm so thankful for the fact that my life has been blessed enough to not be able to wrap my brain around it really. It might sound over-dramatic, but the reality is that the genocide in Darfur is up there with the Holocaust. And how many of us that didn't live at the time have ever wondered, "How did people not know? How could they not do something?!" We've seen clips of Hotel Rwanda and felt our brief moments of horror and sympathy. Then we often go back to complaining about our kitchens. Or our jobs. Or whatever.

**I'm not in any way saying that we have to right to our feelings about things. I, myself, am borderline depressed by the overwhelming feelings of "what next?" and "what if" and how the hell am I supposed to be a responsible adult and prepare for the future when I don't know what the crap the future is going to be?!**

Anyway, here are some links. Please check them out. Take a few seconds to fill out the electronic postcard (it's not some long form and it only takes a few seconds, seriously.) Read up on this. It's going on. And as fellow humans, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children... those people deserve the same respect, safety and right to life as we and our families and friends do. This isn't a "Democratic" or "Liberal" or "Religious" thing. It's actually the first time in a while I've heard of something that support from so many differing points of view (the One Campaign is another -- sort of related, see the link over to the right there.) Please just do this.

Click this link for a history of what's going on and why

SaveDarfur.org

SaveDarfur is also calling on churches and Faith Communities to pray for the region: Click here for info

Darfur: A Genocide We Can Stop (this page has a graphic photo on it, be prepared)

Seriously, I know this is depressing stuff. It'll be hard to take, but "not knowing" or ignoring it won't make it go away. But if enough of us face it, hopefully it will go away.

Yoda Rules.

I'm sure you will enjoy this, Jodi (if you haven't already seen it, of course)

Road Trip.

Oh yeah. Eight (or nine... or more) hours in the van with Rusty and boys. We're going to Cincinnati tomorrow. Liam is off school for a long weekend for some sort of teacher's planning day thing. The weather is supposed to be great this weekend and the drive isn't actually that bad when it's pretty outside. We drive through the mountains in western Maryland and West Virginia (you GO, West Virginia, with your 70 MPH speed limit!)

In less than 24 hours we will be sighing with relief as we finally hit I-71, watching the boys in the rearview mirror as they try to get a glimpse of Kings Island on the way by, most likely having dinner with my mom, my sister and my brother-in-law like we do every time we're able to come in to town on a Thursday, and playing phone tag with family to coordinate time together while we're in town.

Saturday morning, I will be eating breakfast with my best friend, Amy, whom I've known for 18 years now. I will be mocking my brother, my husband, and other friends (most of whom my brother and I have known since high school) while they get ready for their yearly fantasy baseball draft (the reason we're going to Cincinnati this weekend. Yes, I'm totally serious.) But though I mock? I love the fact that my husband and my brother are so close that Rusty has been allowed to become a part of something like that. It seems small, but it's one of those things that's just continued and there's some sort of comfort in the familiarity of it. I adore my brother and his blind love of all things baseball, no matter which player happens to be accused of what. And I love that every year "could be the Red's year."

I'm so excited that this weekend I will get to snuggle my baby nieces, listen to my nephew shriek with laughter as Liam and Sean chase him around yelling, "Jakey! Jakey!" I will get to ask my mom for her help with an art project and listen to my dad and Rusty talk sports while chilling in front of the TV in the family room.

I'm really excited to be going home.

Happiness is...

...seeing your seven year-old bust a move when he doesn't know you're watching.

Immigration, anyone?

Ok. So living in the Washington D.C. area you get a little tired of the politics. I'll admit that a good portion of the stupidity goes right over my head. But this immigration thing is killing me. I heard the very stupidest conversation ever this morning and I wanted to just stop this person and ask if they had any clue what the crap they were talking about. Let's get this out in the open now, everyone. I am not for this immigration thing becoming a bill and then a law. That may irritate those of you in the "Learn English or go home" camp, but why don't you clam up and let me explain my problem with this.

My problem? The whole "let's make it a felony to immigrate illegally, to hire illegal workers and to aide illegal immigrants." Why does that bother me? Am I all for opening the borders an letting in every unchecked person - including terrorists and maniacs - into the the U.S.? No. Don't be stupid. There are all kinds of ideas up for how to legalize the people already here and holding jobs, providing valuable services and actually being useful. Again, my problem is with this attitude:

Tancredo said enforcing existing laws would discourage illegal immigration because employers would be unable to hire undocumented workers.

"If you actually began to enforce that, then you would see that millions of people will return home to their countries of origin voluntarily because, frankly, there's nothing else to do," he said. - Rep. Tom Tancredo, a Colorado Republican on CNN.com

That? Is just a dumb statement. Like anyonewho has risked their life and spent great deals of money to get here is going to just pull up stakes and decide to head home. But even that isn't the basic problem I have with what's at stake. My problem, again, is with making it illegal to not only come into the country illegally but to hire illegal workers and to aide illegal immigrants. So why is this bugging me so much? "Aide" includes pastors, churches and even medical personnel. Doctors. Teachers. Programs like Mercyworks and Su Casa in Cincinnati. Do they screen those they currently minister to? I don't know. Maybe they do and this is irrelevant. But if they don't? I don't want them to have to. I read a quote by someone at a protest that said God is not an "American God." I know that irritated some people. But for some of the people this law would affect, that statement means everything to them and their ministry. Does a service like Mercyworks turn away an immigrant family in need? Does a Hispanic church screen people walking in the door before they start the service? Does a doctor refuse to treat a patient -- a critical injury, cancer, some easily curable sickness that can lead to death if not treated -- just because that patient isn't legal? Yes, those are tough situations and hard to say one way or the other. And for many of us comfortable American citizens it's easier to just not think about it because it's not "us." But for anyone with any kind of faith or belief in God, it comes down to this: I don't believe God would be happy with people not being cared for or ministered to because they aren't "legal." God says "whatever you do unto the least of these"... I don't think "check their credentials first" was part of that. I'm just sayin'.

