What We Found At The Library, #2

Lauren's Favorite: Duck On A Bike, by David Shannon

When I look for books that I think Lauren will enjoy, I usually try to pick at least one with lots of simple animal noises and straightforward pictures. This one fit the bill perfectly, and she really liked it. An adventurous duck gets ahold of his owner's bike one day and parades around the farm showing off his skills. Each animal he passes has some comment about his silly biking, along with the requisite MOOO! or NEIGHHH! or MEEEOW! Since Lauren knows the animals by the sounds they make, she had a great time with this story. I did need to paraphrase a tiny bit in order to keep Lauren's attention between animal noises, but not much. There's a definite similarity to each page - the same sequence of events keeps happening over and over - and that repetition was nice for her. The illustrations kept me giggling, and the ending was so cute and surprising. Bonus points for this one being liked by Mia and I as well - a definite family favorite.

Mia's Favorite: Sing A Song Of Piglets, by Eve Bunting and Emily Arnold McCully (Illustrator)

I was inspired by Emily's post a while back about her family's homeschooling project for the seasons, and tried to find a book on the subject for us to check out. We're still a little young for most of the really technical books I found, but this book about the months of the year was adorable. It's all told in a rhyme that goes with the song "Sing a Song of Sixpence" and Mia went back and forth between wanting me to read her the verses, or sing them. The feelings of each month - and the seasons they reside in - are very well captured with the illustrations as the piglets play at the beach, rake leaves, or have a thanksgiving feast, among other things. We read/sang through this book many times, and will look for more like it in the future.

This Heavenly Mama's Favorite: A Froggy Fable, by John Lechner

This book struck a chord with me. I am so routine and control-oriented that I fear I'm missing all kinds of wonderful surprises by not breaking out of the mold more often. And I fear my children are missing out sometimes, too. In A Froggy Fable, a home-loving frog gets upset by the changes taking place in his little pond and disrupting his life, until something happens that forces him to get out of his rut. From then on, he learns to accept and even appreciate changes. A lesson I'd do well to internalize, which would probably benefit Mia as well (besides just being a fun little book.) Both the artwork and story are very simple and clean - easy to digest for preschoolers and mamas alike. I'm so glad we stumbled upon this book.

This Heavenly Daddy's Favorite: Madeline And The Bad Hat, by Ludwig Bemelmans

Last time, Justin got somewhat upset when he saw that I hadn't included his favorite library book. He reads Mia's bedtime stories more often than I do, so it's only fair for his thoughts to be represented here, too. One problem? I forgot to ask what his favorite was this time around, so I'm making an educated guess here. I can say without compunction that Justin is a Madeline fan. He loves France, and has been enthusiastic about describing to Mia some of the famous places depicted in the Madeline books. He reads them with the correct French accent when warranted (something I love him deeply for - his willingness to abandon grown-up pride and really get into story time with his daughters) and makes the stories really fun to listen to. I believe Madeline will always have a special place in Justin's heart as he watches our girls grow up. We've been reading about her and watching her on DVD for so long that I really think 'Madeline' will become synonymous with 'When The Girls Were Little.'

So that's it for our latest Library Finds. Have you read any of the above, or do you have any favorites that these reminded you of? Have you found any really great library books lately that you'd like to share?

Happy reading, Heavenly readers!

The Bridge

My Grandparents traveled on this bridge on an almost daily basis for nearly 30 years. When they moved to Missouri from California in the 1970's, they built their home just beyond those wooded hills and their grown children quickly followed - building houses and lives of their own.

The old bridge has been a pathway to home. A road to comfort.

A few years ago, its working status was retired to make way for a newer, more reliable bridge.

Now, with its charming arches and narrow lanes, the old bridge is a place to stop and admire the river below. It's the trail head of a path through the glade along the edge of the river, a starting point for both adventures and relaxation.

We - the entire extended family - visited there this weekend for a special dedication of a set of picnic tables that were donated to the bridge in my Grandma's honor by my cousin in-law.

It's so nice to know that her name is etched into something that she would have loved...she was a lover of nature and fresh air and - perhaps most fittingly - food. These picnic tables will be enjoyed by many people over the years, and it will be like she's welcoming them to her table. Which, knowing her sense of hospitality and love, she would have done without hesitation.

