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!)

Prayer please

Short note to say that I hope each and every one of you have a wonderful holiday, whatever it is that you may celebrate. To our friends and family:

Merry Christmas and we love you!

On a sadder note, please keep my Uncle Emilio in your prayers. He is in Intensive Care after collapsing at home Friday night. He is a husband and father. They live in Chicago (the rest of our family and his family are all in Cincinnati) so we don't see them much anymore. But when I was younger and they still lived in Cincinnati, I spent a lot of time at my aunt and uncle's house in the summers when I was in jr. high and high school. My uncle doesn't really believe in anything as far as spirituality is concerned. And he's annoyed by religion overall as far as I remember from conversations in the past. So please pray that he finds something to believe in during all of this (his family too). I haven't heard anything since yesterday so I don't know if he's even conscious or not. It's all in God's hands now.

Tagged.

I was tagged by Betsy and am trying to think of "Seven songs I'm listening to" lately. This is going to be a festive list because I've been listening to a lot of Christmas music lately.

So. My seven songs I'm listening to a lot lately, according to my "Top 25 Most Played" on my iPod:

1. Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - U2
2. Gabriel's Message - Sting
3. God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen/We Three Kings - Barenaked Ladies with Sarah Maclachlan
4. O, Holy Night - Tracy Chapman
5. Jingle Bells - Bing Crosby
6. I Pray on Christmas - Harry Connick Jr.
7. He is Born, The Holy Child - The French Peas

Runners-up include:

1. Do They Know It's Christmas - Band Aid
2. Last Christmas - The 1980's cheeseball George Michael's verison, not this semi-ok remake version out now.
3. Mele Kalikimaka - The Blue Hawaiians
4. The Heat Miser/Snow Miser song - "The Year Without A Santa Claus"
5. Anything by Bing Crosby.

I tag anyone who has a good list to share - including Linda, Jodi, my brother (I know you read this) and anyone else who'd like to play.

So tired (again)

It's been a weird few weeks. Not a lot of time online. I finished my Christmas kit and sent it in to RMH. Aside from that, I haven't been online much. I feel kind of cut off but I'm not sure what I can do to remedy that right now. We got to have dinner with one of my favorite people last week - Ailsa. Her family is fun and she is an good person, an honest person. And I've missed her. She and her family, Rusty and I and the boys, and our buddies Deedie and Ramsey and their boys all got together for dinner Friday night. We had a good time and it was nice to just sit and be with friends who love you. Deedie is another fabulous friend that I constantly wonder why she bothers with me. Deedie and I shared a house before Rusty and I got married and she has always been one of those people that I wish I could be - energetic and doesn't really give a crap about other people's opinions when it comes to how she lives her life and loves her friends and family. Deedie is one of a kind and I adore her.

Anyway, Christmas is hitting me a little hard. It's coming on fast. Apparently, it did a fly by last week and threw up in our family room then fled the scene. All that remains are random bins full of Christmas decorations, two fully decorated Christmas trees, mounds of tangled lights and two way over-stimulated children. Apparently, Christmas then went and threw up at a house not far from here. They have a yard full of Christmas, including six Santas on their roof. Yes... six. If you're local? It's the house on Good Luck Road. You can't miss it. I'll try to get some photos if possible.

So. What else is going on at our place? Well, Rusty and I got back on the renovation bandwagon. Since the travel for testing and showers and weddings is over we're trying to get this house finished for good. We started laying the flooring tonight. I also spent today painting and putting up baseboard, painting a patched hole, sanding new drywall, installing new hardware to the bathroom vanity and taking down old towel holders and hooks in the boys' bathroom to get ready to paint. Good lord I'm tired.

I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. But I felt like I'd been away too long. I'm going to try to get some good Christmas light photos (and by "good" I mean "really really bad") I'll post them if I get anything worth looking at. The theme for this year is "Are you blind or did you mean to make your house resemble the Vegas strip?" We'll see what happens, eh?

Also, we are making decisions for our family that will have a lot of impact on our not-so-distant future if things work out. Please keep us in your prayers.

Updating (Hi, Linda!)

Ok. So it's been brought to my attention that I haven't updated in a while. I've been busy. And annoyed. Not by the people asking me to update. But I'll get into that in a minute.

First, I have to answer the calls for photos of ex-boyfriend/current TV guy. I have debated posting his photo. To be perfectly honest, I don't want him showing up in my email box. Did I mention I broke up with him when I met my husband? Oh yeah. Must have left that part out. He's a very nice guy and I really do hope he's having a great life. He deserves it.

Ok, so moving on from DJ Boy. My annoyances this week:

1. Hot glue guns. I hate hot glue guns. Hate with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns. I hate the little gluey stringy pieces that linger all over the place. I hate burning my fingers. Despite all the hate, I pulled out my hot glue gun to make four ginormous wreathes for my mother-in-law's work Christmas banquet. I totally didn't mind helping out. I just hated the hot glue episodes.

2. Stupid customer service people. And by "stupid" I don't mean "you stupid so and so...". I mean stoo-oo-pid. As in, first telling me to go to their website to bring up a list of network providers but then telling me afterwards that though it is the correct website, and the very same website they themselves told me to use? The list of doctors I pulled from their website was wrong. And my favorite? "I can't tell you why it's wrong, but it's wrong". Can't tell me? Um, does that mean it's top secret info? I need clearance of some sort? Or are you just mentally deficient?