If you don't believe my problem is a widespread one? Read on:

Dozens of members of the clergy planned to wear handcuffs to protest what they said is the House bill's criminalization of their aid programs for poor immigrants.

Go, Clergy.

To end this post, I ask a favor. If you don't know any immigrants, particularly those from Central and South America? Go find one. Talk to them. Make eye contact and smile when they're bussing your table or holding the "Stop/Slow" sign at the road construction site down the street. If you get a chance, ask them about their homeland and what they had to go through to get here. There's a good chance you'll be astounded that anyone would be so desperate that they would give up everything familiar to them to risk everything they have, including their life, to get here. We tend to forget how blessed we are and sometimes it takes a face-to-face reminder. We don't have to decide if we will flee to the U.S. to request political asylum or to make enough money to send back to our family at home so they can survive.

Ok. That's my rant for the day. I'm not saying just let anyone in and who gives a crap. I am saying I don't want anyone telling us that reaching out to someone in need is a crime if they're the "wrong" someone. I haven't been going around ranting about this all week. This is strictly after having been stirred up by the stupid person this morning.

Quote of the week

I've been re-doing the boys' bathroom. Again. Has something to do with the old medicine cabinet and hanging light bulbs and not being able to close the cabinet doors. Anyway... I had to take down the medicine cabinet. The lights were attached to the top of the medicine cabinet. Because? It was ugly like that. So, I got the new light fixture put up (that's another story altogether. Because? The person who built this house was apparently a meth addict.) But I didn't get the mirror put up yet. I asked the boys if they'd be ok brushing their teeth without the mirror for one night. Liam looks at me like I'm stupid and goes, "Yeah. I know where my teeth are." Scary that Sean said he couldn't brush without the mirror.

Shame. It can be a good thing.

Ok. I'm going to ask a question that may make you uncomfortable. It may make you want to hide your face and wish you'd never come here. But this is for your own good. So buck up and answer me when I ask, "How many of you have intentionally watched Red Dawn?" (and by "intentionally", I mean "without a gun held to your head" or "not under the influence of alcohol or powerful sedatives.")

I'm asking because... ok, I can do this... My name is Stacie. And I watched Red Dawn. Or at least part of it with Rusty the other night. Only part of it, dammit. Don't you judge me! Between the Swayze-ness, the Sheen factor and the C.Thomas Howell of it all? My brain revolted and threatened to physically leave my body if I did not refrain from watching immediately. It's just bad, bad 1980's movie making. Baaaad. Really bad. It took nearly two days to stop mentally yelling "Wolverines!", and that? Is just wrong, people.

I'll be honest and say that I didn't see this movie when it came out (I was like 10. My parents probably didn't see any redemptive value to having their elementary school aged child watch a badly made movie about the Cubans and Russians invading mid-America. Good job, Mom and Dad. Seriously.) Maybe this movie, like Aqua Net and George Michael, didn't seem so terrible when placed against the backdrop of mid-1980's American culture. But Aqua Net turned out to be bad for the ozone layer. And so did George Michael, for that matter. So "It was the 80's" is no excuse. That movie should not be in rotation on the modern day cable networks. It should be allowed to slip silently into the same drawer with our pegged jeans and doubled up florescent socks and left to die.

Please, I beg of you. Stop the Swayze-ness.

That's funny.

Want to see something funny? Click here. They seem to think I'm a totally mature and capable adult (shut up. Do not tell them what you know. I will pay you.) Besides, it's only a matter of time before they find out for themselves...

Podcast Bandwagon (jumping on way late)

Ok. So Jodi is the Podcast queen. I? Am so not. I have listened to a few random downloads but hadn't actually subscribed to anything. Until today. I downloaded Mosaic based on Jodi's rave reviews and hope to listen to it sometime this weekend. Then I decided to check and see if the Vineyard has a podcast because I would subscribe to Dave Workman and friends in a heartbeat (no such luck. Get on the ball, Vineyard!) So then I wandered aimlessly around Google checking for buzz on anything else I may want to subscribe to. I found a site called Bored-Again Christian. Then I realized it was a Christian music site, but not necessarily your average Christian music -- no Amy Grant or Michael W. Smith going on here. Thank goodness! (Sorry, Jodi. But I'm not a fan.) Anyway, I downloaded the first podcast to give it a trial listen and was very pleasantly surprised. The music is really good. So I'm officially subscribed to a podcast I found on my own. I feel like such a big girl now. Give me a cookie.

Twinsies.

If you know our four year old Sean, is this not a glimpse into the future?! George Duran (Ham on the Street/Food Network) looks just like what I can imagine Sean looking like in twenty years.

He gets it.

Have you ever heard of Backyard Hockey? It's a computer game for kids. The game's characters are kids in a neighborhood hockey game and includes some NHL players as kids. If you haven't heard of Backyard Hockey then perhaps you've heard of Backyard Baseball, Backyard Football, Backyard Basketball and/or Backyard Soccer. Or in the near future you may see the soon-to-be-released Backyard Skateboarding (Liam is waiting anxiously to see if they ever get around to Backyard Luge or Backyard Speed-Skating. Poor kid.)