We stayed on the bridge for a while, enjoying the warm fall evening - playing with the rambunctious little ones and stopping for photo ops.

Mia, in her fairy ballerina dress-up clothes, enjoyed the wide open space to chase and play with her cousin, Laney. (Who is, Mia will tell you without hesitation, her very best friend. Daddy and Mommy and Lauren rank behind Laney, always.)

Lauren quickly tired of the stroller and would not be left out of the fun. She wandered around the bridge joyfully, searching out tiny free objects to toss overboard.

Thankfully, the only free objects were bits of gravel and pebbles, but she never got tired of sending them to the water below.

I hadn't noticed before this moment - with my tiny daughters to show me - how low the walls of the bridge are. We parents were all constantly catching our breath as the little ones tried to climb up for a better look at the water. But we couldn't blame them. The view was gorgeous. Roaring and swirling and gorgeous.

With Lauren roaming the bridge, my niece Evelyn commandeered the stroller. She's going to be just like her daddy - always trying to find the coolest ride, looking for speed and excitement.

Which Aunt Sarah is happy to provide right before I turn her over to her parents to deal with the juiced-up aftermath.

We stayed through sunset, seeing the colors of the bridge change from gray to gold to purple. Soaking up the sweet breeze off the water below.

By the time the sky was dark and dozens of barn swallows darted above us, it was time to go. Bedtime was near; dreams of rivers and sunsets and bridges and picnics were surely about to dance across the tiny minds of our children. And the remembering minds of their parents.

A Letter To The Terrible Two's

Dear Terrible Two's,

Hi there, cutie pie! Yes, I know that chronologically speaking, you are not here yet. You are still 6 months away from showing up in our sweet baby girl. She's just as lovable as can be, barely starting to exhibit any signs of your recognizable traits. But in the name of sanity, I'd like to have a little chat with you - like a backstage pep-talk of sorts - before D-day arrives.

You see, today is Lauren's 18 month birthday. I'm beginning to notice little speed bumps in our day that warn me of your imminent arrival, and I really have only one important thing to say about that: GO AWAY. (I understand that you have a tendency to need things BOLD and UNDERLINED and EXCLAMATION POINTED!!!)

I mean that with all due affection and hospitality. While some other children may need your bursts of personality and temper, I can assure you that we are full-up in this household. You may remember that my older daughter, Mia, is still clinging to some stray bits left over from your last visit 2 and a half years ago. You showed up a mite early for Mia - around 15 months - and your memory has held on tighter than bark to a tree. I feel safe in saying any attention grabbing tantrums have made quite the impression on the little sister, therefore your extra exertions in that arena are unnecessary.

Also, if you do show up, I should warn you that we are not as unprepared for you as we were on the first go-round. I, for example, have become proficient in giving time-outs. I almost never laugh when I should be scolding. My husband is very skilled at carrying a thrashing body out of crowded buildings. We are both quite a bit more anaesthetised against feeling bad for causing toddler-disappointment. Our ears have been physically sealed shut against the sound of whining. Honest. It's lost on us. Stick to the the first-timers, little darlin' - they're bound to appreciate the full spectrum of your charm anyway; I'd hate for you to go under appreciated.

What I'm trying to say is that you won't get anywhere with us. We're old hats. Stubborn, old, unfashionable hats that are quite likely to send you to bed with no food after you've tossed it all over creation during a tantrum, while the rest of our happy little family feasts on dessert. You'd do much better to sit down with a cuddly toy and think about the good things in life: Smiles. Cookies. Play dates. Library visits. Ice Cream. Laughter. Toy stores. Things that will never be yours if you don't shape up and revert to your One Year Old sweetness or fast-forward to your Four Year Old sense of understanding.

Now listen - there's no need to cry! We'd never turn you away if you showed up at our door, you know. It's just...we'd love it if you'd be a bit more reasonable. Seeing as how you'll be an extended guest, and we'll be living up in each other's business for at least the next year and a half, it's only fair that we've told you how we feel. If there's anything you'd like to say in rebuttal, feel free to use your words in a calm and patient manner. Otherwise, you'll be sitting in time-out for screaming and kicking your feelings in our general direction.