3. Therapists with ginormous egos. After finding out that the customer service person was all kinds of wrong (shocker) and that our list of network providers was fine, I finally had people to call for Liam's therapy. And you'd think that after the testing? Making phone calls would be easy. Oh no no no.

First, you have to actually reach someone. I left a total of 32 messages (my list is three pages long). Then I reached the first live person. For a practice which included one woman that was actually also recommended by a friend. That woman wasn't even offered as a possibility to us for Liam. But they had someone else. For reasons I won't go into, she is not going to work for us. The second live person I reached was a very nice guy who was going on a three month trip to teach somewhere. The third person? A total jackass that proceeded to tell me that Children's was wrong and Liam sounds like Aspergers to him. Which is odd because I really didn't go into detail on Liam's issues. Then this guy told me he's writing a book and how "stupid" many other therapists are. He finished by giving me the name of a woman who started an Asperger's support group in the area. Oooook, nice chatting with you... no, you know what, dude? Not really nice talking to you, you big jerk. You didn't shut up at all to listen to what I was asking. I'm a mom. With a kid with some issues that need to be resolved. Get some empathy you moron. I pity the kids that have to put up with trying to cram themselves into a room with you and that ego sucking out all the breathing air. Also? It's not really "chatting" when you do all the talking. I'm just saying.

Ok, so third live person I reached wasn't so bad. She still totally ignored the fact that we had an extensive assessment done and talked about all the testing we could do to figure out Liam's issues (Hello? Is this phone working? Why is no one paying attention to the fact that the testing has been done?).

So what have I learned from my phone calls? 1, many (though not all) therapists seem to think that if they didn't do the testing? The testing was done by a brain-damaged chimp and should be totally disregarded. And 2, for a city as big as Washington DC, and the fact that we live between DC and Annapolis? There are way too many offices not answering their phones. I now officially hate voicemail.

4. (the list of annoyances, remember?) I have to be careful how I write this because I totally love and adore my youngest child. He is sweet. He is cute. He is a wonderful, beautiful child. But he has an annoying thing going on. It started last week. He talks. Non-stop. Like, he could be standing there talking, you could put him in the bathroom, shut the door, come back ten minutes later and he's still talking. Yeah, that kind of talking. And he requires not only an answer to everything he says, but also eye contact at all times. Seriously. All the time. Even if I'm driving (he expects me to continuously look in the rear view mirror the second he says something... which is, basically, all the time.) Like I said, I love my son. But he is four years old and going through what I really hope is a phase. Though I guess it's our own fault. We spend the first year of our kids' lives trying to get them to talk. Then once they finally do, we want them to "just be quiet for one minute, ok?"

So, what have we learned here today? Well, for one thing, we learned that I need more sleep. I am a cranky woman. We learned that you have to be careful when calling random therapists for fear of smacking the phone against your head repeatedly after saying the same thing over and over to a group of people who are supposed to be concerned for your mental health. And we learned that I should totally not update my blog without having had at least one cup of coffee. So sorry about the bad attitude. But it happens, no?

Only a matter of time.

Uh huh. Ok, so I turned on the TV and switched over to the Fine Living Network (because, as I've told Linda many many times, I live a life of high glamour). And I'm watching this commercial for one of their newer shows in which people are given a chance to live out their dream occupation with the help of others already in the industry. For example, this DJ in Los Angeles who wants to get into the record industry and start producting at some point so they hook him up with some record industry professionals already running their own label. And hey, this DJ guy is quite a hottie... actually he looks strangely familiar... holy cow... I know that guy! Holy poo... I dated that guy (man. He stills looks adorable, too).

So I suppose it was bound to happen, I mean with all the reality shows out there we're very likely to see someone from our past pop up when we least expect it. But still. It's way weird.

(P.S. Yes, like the very honest and devoted wife I am, I told Rusty about the show. Then informed him that I was recording it.)

Digital scrapbooking.

Digital scrapbooking. Odd phenomenon. Basically, everything you see is fake. Meaning, it's not real paper and ribbon and embellishments. It's just a file (pretty darn realistic looking files... but a bunch of pixels nonetheless). Put the files together and it looks like a scan of a real layout. A lot of people print them out and put them into books. I like to make digital layouts as wallpaper for my computer, to send email cards to people, do fun church video screen graphics (that one is for you, Betsy) and "pretty up" basic photos before I email them. An advantage to digital scrapbooking is once you buy the supplies? You can use them over and over and over... if you find a paper you like? And you use it? You don't have to go buy more. You have it. You can print it out and use it in a real scrapbook.

So. Why am I telling you this? And why is there a giant CD posted? Because I have been asked to design some digital scrapbooking kits for a fabulous site called Rocky Mountain Hobbies. Their owner, Cindy, is very nice and every experience I've had with them as been great so I said "of course I'll do it!" I've done two kits so far, the "Back to School" kit and the "Autumn Holidays" kit. They're offered as downloads or on CD (hence the ginormous CDs, above and below). By the way, the CDs in the photos? Not scans or edited photos. Totally digital.





















If you're at all interested in seeing what this stuff is, feel free to click and see my digital layouts:

"The Farm"

"Tom & Jerry - Halloween 2005"

"Autumn on Crosswick"

"Home" (this layout, as well as "Sean" and "Liam at Work" were done with elements from other sites which I did not design)

"Sean" & "Liam at work"

Click here to see the entire "Back to School" kit and click here to see the entire "Autumn Holidays" kit