Anyway, Liam loves these games. You can click on any player's picture and they'll pop up and tell you a little bit about themselves. And since the players are all kids, their comments are child-like and sometimes totally not related to the sport at hand. There is a catchy theme song for the game and even play-by-play. So yesterday, when Liam called me to the computer room to "see something", I figured he'd found yet another player whose one-liner made him laugh and he wanted me to hear it. I walked in to find him looking at the player stats for "Ricky". Ricky says something but Liam doesn't do his usual "Listen to what he says, Mom!" Instead, he says, "Listen to this song, Mom" and I realize he's listening to the music playing in the background. It's actually a nice song played on the piano and totally different than the manic theme-song of the game. But I'm not sure what reaction I'm supposed to give so I say, "I really like that." Because? I really did. Liam turns to me with a smile and says, "Doesn't that song make you think of God?"

Now, for you reading this? This may not be a big deal. But for me, as the mother who's had to answer hundreds of questions about God only to be told by her then-six year old that he doesn't think there really is a God? Liam's observation was amazing. And it was thrilling because he totally illustrated what I was talking about in my last post. Liam felt God in a beautiful little background song buried in the chaos of a children's computer game. That? Makes me all sniffly.

Art.

Why is it that I, who have spent my life writing, struggling to be a better artist, and struggling also to be a better Christian, should feel rebellious when I am called 'a Christian Artist'? Why should I feel reluctant to think or write about Christian creativity? - Madeleine L'Engle 

Have you ever read a book that made you feel like the author knew something about you? Something that was so much an answer to questions or doubts you'd had that it made you want to cry with relief to find out someone understands? For me, this is that book:

It may sound over-dramatic, but some of the things Madeleine L'Engle talks about in this book are things I've wrestled with since starting my hardcore art classes back in college. In those classes? I felt like a part of me woke up. My choice to major in studio art went from feeling like a default to having a purpose. I know it may sound over the top, but it became my passion (we don't really talk in terms of "passion" anymore. It sounds so dramatic but it's really the perfect phrase to describe my feeling about it.)

I remember during one of my summer sessions my senior year, the studio we worked in was a bit small too small for the ten of us taking the class. The T.A. gave me permission to move upstairs to an unused studio. For the entire four week term I spent four to six hours a day in that studio. I still remember the 2-story high ceilings letting in the summer sun, the smell of the paint and the sound of my CD player echoing off of the concrete walls. I was in heaven.

I created small pieces, large scale pieces, painted, hammered, gessoed (not sure that's a word but since I went through a gallon bucket of gesso that summer, it's appropriate) and felt like I was finally on the right path to grow into the artist God had created me to be. I believe some aspect of that showed through because the T.A. went from casually observing to becoming more and more interested in what I was doing. She would hang out in the studio after class, offer opinions and help me think more about why I was doing whatever step it was that I was doing at the time. It really was one of the best times of my life because I felt affirmed in my desire to be an artist, felt that the need to create was legitimate regardless of whether it was "practical" or "useful". But? I didn't really see the spiritual side of my desire to create. Actually, I almost felt the opposite.

My feelings during the time I spent in the studio were so strong, to the point of being overwhelming, that I wondered if it was ok as far as my Christianity was concerned. Let's be honest, the arts haven't always been compatible with Christianity. Sometimes it's because bad art gives all artists a bad name. Sometimes it's because art is inspired and therefore powerful and sometimes powerful can translate as dangerous. I think sometimes as Christians we are afraid to feel anything powerfully unless we feel it in church (or on a retreat, or small group or whatever.) And for a Christian to feel something so strong about something that is not blatently Christian? Can seem like we're somehow betraying God or our beliefs.

"And as I listen to the silence, I learn that my feelings about art and my feelings about the Creator of the Universe are inseparable. To try to talk about art and about Christianity is for me one and the same thing, and it means attempting to share the meaning of my life, what gives it, for me, its tragedy and its glory."

For L'Engle, finding "cosmos in chaos" is basically what determines "Christian" art from "Non-Christian" art. If you can look at a piece of artwork, read a book, sing a song that, while not necessarily being blatantly Christian, makes you see some sort of divine meaning – cosmos, creation, life – in the chaos of a fallen world? Then it is good art. And it is Christian art. Because life, cosmos, creation? Are God. Obviously the painting or song or book isn't God incarnate. But they reflect the characteristics of God. If you view artwork, sing songs, read books with this idea in mind, it's very freeing. Who are we to say that God is limited to working through the people we deem to be "Christian"? God works through everything. **Note: am I saying that all non-Christians who do "good art" are going to heaven? No. I'm not talking about the people. And I don't know so I'm not getting into it. It's not the point.

Back when I was nine or ten, I read "A Wrinkle in Time" and was enthralled. When Meg, Charles Wallace and Calvin travel to other galaxies and encounter stars singing praises to God? Not hymns or churchy songs but wild, unadulterated praise to their Creator? It was a picture of Christianity I hadn't seen before. The core of those stories is that the universe is God's creation and all things in it worship Him just by being. It was amazingly powerful and yet not preachy. I read all four of the books in that series and still re-read them as an adult. So when I stumbled upon "Walking on Water" and heard that it was an "artistic book" (and that wasn't said in a very nice way, I have to add) I bought it the first chance I had.