Seriously and Sternly,
Mom and Pop Heavenly



PS - If you still demand to be admitted into our household, there is one aspect that is better than any other place you might otherwise have landed: We have Nana. She's here a lot; we're at her house a lot. She'll give you goodies and treats no matter what your behavior, while convincing us not to worry too much about the length of your visit. Because, as she often reminds us, the teenage visitors stay much longer.


This post included in Real Life's Your Life Your Blog.

7 Quick Takes Friday, #33

1. I had the weirdest random conversation this week. At a small grocery store, while checking out my few items, I yawned. It was a polite yawn - silent, mouth covered, trying not to open too wide. I thought nobody even noticed it, but I was mistaken.

"Shallow breathing," said the older man at the cash register.

I looked up, not sure if this diminutive man had really spoken at all, and if he had, that I'd heard him correctly.

With my brow furrowed, I said, "Uh....w...what?" I was truly stumped.

"Your yawn there..." he clarified. "It means you're breathing too shallow. You need to open up your diaphragm and let your belly pooch out to get your lungs filled up with oxygen-rich air. I'm a personal trainer." He went on to explain the physiology behind true deep-breathing techniques and a certain book by a certain author he wanted to recommend.

All the while, I was nodding and glancing around to see if anyone else thought it was strange that I was getting breathing tips from a personal trainer/grocery bagger. I just couldn't fathom two seemingly unrelated professions being housed in the same body - in my local mom & pop grocery store, no less.

He was very polite, not pushy - just informative. But it wasn't until later that I could clear my stereotyped associations far enough to realize what I should have said in response: "Well, shallow breathing, sure. But it's the shallow sleeping that comes with being a mom of two little ones that I think does the trick where my yawns are concerned."

Or the past-my-bedtime-blog-surfing. Either one.

2. Remember the craft I mentioned in last week's quick takes? We made it! Mia loved doing most of it herself and thinks it's the cutest thing since Lauren Jade. I'd have to agree.

Here's the link to the super simple instructions again, if you'd like to do it yourself.

3. When I was talking with Mia about our plans for the pumpkin, she piped up with another suggestion. She wanted to make a spiderweb. With a really REALLY big spider. Since it was, after all, the first day of fall ("It's fall's birthday, mama!"), I was on board with any themed activities matching my favorite season.

So we put together a spider and a web. Because I am totally cool with spiders dangling from my doors.

4. In the car, driving past the hospital where Mia and Lauren were both born, Mia surprised me with this conversation:

Mia: Mama...I think I want another baby, OK?

Me: Oh you DO, do you?

Mia: Yeah. Uh, actually, I want three babies.

Me: You DOOOO, do you?

Mia: Yeah. I want a baby Chloe, a baby Jack, and a baby Lauren.

Me: So, you want Lauren and two more babies? A boy and a girl?

Mia: Uh-huh. Can I please have them?

Me: Wow. Maybe, I mean, if daddy, I mean...

Mia: I got a sucker today, mama!

Me: oh thank goodness

5. One of Lauren's favorite new games is hide and seek. Always in the same hiding place, she stands still and giggles in between yelling 'Momeeee! Yor-yeeeen!' (Her pronunciation of her own name.) If she's lucky, she can convince the whole household to play along with her.

She is lucky. But so are we.

6. Our weekends are starting to become clogged and booked up with parties and fall activities. This weekend, for example, we've been invited to 4 separate events. Most of me likes it. I like the pumpkin patch visits and fall parades and outdoor parties and the whole fall season. I like being included in fun things, having something to do. But another part of me wonders...

Will my house ever get to be cleaned from now until January? I count on weekends to do some deeper cleaning than I can do during the week by myself with both girls under my feet.

I guess technically, I could use the preschool hours for that. But - nobody ever liked technically.

When would I get to be lazy?

7. I've decided that I cannot cook a good steak. Last night I tried to grill steaks on my cast iron grill pan. First off, I marinated them for a few too many hours...but hoped for the best. Then I got the grill pan too hot so that the steaks were nearly burned on the outside (lookin' just about right to my well-done steak loving self), but a bright, raw red in the middle. No pink anywhere. Disgusting all around. Even my husband (the medium steak loving man) couldn't handle the redness in the middle. We put them back on for a few more minutes, but I still couldn't get the memory of the rawness out of my mouth.

And with that awful mental image, I bid you a happy weekend! Visit Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes.

I've Been Awarded!

In lieu of my acceptance speech (cue Kanye joke...) I'd like to thank Amy at My Front Porch Looking In, who awarded me with this, um, award. She gave me some of the nicest compliments I've ever received and made me blush from here to next Thursday. (Which is not really all that difficult of an endeavor, given my ruby-red temperament.) So, thank you Amy! My warm cheeks love you.

Here's how the award works:

1. Each Superior Scribbler must turn and pass on this award to 5 of the most deserving blogs.

2. Each Superior Scribbler must link to the blog and name the author from which he/she received the award on his/her blog.

3. Each Superior Scribbler must display the award on his or her blog, and link to this post.

4. Each blogger who was awarded Superior Scribbler, must visit this post and add their name to the Mr. Linky. That way we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives this prestigious honor.

5. Each Superior Scribbler must post the rules on their blog.

So here we go, friends. Here are 5 bloggers who've really showed themselves to be Superior Scribblers, in my highly-educated opinion. Check them out, and you'll see what I mean.

1. Lenae at Just Lenae. Her posts are beautifully written - often thoughtful, poignant, funny, and easy-going, all at the same time. That's talent. The way she shares her life as a mother of 3 sweet boys (one just weeks old!) is inspiring and I always come away smiling from Lenae's words. Oh, and she's a goofball. That's the clincher - and why I consider her to be one of my very own blog-friends.

2. Emily at The Keeping Time. After being drawn in by the smiles of her beautiful daughters (who are close in age to my own) I was delighted to find that Emily has an amazing gift with words. She can form them into thought-provoking posts about theology or philosophy, and the next day, sprinkle them across the page with joy in her role as mother and teacher. She can write about difficult passages of time in such a way that haunts me and leaves me wishing to send her a hug, all the way across the sea in Sicily.

3. Chelsea at Roots & Rings. Chelsea is one of my newer favorites. Her blog is often hilarious, scattering itself across a range of daily musings and random thoughts. I'm in awe of her ability to write so much about so little. (That sounds a bit rude, come to think of it. But I mean it in the nicest way! It's a gift she has.) She writes about life with her husband, how she's settling roots down into a world of their own, and the tons of fun that happens along the way. Good stuff.

4. Danielle at Udubalum Mama. I've enjoyed Danielle's blog for many reasons. First of all, she's a terrific writer. Beyond that, she seems so open and honest, sharing highs and lows while maintaining a strong, confident presence. I keep going back for more of her insights and stories, feeling stronger myself after experiencing tiny pieces of her life. Her 2 kids are adorable, smart, and insightful themselves, lending her blog an air of home. Very refreshing.

5. Kacie at Papua Girl...In Dallas. Kacie's blog is about her adjustment into American living after having grown up in foreign countries. She has some truly wonderful thoughts and is able to present memories and comparisons of other cultures with stunning clarity. Being a sheltered Midwestern girl, I've been drawn into Kacie's knowledge of places and customs I could never have imagined before. I get to peek into her wellspring of experiences and learn something fascinating every time I visit.

(Interestingly enough, I started trying to remember where I'd 'met' all of these ladies, and it all comes back to one place: Conversion Diary's 7 Quick Takes Fridays. Talk about a wellspring...)

So there you go. If you click on all of these sites, I have no doubt you'll find a new favorite. Go show them some comment-love, wouldja?

Speaking Of Shrinking Worlds

In yesterday's post, I wrote "Her world is so large and unusual. But I get to be the one who shrinks it when needed, making it common and comfortable." Which somehow led me to these scrambled thoughts.

I cut up vibrant, vitamin-rich veggies and juicy, jewel-toned fruits for my daughters to snack on. To fill up their hunger and feed their growing bodies, I provide healthy bits of food - lovingly prepared - in hopes that they will grow strong and vibrant and healthy themselves.