Madeleine L'Engle is a gifted writer. But my love for this book really has nothing to do with her other than she is the one person who heard God's call and put this down in writing. What she's saying isn't new. But I think a lot of it has been forgotten over time. Whether it's technology, our culture, who knows. I don't know that I care at the moment. But to find some of my own doubts and confusion addressed so eloquently – and always with the main focus being God and our role as artists, writers, whatever in respect to Him as our Creator – has been life changing for me (cheesy and cliche, I know. But true. ) I've actually felt like my identity as an artist isn't something I have to apologize for anymore. Thank God.

If you're an artist who also is a Christian? Buy this book. If you're an artist and you're not a Christian? Buy it anyway and you'll find out that you might be making art that glorifies God whether you like it or not - Ha!

Morons.

The group is led by Fred Phelps. He and his family have picketed and heckled military families at more than 100 funerals since June. They say the soldiers are fighting for an army that represents a country that accepts homosexuality... He describes himself as an "old-time" gospel preacher who says, "You can't preach the Bible without preaching the hatred of God." - CNN.com (click the quote to read the entire article on CNN.com)

Did you catch that? He's not picketing the funerals of gay soldiers. He's messing with the funerals of any soldier he can. He pickets and heckles people at the funerals because the deceased served the United States military and the U.S. is a country that accepts homosexuality. This group shows up at funerals where there are grieving widows, parents and friends who are torn apart or even children who have lost their parent and whose lives will never be the same again.

I'm angry. I can't believe I just read that someone said "you can't preach the Bible without preaching the hatred of God"?! I'm sorry (Mom, cover your ears... or I guess, close your eyes for a minute and don't read the next line) but what the hell?! The "hatred of God"? That phrase makes me almost physically sick, it's so appalling. It's blasphemous! Jesus didn't go around screaming hatred at people already broken up by sadness of losing family. Dude. I'm pretty sure he didn't whack Mary and Martha with a picket sign after Lazarus died.

Maybe this guy is trying to say that God "hates" sin? Possible. But even so, the picketing is stupid and this pastor may be giving some people the only picture of Christianity they may ever see before they decide they want nothing to do with it. He has family of his own that he's teaching that hatred is ok as long as you do it in the name of God. He needs to shut up.

To anyone reading this that is not a Believer? This is not us. This is not what God is about. AND THIS IS NOT WHAT CHRIST DIED FOR.

P.S. If you're picketing funerals of soldiers because they serve the U.S.? Why aren't you picketing your mailman when he stops by? Or the cops in your own town (let them deal with you.)

Funny stuff.

This? Makes me laugh and snort tea into my sinuses:

http://www.thingsmyboyfriendsays.com/

Enjoy!

Comment O' the Week

So yesterday? Liam is sitting there and randomly declares, "Mom? Colin, Patrick and me? We're African-American!" (Colin and Patrick are in his class. And no, he does not go to an all-Irish school.) Now, to get the full impact of this statement, you have to remember that not only is Liam not African-American? He's the palest white boy I know. He's like almost glow-in-the-dark white in the winter time. It's sad.

Anyway? Way to go, Prince George's County schools! Apparently Black History Month was a huge hit. Liam was very sad to hear that he is not, in any way, African-American. But he "still thinks Martin Luther King was a really good man", which really, isn't that the point when it comes down to it?

Note: Back before Christmas, Liam was crushed to find out that he is not an Israelite. Like, crying crushed. Because, "Mom, the Israelites are the Children of God! I'm one of God's children!" It's hard to be a basic white boy in a very diverse and interesting area such as ours (We did, by the way, work out the "God's child" vs. "Children of God" thing. He's cool with it now.)

Olympic fun.

So I've been MIA. We went to Cincinnati the week before last. Then I spent last week trying to simultaneously do laundry, shop for birthday presents for Liam and picking up supplies for 24 goodie bags for his class. And last Saturday? We went to the Washington Home and Garden Show for the sole purpose of seeing Clive Pearse and Lisa LaPorta from HGTV. Kind of weird (I've never gone out of my way to see anyone famous before) but interesting. And they were both very nice people. And Clive's adorable with his British accent and cheeky sense of humor (see how I snuck in the British thing there? Yeah, I'm clever like that.)

But really? The one single thing that has held my attention and had me staying up glued to the TV during otherwise precious sleep time? The Olympics. We are crazy for the Olympics. We recorded quite a bit of the games to watch later each night and were able to zoom through the not-so-interesting parts (including 99% of the opening and closing ceremonies.) Honestly? I'm not really much of a figure-skating kind of girl. Most of the skaters annoyed me. Except the Japanese woman who won. Because? She was all kinds of graceful and non-falling like. And she didn't dress up her arm like a swan (yeah, that's a jab at you, Johnny Weir.)

The big events here in the Sapper household? Luge. Bobsled. Downhill skiing. Snowboarding. Speed skating. We're equal opportunity cheerleaders, too. Of course, if the U.S. wins we're all excited. But really? If there was a great contest, and the person that won was just amazing? We're just as happy. To see the 19 year-old Dutch girl win the speed skate with the amazing time no one was expecting? Awesome. Watching Ben Raich from Austria win on the skis made in part from wood cut on his family's farm? Really cool. But please, let me make sure you understand that seeing Shaun White from right here in the U.S. kill in his snowboard finals? That rocked!

So here, for the joy of anyone who didn't watch the Olympics but feels strangely unfilled and strongly desires to see what they missed, is my "End O' the Games" summary:

Opening ceremonies were slow. But then the performers formed this giant ski-jumper complete with frosty bursts of breath and went through the whole process of the ski-jump. Cool from the arial shot. Otherwise? Weird mix of random music (what does "Video Killed the Radio Star" have to do with winter sports or international competition?), Ferraris, flaming skaters and waltzing people danced in cow print. Those kooky Italians. Also? Bob Costas, nice as he seems, just cannot be quiet for any length of time. And he apparently has a thing for Kim Carnes.

Next, we move on to the events. Lots of really impressive displays of sportsmanship: Joey Cheek donating all of his medal money to charity (did you know they win money for each medal? I didn't. Until Bob Costas told me.) Or the Norwegian cross-country skier that fell and was in last place but his teammates rushed to the front of the pack to slow everyone down so the guy could catch up. And the rest of the pack having the grace to allow it and realize that beating a champion isn't fun if that's the only way you can beat him. There was also the coach from one ski team giving a skier from another country a new pole after hers cracked when she wouldn't have otherwise been able to go on. To that poor U.S. speed skater who lost her grandfather to a fatal heart attack the night before her race - in Torino, where her whole family had traveled to see her Olympic debut? No one would have thought worse of you if you had decided not to skate. But seeing you try, crying quietly as you got on the ice without making a scene or demanding to be the center of attention was just heartbreaking and yet strangely encouraging. Same goes for Kildow (the U.S. skier who tore herself up in a bad fall and competed in all of her races anyway) as well as the French skier who fell and continued to compete with her face taped up. All of those people, and I'm sure tons more whose stories didn't make it on TV, are the real reason why Rusty and I are so enthralled with the Olympics. The competition is amazing and it's just taken to a new level when the athlete's realize that they are not there for themselves but for the betterment of their sport as pure sport and to show the world what each of their countries is capable of.

Now. Having said that? Speed skating boys? Stop being babies. You each had valid reasons to be upset with each other in the beginning. But? Get. Over. It. You totally stole the spotlight from the Italian skater who should have been, by all rights, the center of attention seeing as how he won and all. In his home country. Which was hosting your sorry butts.

And Bode Miller? I whole-heartedly agree with your commercial that says that kids shouldn't quit sports just because they may never be "the best." Otherwise? Dude. Spending 11 minutes to inspect the course (when the other skiers spend an hour?) to not only not win, but not even really show up and give your best? Dude, seriously. Go back to your RV and think about what you've done, young man.

And skier girls who wore tiger ears and tiaras down the course? What the crap?! Yeah, it's "cute". But these are the Olympics. Austria? Germany? Pretty much everyone else (including much of the U.S. and totally kick ass skier Picaboo Street) think you are totally not understanding what the Olympics are all about. Wieners. Lindsey Kildow was injured badly and still skied better than you in at least two races because she was all about the skiing.

Then? There are the multiple male figure skaters that said that they didn't spend all their time training because they "had lives" and other stuff to do like partying and whatnot. Um... dudes? Most world-class athletes do spend pretty much all their time training. I mean, they're allowed to eat and go potty and sleep and such. But their training is what they do. This attitude, though, probably explains why you wiped out in various parts of your events. Just sayin.

Ok, well, let's move on to something a little more fun. Olympic nicknames. Oh yeah. Good, bad or just plain annoying you have to admit the nicknames are kinda of fun. "The Flying Tomato". "The Speeding White Sausage" (ha HA ha ha ha ha ha... love that one - that's him on the right) "The Blitz from Pitz" (skier Bennie Raich.) It's cool to see the human side of majorly accomplished athletes.

Another fun thing? The Dutch speed skating fans. The people in orange. Holy. Crap. They are insane. They bring their own band. And the band's trip to each Olympics is funded by the Dutch Olympic Committee. They dance. They dress in odd costumes. They pretty much cheer for anyone who turns in an amazing skating performance regardless of nationality because they just love the sport. I told Rusty I had no idea the Dutch were so much fun (his reply: "smoking pot is legal over there, you know. That's why they're nuts.") P.S. The Dutch flag is red, white and blue. We were confused by the orange. Rusty said every one of their sports teams wears orange, even their national soccer team. Turns out the Dutch royal family is of the "House of Orange". Ahhhhh. Olympics = very educational. And funny (...pot smoking skating maniacs.)

And no Olympic talk can be complete without mentioning the amazing play-by-play offered by figure skating legend (apparently) Dick Button. Like I said, we're not into figure skating. But Rusty and I were totally glued to the TV waiting to see what kind of comment Dick would make next. It all started when he commented one of the pairs with "that's the ugliest position I've ever seen" and it all went downhill from there. The man is one of the most blunt - and therefore most hysterical - announcers we've ever heard. At one point, Rusty said that if Dick Button were a drinking game and you had to take a drink every time he made an outstanding comment? We'd have gone through a bottle of wine before the first commercial. We heart Dick Button.

Ok, well, that about does it. Yeah, I watched the closing ceremonies in fast forward. Lots of singing (why was Ricky Martin there?) And yay for the Canadians hosting the next Winter Games. Liked their snowman logo guy. Even stopped long enough to watch the guy being blown around by the giant wind tunnel fan thing. But aside from that and seeing a few of the interviews with the athletes (you go with your bad zen self, Apolo Anton Ohno) the only other highlight was hearing Bob Costas go off on the Harvard Dean of Admissions by name for not admitting Joey Cheek last year. Good one, Bob.

More riveting blogginess later.

My mistake.

I originally wrote this post on the 31st but was unable to put it up due to our wonderful upgrade/downgrade experience.

Let me start this post by giving you the following warning...

WARNING: This post contains references to PMS, Midol, laxatives and mild stupidity. Proceed at your own risk.