I read stories without ceasing - happily so. Modulating my voice to convey emotions and images that seep into the minds of my sweet girls, I fill them up with these moments. I wish with all the might in my soul that they will come to love reading and revel in the mystery of pages yet unturned. That they will delight in discovering knowledge.

My husband and I are a team that steers them onto safe, well-lit paths lined with protection and guidance, and - as much as it is possible for parents to do so - we decide what is best for them. Putting in hours of thought and agonizing over the details of every disciplinary choice, we pray that we are raising them right. We do our very best to make sure they are being led in the ways of charity and kindness; wondering if they follow for understanding reasons, or simply to avoid punishment.

We speak softly of God's love, elaborating when questions are asked. We weave a foundation of faith, hoping that it will raise them to lofty heights in a relationship with the One who loves them more fully than even we as parents are capable of doing. Showing them with our lives and relationships how to give God's love back to everyone we encounter, we try to be more faithful followers. And when our children recognize our weaknesses - for surely they will - we hope they're learning to understand that faith is a journey.

But I also worry. I second-guess. I blame myself for every misstep they make. I blame myself for not knowing how to do everything right.

I wonder: does any of this translate into a guarantee of a happy, confident, faithful life for them? How can all of the love pouring out of my hands and mouth and heart not be enough to know - really know - that they won't hate me when they're older? That they won't merge into the world as completely different people from the children we thought we were raising.

I wonder.

I worry.

Yet, I continue on my path - happily so. What else is there to do, after all, but to raise my children with joy?

Hop-Too; Life Is Good

We were having a splendid afternoon in the back yard. Lauren was climbing the ladder. I was peeing my pants when I realized how high she'd gotten without supervision. Life was good.

Her joy in the ladder/slide combo was usurped by only one thing.

Acorns.

Our yard is being taken over by fallen acorns, and my girls collect them like treasure. They fill cups with them, pile them on stones, dump loads of them beneath the slide. They sort them by value: unripened greens and pinks are worth more than the glossy browns. Jumbo sized acorns from our neighbor's tree are more precious than minis from our own. And acorns with 'hats' are by far the most desirable, no matter the size, color, or shape.

They pour cupfulls down the slide to hear the clatter and watch the race as the acorns fly off the edge into the yard.

Every time we go outside now, acorns in cups are our first goal. All else is happenstance.

But on this day, something else stole Lauren's attention. At first she was interested.

Then she was worried. She tried to control her feelings, but this attention-grabbing thing wouldn't give her a moment's respite.

It was loud. It was insistent. It was coming closer all the time, until finally - it showed itself.

A helicopter. (Mama, hold! UP! A-Hop-Too! Mama, hooooold! A-Hop-TOOOO!)

She needed strong arms to protect her from this new and noisy danger, and I admit that I loved every second of her clinging arms and legs. She was glued to me.

And I was glued to her. She didn't let her grip falter until we'd retreated to the house, long after the noise of the helicopter had faded into the distance.

Her world is so large and unusual. But I get to be the one who shrinks it when needed, making it common and comfortable.

It was a splendid afternoon. Life was good.

The Day We Forgot About Trash Day

This post is a continuation of my previous Trash Talk post. Yes, I've dedicated two posts to garbage - welcome to This Heavenly Life!

In my new found respect for garbage collectors, I forgot one main point: they can't pick up what is not there.

One Friday a couple of weeks ago, we faithfully delivered the trash to the curb. Strangely enough, none of our neighbors had their cans out...like they had all gotten a memo about trash service and we'd not been included. Since I choose to reside in an idealistic world, I left our garbage on the curb thinking that we'd been the only house who'd remembered trash day. Those poor neighbors of ours...how coincidental that they'd all forgotten on the same day. But not us, nosiree. Only, by the end of the day, our trash was still there, soaking up the sunshine and attracting an impressive swarm of flies.

Then it dawned on me: there'd been a holiday that week. Monday was Labor Day, therefore the trash schedule had been pushed back a day to accommodate for the garbage collectors' vacations. This happened with every holiday. And I forgot about it on every holiday.

The trash would be collected Saturday instead, so Justin hauled our cans back into the garage overnight for fear of having it destroyed by roaming animals. Not that I could imagine anything with working nostrils wanting to come within 50 feet of the stuff.

When Saturday morning came, Justin and I spent it lazily playing with the girls. In the midst of breakfast and cartoons and showers and hide-and-seek, the garbage collector came and went - without our garbage. Our trash cans still sat in our garage, festering in all their malodorous glory, while the trash truck passed us by.

We were devastated. Terrified. There was no way we could haul the trash in our car to a dumpster - the consequences to the car's clean-smelling interior would be unbearable. Assuming that the driver could even make it past the mailbox without keeling over from the noxious combination of diapers and rotting food fumes, which didn't seem likely. Our only choice was to wait another week, filling up a separate garbage can in the meantime. Doubling the smell. Ugh.

I consider it an act of divine intervention that the garage door broke the same weekend, causing us to abandon the garage altogether until it could be repaired. At least we didn't have to walk past the trash cans every time we needed to take a drive, but still...

Last Friday, trash day rolled around again. With no holidays in sight to mess up the schedule, Justin and I both made sure to remember that the trash desperately needed to go out. Usually, Justin hauls it to the curb on his way out the door for work at around 7:15. The 'rules' state that the trash needs to be at the curb by 6AM, but we've never had it out that early and haven't ever seen the trash truck before 8AM. Usually, it's more like 9 or 10.

As I stepped out of the shower around 7 o'clock while Justin finished up his morning handsome-making-routine, I heard the distinct sound of a reversing trash truck: beep-beep-beep. Being at the end of a dead end, our garbage collector always backs down our block rather than trying to turn around in driveways. Justin and I exchanged glances of horror - the TRASH! IT WAS STILL IN THE GARAGE!

Hoping we'd heard wrong, I ran to the front door while still wrapped in my towel - dripping wet. I was prepared to run outside with no clothes on and my towel flapping around me if I needed to, but PRAISE THE LORD I didn't need to. The trash truck was nowhere to be seen, and the beeping was coming from a few streets south. I wiped my nervous brow in relief - we were still safe. Justin pulled our - now doubly disgusting - garbage to the road, as usual.

But then I looked at our neighbors' houses. Some of them looked like they'd dragged their empty trash cans back up their driveways...there were no errant trash bags waiting on curbs...some cans were laying on the grass, looking for all their worth like they'd been tossed there after being emptied by the garbage collector.

Had the garbage collector come early?! Surely not. Surely I was wrong.

Again, I was cautiously optimistic - I couldn't see into all of the trash cans lining our streets, for all I knew there were bags in the bottom. Maybe the neighbors had a low garbage week. Maybe a few of them had forgotten to set their cans out, instead of already having pulled them back home.

Maybe it was time for me to face the facts.

The more I assessed the neighborhood evidence, the more I was convinced that we'd missed the boat again. Oh, my poor nose. Oh, the poor garage. Oh, that awful garbage collector. How could he have come so early? Didn't he have any respect for tradition? All my thoughts of camaraderie with the plight of garbage collectors had vanished quicker than you could say PEE-YOO.

I nearly cried. My mom (who stops by every morning before work) (Yes, I am aware of my good luck in mothers.) tried to shore me up with optimism, but I was SURE we'd missed our trash being picked up by a few measly minutes. I was inconsolable in a whiny, gripey, altogether annoying way.

At the peak of this melodrama, when my mom was probably ready to back slowly towards the door and a return to sanity, I heard something.

Something large.

Something beeping.

The trash truck! I watched as it backed down our block and stopped in front of my driveway. I watched as the garbage collector jogged over to my trash cans (not even fainting at the God-Awful smell - bless his heart) and dumped their terrifying contents into his rumbling truck. I watched as he drove up the block - stopping at none of the other houses.

He'd come back for my trash, alone.

Do you think he remembered the day I helped him pick up the contents of a neighbor's overturned trash cans?

Do you think he knew he was a bit early, and that we (almost) always have trash at the curb when he arrives?

Do you think it was just my imagination?

Do you think it's sanitary to leave a plate of cookies and thank you note on top of our garbage can this week?

Grounded

She smiles.

She makes me want to smile forever.

She laughs.

She makes me want to laugh forever.

She flies.

She makes me want to fly with her.

She goes.