Ok, so the night before last? I was not feeling so great. I wasn't "sick". I was PMS'ing. I was crampy and very cranky (shocker.) I decided that for the good of all mankind I should medicate myself and proceeded to the cabinet in the kitchen where all of our various medicines are stored. This cabinet is high up so that our monkey children cannot reach it even with the footstool. It is so high that I myself cannot reach it unless I use the footstool. Seeing as how this was an emergency and I was ready to kill someone or purchase and eat an entire bag of Hershey Kisses, I decided to forgo the footstool since the shelve with the medicine is in a pull-out basket shelf that you can see through. I was thrilled to see the blue and white Midol box poking out from the back of the cabinet. I don't take medicine very often so most of the adult medications are in the back behind the Children's Tylenol, Children's Ibuprofen and "Incredibles" Band-Aids. Anyway, I spotted the box, quickly decided I felt crappy enough to take three pills instead of the regular two and proceeded to pop the little blue pills into my mouth with some water. I went back to the couch and watched an hour of snarky fun on VH-1 to lift my spirits.

An hour or so later, I noticed that my cramps were still rather crampy. I was wondering if I could alternate the Midol with Ibuprofen (like they have us do with with Tylenol/Ibuprofen with the kids every three hours when they have high fevers). I wandered back into the kitchen and opened up the cabinet. I couldn't find the Ibuprofen right away (Rusty is allergic and I end up hiding it so he doesn't accidentally take it when reaching for the Tylenol.) This time I ended up having to use the footstool. Anyway, I brought the footstool into the kitchen and pulled out the basket with the medicine. As I reached for the Midol box to check out the warning and usage stuff I wondered how it had gotten to the back of the shelf again when I had put it back up front an hour earlier (when I was medicating without the footstool, remember.) And then? I saw it. The blue and white laxative box. Front and center. I dropped a few choice words as I reached into the box, pulling out the packaged blue tablets and realizing what I had done.

Notice the boxes are both blue and swirly.
And the pills are almost identical!

Think cramps are bad? They're so much more fun when you realize you've laxatized yourself and all you can do is wait for them to take full effect. Good times. I spent the next half hour alternating between laughing and being very annoyed with myself. Oh... and I had to tell Rusty because we share a house and it's only fair, you know? (it's times like this that I really wish I was single.)

Anyway, moral of the story? If you're short? Use the footstool. That's what you bought it for, you fool. And? Just because a pill is blue does not make it Midol. And? Next time? Just buy yourself some chocolate because it's way easier.

Still here.

No, we didn't succumb to the flu, get lost, fall off the face of the earth or decide to ditch it all and head to Barbados to live a tropical life of sunshine and palm trees (oh man... why didn't we do that last one?) I tried to update the blog a few times but noooooooo. The computer had other ideas. Actually, the browser had other ideas.

Consider this my public service announcement for the week: DO NOT upgrade to Netscape 8.1 unless you totally know what you're doing. We use Explorer and Netscape interchangeably. When the newest upgrade came out, I downloaded it and installed it just like normal. But all of a sudden, any site that required a password, log-in or cookie? Was not accessible. Talk about a pain in the booty! Everything from the blog to my normal email settings to our bank account and utilities weren't able to load right. Some things wouldn't load at all. Some would load but not let you use any customized pages (for instance, the BGE site would load but once you entered your log-in info the next page would just freak out and crash everything.) Another thing? Even though the update was Netscape? Explorer stopped working too. Every page acted the same in both browsers. Woo HOO! Love technology. Love it.

We never actually "figured out the problem" but we were able to blindly fix it. The solution? Totally uninstalling the upgrade and re-installing the older version we originally had. Of course, had to do this twice. The first time, just installed it normally (which didn't work.) After uninstalling again? Re-installed the older version again but this time told it to start from scratch and not keep any of the old settings. Worked great except for one tiny thing. All of my stored passwords, settings, etc are gone. I can't even remember where I had passwords, let alone what those passwords are.

And, to top off my week of technology bitch-slapping me? I left my card in a random ATM. At one of the ATM's owned by a bank that doesn't contact you. They just destroy it. Yay! I usually only use a few ATM's - Target and our 7-11 up at the corner. Both of those places have the ATM's where you swipe the card instead of inserting it. I never use the ATM at the grocery store where I ended up forgetting to take it out of the machine (I didn't even know the name of the bank in that particular store.)

So I now have a new card, but no PIN yet. And? It was my ATM/Debit card which is tied to our auto pay for utilities, Market Day, cell phone account and who knows what else. So I have to figure that out and get the new card number to everyone (if the bank said the card was destroyed, why couldn't our credit union just give me a card with the same number?!)

(don't answer that last question with some logical answer that will annoy me because the question was purely rhetorical and typed out of utter frustration with our technologically advanced lives)

In conclusion, it's been an annoying but overall everything's back to normal and ok again. Life goes on.

Anyway, I have another post coming shortly. I'm sure you'll get a kick out of it because it involved even more stupidity on my part. With pictures and everything! And as of this afternoon we have a severe weather alert for either an inch of snow or ten inches (depends on who you listen to and when.) So there may a whole lot more blogging going on this weekend.

P.S. I'm thinking it's odd that the Blogger.com spellcheck considers "Blog" and "Blogging" to be non-existent words. Just a random thought.

Sick. Again? Still?

Ok, so I've been battling the flu over the last week. I thought I was feeling better and just a little tired. But once again I feel like dookie. If I owe you email? It'll be on hold until I sleep a lot more.

I think it's the evil caulk's fault. That or the ribbon.

Disorganization.