She makes me want to never let her go.

Trash Talk

Friday is trash day around these parts. And boy is it ever welcome.

Since Lauren was born, we haven't ever used a diaper genie for her disposable diapers, instead choosing to just put them directly into the big trash can in the garage. It saves on one more plastic bag to buy and throw away, plus the hassle with changing out the liners is forgone. It's just easier without the genie, in my opinion. But what that means is that our large trash can in the garage becomes quite foul by the end of the week - or by day 2 during the hot summer months. Considering that we don't have much in the way of actual trash, as we recycle most things, food garbage is the main component in our trash bin. Garbage + Dirty Diapers = A Pure Terror of Scent. As in, walking past the trash can to get to the car makes me want to fall down and gag and scream at the same time. Definitely not heavenly.

Many times on trash day, I've snuck a look out the door as the trash truck comes rumbling down our street, waiting to see the reaction of the garbage collector - surely our can is the stinkiest he's ever encountered. I wait for him to make a face or fall over dead in the street when hit in the face by the odor of this household's refuse. Surprisingly, he doesn't even seem to notice. I've decided that sanitation engineers must go through extensive training so as not to be susceptible to the certain painful death which would await them from the stench they encounter on a daily basis. This is the only reasonable explanation as to why they can endure the awful garbage cans all over the city. Especially ours.

It was pouring down rain a few Friday mornings ago when I noticed that our across-the-street neighbor's trash cans had been washed down to the dead end by the gushing water at the edge of the street, and spilled their contents along the way. Trash was everywhere. It wasn't a terrible mess - the bags were still intact, but a few large things that hadn't been bagged were strewn about. Not to mention the can itself was almost hidden in the underbrush at the end of the road. The garbage collector had already dumped our terrifyingly stinky trash can and was setting to work gathering the cans of our neighbors when I realized that he probably wouldn't notice the missing trashcan, nor would he be required to gather any of the unbagged things. Plus, like I mentioned before, it was pouring. I suddenly felt bad for both him and my neighbors - him for having to deal with such a mess, if he chose to, and the neighbors because what if they came home to leftover, sodden trash that wasn't collected all because of a freak rainstorm?

Before I could think it through all the way, I dashed outside and began picking up what I could. We have wonderful neighbors, and I know they'd have done the same for us if something similar had happened. As I ran around in the pouring rain, I hoped the collector wouldn't drive away before I could alert him to my task. I thought he'd appreciate the help during the deluge, but I also didn't want to have him leave before all the trash had been gathered. Thankfully, he seemed grateful - not frustrated at having to pause in the middle of the rainy street to pick up trash that, contractually speaking, he didn't have to pick up. Holding my breath each time I approached the rear of the truck, I wondered just how bad that thing would smell. But I wasn't dumb enough to breathe freely and find out. The trash collector and I exchanged a few words around the noise of the rain and the compactor, and that was the end of it. I ran back inside to dry myself off.

(Believe me when I say that I am no angelic neighbor. We have screaming kids in the back yard, grass that grows to frightening levels before it gets mowed, a front garden in a disarray of weeds and dead plants - I often am afraid to know what the neighborhood might think of us. And I'm not telling you this story to get accolades for a deed well-done; my neighbors never knew this happened and I'd be embarrassed for them to find out, because then I'd face the task of accepting praise or thanks - and for some strange reason, these things intimidate me. Rather, I wanted to illustrate how rough I think it must be to be a garbage collector - especially when faced with households like ours which provide exceptionally disturbing levels of olfactory abuse - as well as set the scene for a post later this week - The Day We Forgot About Trash Day. *shudder*)

I can only pray that I'll never get that close to the stinky underbelly of public services, ever again. God bless sanitation engineers.

What an awful job, eh?

7 Quick Takes Friday, #32

1. While I made dinner yesterday, the girls were in the living room playing and watching Caillou (that bald little dinner-prep savior). I was concentrating on what I was doing and not really focused on the general chatter and tv noises coming from the other room. I vaguely registered hearing what sounded like a ringing phone, thought it came from Caillou, and disregarded it before I really even knew I'd thought about it at all.