My workroom? Looks like an art supply store threw up. I hate messes. And with my workroom a mess, I don't go in. When I don't go in, I don't make anything. When I don't make anything? I get creatively constipated. And that makes me cranky, people! I just can't get a handle on things. The ribbon? Is totally staging a revolt and taking over. The stamps have gone into hiding, which sucks because if I don't see them I forget to use them. My mom gave me the full set of Nick Bantock inks for my birthday (because? My mom is cool like that. She's an artist too. Yay for me!) But my poor inks are sitting smack in the middle of my table right now for fear of losing them in the chaos.

So what have I done to remedy the situation? Pretty much gone into denial and watched HGTV and Best Week Ever on DVR this morning. Have you ever seen Rezoned on HGTV? Love that show. It's basically about public buildings - usually 50 years old or more - that have been turned into private homes. Blacksmith's shop, fortune cookie company, cap and gown factory, firehouse... some really great spaces. SO creative. The really great thing I've noticed is that many of the people fixing up these spaces aren't the Gen-X'ers you might expect. They're older, in their 50's, 60's and even 70's (the couple who fixed up the steel mold making shop in Pittsburg were so cute.) All these people have done years of work to uncover amazing spaces in which to live. We, on the other hand, have done a year's worth of work to uncover the basic shoebox that is our house. Blech.

Anyway, what else did I watch in my effort to totally ignore the chaos in my workroom? I had another episode of Creature Comforts to watch. I'm totally loving that show. Rusty doesn't get it at all and I laugh myself silly sometimes. The show is on BBC America and is by the creator of Wallace & Grommit (a favorite in our household - that's them in the pic). It's essentially this:

Now, for this BBC America series of nine 30-minute episodes, Park has expanded the concept into a collection of shorts that are airing three per week. The opener serves up the original short along with two other segments. It's unfailingly adorable stuff, showcasing very elaborately drawn stop-motion critters (pigs, alligators, dogs, monkeys, birds) spouting very British observations about life in words culled from the mouths not of voice-over artists but regular members of the public in England. So you have sea lions speaking out against liposuction, a horse explaining that he sleeps alone because of a flatulence problem, a buck-toothed donkey divulging his mating habits and flies trapped in a spider web discussing how they've been there "for two years." It's wonderfully deadpan stuff that finds "Wallace & Gromit" creator Park at his subtly irreverent best. Set the TiVo to grab this one. (Hollywoodreporter.com)

The two dogs (Brian and "Keif" who are brothers), garden snails, pigs, a seeing eye dog, a hamster in a cage and more? Crack me up. The Sharpei doing his impression of Julia Roberts? Ha! The penquin kid asking his mom for money for the ice-cream truck in the middle of her interview? Loved it. The kids' voices are hysterical. And the two old ladies that do the bats? They are fabulous.

Anyway, yeah, didn't do much organizing today. But did get some "non-Dora/Diego/Backyardigans/PBS Kids" TV in while Sean played. But now I'm off to fight the ribbon wars. I'll take a few pictures of "Before" and "After". Unless my camera is stuck under the chaos somewhere.

P.S. (for Linda) This ranks as one of the most boring entries evah. I am, however, adding links to some of the stuff so maybe that will make up for the brutal boringness?

Sorry.

Dear Bloggity Blog,

Please accept my sincerest apologies for neglecting you. It's not that I don't want to update you on a regular and timely basis. I do. I so enjoy blabbering on and on about abso-freakin-lutely nothing. It makes me feel cool in an "Internet-meets-Seinfeld" kind of way. Tearing out your kitchen? Hysterical. Removing 400 year-old wallpaper? Comic gold, people. I mean, really. I know you all live for my posts. Your lives revolved around your "Refresh" buttons as you repeatedly click hoping to see something witty appear.

(I'm having a hard time keeping my sarcasm levels up enough to finish this post... bear with me)

Ok, so really? I've been down with what is most likely the flu. I've also been doing some actual work (as in "graphics"), trying to remove the old caulk from the bathtub in the boys bathroom, cleaning and organizing my workroom so I can actually get in there to do something creative and Jazzercising (though the Jazzercising was on hold this week while the flu persisted). I'm kind of achy and tired and cranky but otherwise fine.

In other news, Sean has gotten to be too much to handle. He fell down the other day and just laid there and said, "Um, a little help here?" I have no idea where the child gets his personality from ::cough:: RUSTY::cough::

Ok, well, that's about all I've got for now. My arms are tired and my head hurts and my legs ache and I'm going to go lay on the couch now. Like one of those giant sumo-sized jellyfish.

Got all da' bomb frostings

We saw this when it aired on SNL last month and still laugh every time we see it. Chris Parnell is hysterical when he raps. Not bad for a stubby white guy. The new guy is really funny too.

Inevitable.

Alright. For a while now I've been debating posting this kind of entry on my blog. It's an entry about my body. I know a lot of people don't want to read this kind of thing. But? It's my blog and I'll post whatever the crap I feel like posting. So there.

Ok. At the root of this post is my unhappiness with myself physically right now. Over the last six months or so I've gained and lost weight depending on the chaos of my life and how I was dealing with it. I know this is somewhat "normal." But guess what? I don't care if it's "normal." You know why? Because I did too much work to get back in shape after Sean was born to be such a lump now. Let's go back in time for a bit, shall we?

When I was pregnant with Liam? I gained seventy pounds. That's right. Se-ven-ty. Seven Oh. Before that? I wasn't "skinny". But I was in pretty decent shape. I was a happy size 8. I had Liam (who was totally worth the seventy pounds, by the way) and for some strange reason thought that all that pregnancy weight would magically disappear. Stupid, I know. Anyway, I was all kinds of depressed because of my weight and probably a touch postpartum as well. I didn't do much to take care of myself. I was, essentially, a big unhappy lump. One of my biggest failures as far as I was concerned was that up until I got fat? I didn't think my looks mattered to me all that much. I thought I was "deeper" than that. And I felt like I was now a hypocrite by feeling as depressed as I did. I knew being a size 16/18 wasn't the end of the world. But it still felt like it deep down inside.

When I became pregnant with Sean? I was terrified of getting even fatter and only gained eleven pounds with his pregnancy. Which sounds all great and such until you remember that I had already gained more than half of my previous body weight with Liam's pregnancy. Oy vey. Anyway, Sean was born. I wasn't quiet so depressed this time though in hindsight I think it was because I knew Rusty and I weren't planning on having any more children so my body was mine again. All of a sudden? I was all kinds of motivated.

After Sean stopped nursing at six months old, I joined Weight Watchers. I started walking and then eventually running. Over the course of the spring and summer following Sean's birth I lost almost sixty pounds. I wasn't out to get "skinny". I was out to find some part of myself that I felt I'd lost under all that weight. I was back in a size 10 and even an 8 in some things. I felt like myself again. Then? We moved.

The first couple of months in Maryland weren't all bad. I stayed the same size and ran a bit. But then the contract on our house in Ohio got held up. Our few months living with Rusty's mom turned into almost a year. Rusty's mom? God lover her, she doesn't really cook. We ate out a lot. A LOT. It took its toll and I was back into a size 12 then a 14. And I've been battling it all this past year. We're in our own place again and you'd think that would help. But with the kitchen renovation, and the house upheaval overall? Plus the stress over the summer with Liam's testing? I'm now a very unhappy size 16. So what will I do about it?

Well, for one thing? I'm not a big fan of making New Year's Resolutions. Because? I break New Year's Resolutions. And then I feel all bad about breaking the stupid resolutions. So I chose to ignore the whole thing. But last week I snapped. I hated looking at myself in the mirror. I hated not buying clothes because I refuse to buy size 16. It's not a vanity thing, either. I'm 5' 4" (and that depends on my shoes). My frame is not happy lugging all this extra poundage around. So at the urging of Liam's teacher - who is really great and has lost 45 pounds herself since school started - I started going to Jazzercise right up the street from my house. Oh heaven help me.

I don't know what I expected. I mean, I guess I thought it would be all "dance-y" and whatnot. Oh noooooooo. It kicked my butt. Which irritated me so I went back. And then went back again. I went four times last week and tonight will be my second time this week (the whole pink eye doctor's appointment thing kept me home Monday and Tuesday). I actually got out of bed and hauled booty up the street at 7:45 last Saturday morning just to jump around like a fool for an hour. And to laugh at myself with Maria (Liam's teacher, who is fast becoming one of my new favorite people).

So. What does all of this mean? I am not a size 16 if I can help it. If I exercise and try to at least be somewhat conscious of what I'm eating and then I'm still a size 16? Then fine. But I'm doubting that's the case. So I'm putting here in writing. I'm not going to obsess about some number on a scale. I'll rate it by sizes. I won't freak out and only write about my diet or exercise or whatever from now on. In fact you may not hear it from me again. But if you do? Please be patient and tolerant of me. If you're a size 16? Don't take my unhappiness with it personally. It's not the size. It's me.

Ok. That's all I have to say. Move along.

Uh.

Ok. I have absolutely nothing of interest to say. Um... we stripped off the 400 year-old ugly wallpaper from our bedroom Sunday afternoon (can you imagine? Wallpaper that pre-dates the United States itself.) It was that stupid grass paper stuff. You know, like on that episode of "Trading Spaces" when Hilde stuck hay on the walls. Thankfully, the stupid, ugly, 400 year-old, real grass wallpaper was only on one wall so it only took one annoying day to strip instead of multiple annoying days. Ugly, stupid wallpaper.

Anyway, we've primed that formerly ugly wallpapered wall and started painting. To anyone who saw our house in Fairfield? It's the same color we had in the family room - "Dusty Trails" (not to be confused with "Dusty Bottoms" of Three Amigos fame.) Though stripping the stupid, ugly 400 year-old wallpaper was fun, trying to paint our miniature master bedroom is even more fun. Imagine yourself in the handicap stall of the ladies room at your local Target (if you're a guy? You're on your own because I don't know of the mens' room has handicap stalls) Anyway, go ahead. Imagine yourself standing in the handicap stall in the ladies room. Now, you're probably thinking, "hey, this is kinda roomy." But then imagine that your bedroom is roughly the same size. Not so roomy now, is it? Now imagine that you're crammed into that handicap stall with a king sized bed and a few dressers thrown in. And imagine further that you're trying to paint that handicap stall so you you have to move all of this furniture around the room to access each wall to paint (and now imagine Target security coming in and demanding to know what the crap are you doing to that bathroom stall and where did all that furniture come from). I'll be sure to post the fabulous photos when we're finished.

In other news, Liam is home with pink eye today. Because, you know... fun! The only thing worse than a sick six year-old is a sick six-year old who doesn't feel sick. That's all we'll discuss regarding pink eye, because yuck.

Now, see, Jodia and Linda. Aren't you sorry you asked me to update? I have absolutely nothing of interest to say. Nada. Nothing. El zippo. Maybe I'll try to get some pictures posted to take up space and make it look like I'm actually having some sort of life (ha, good luck with that!)