Then I heard a male voice say, 'Hello?' and the tone didn't match up with anything I'd ever heard on a children's cartoon, so I started to wonder what was going on. Before I could clean my hands off and move towards the living room, Lauren started babbling like crazy: "Ah-heyo! Wisibissi a MAMA eet bajinna DADA it HEYO! Isss mussinuff unnuh HONE! Itickitickiticki HEYO!"

It suddenly clicked what had happened. She'd gotten my cell phone, dialed a contact, and put it on speakerphone (something I don't even know how to do, by the way) - then she'd begun conversing. Animatedly.

I jumped across the room, dodging toys to grab the phone from her hand. Poor thing; she was so excited to have been really using the phone, and the look on her face was precious - excited, awed, proud. I put the phone to my ear (stupidly - speakerphone virgin here.) and asked, to whom did I have the pleasure of speaking?

It was my handyman. (I believe Lauren's also texted him some random strings of letters in the recent past. I've GOT to figure out how to lock the keypad. And how to work the speakerphone. Among other things.) I apologized profusely for the mixup; he was probably in the middle of his day job, not wishing to have been bothered by an ecstatic toddler's happy-dialing.

But really, wouldn't you always rather hear the barely intelligible chatter of a toddler over just about any other noise?

No?

Huh.



2. I've been noticing something lately: I get very sleepy in the car. Not just on long drives, either. I'm talking about an 8 minute jaunt up the road to the library or the grocery store. It's all I can do sometimes to not turn the car around and go back home to curl up in bed. But with the kids in tow, that's not likely. All I can do is turn the music up and try to slap some sense into my sleepy brain. What is this? Am I not getting enough rest? Actually, I already know the answer to that - NO I'M NOT. But is that enough reason for me to get unbearably sleepy on short drives across town? Is it just the vibrations of the car and the happy talk coming from the backseat that lull me into drowsiness? This must be what babies feel when they're on car trips. However, they have no pressing responsibilities like not wrecking the car to keep them from closing their eyes.



3. And in the interest of randomness (because QT Fridays are so beautifully random around here, I feel like I can unleash the full power of my disturbing randomness - lucky Friday! Lucky you!), I find it terribly vexing that neither of my daughters have ever been those pleasant car-sleeping babies. I think Mia's only fallen asleep in the car around 5 times. Lauren was a bit better; she's slept in the car maybe 8 times. This makes for loooooong road trips. Not that we go on many, and for this very reason. Although I think we're slowly breaking out of our mold, and starting to venture further away now that the girls are getting older. Knowing that, I'd bet I'm due to get pregnant any time now just to throw us back to square one. Except, maybe the next Heavenly baby will be a car sleeper and...

I'll stop now. My train of consciousness was starting to derail. And I'd hate for you to witness such a thing.



4. I'm always on the lookout for cute crafts and activities to do with Mia. In preschool, they are always doing something fun and creative, so when she's home with me and we get bored, I like to have a few ideas handy with which to fill our time. Not that I've been very good about implementing the ideas, but sometimes it's nice to know that if we're pulling our hair out in boredom, there are things that can be done.

I happened across a new-to-me blog this week called Real Life. Sarah has the cutest little pumpkin craft posted that looks adorable for little hands to work with. I hope to try this soon. Mia's thrilled with all the pumpkins decorating every store we enter lately, so I think she'll LOVE this.

Any more good fall preschooler activities up your sleeves?



5. We've been having some issues around here lately with offensive words. One in particular. Do you care if I go ahead and write it out loud? Ok. Here goes.

Boobies. Eeeeek!

Now I know that's not really a bad word, but it just seems all kinds of wrong to me to hear my 3 year old say it. I've explained to her that it's not a polite word, and we've discussed other options for referring to body parts that are more respectful. I thought we'd nipped it. (Sorry. I shouldn't do that, I know, but it's funny! Puns are hilarious!) (Clearly I'm not very mature, myself.) (Moving on.)

However, a conversation yesterday reminded me that this battle will not be won quickly. She was telling me that her baby doll couldn't eat grapes because she was just a 'brand new newborn', and I - of course - asked what a newborn could eat.

"Well, she can only eat cereal....and....juice...and stuff like that," she answered primly.

"But," I encouraged, ever the lactivist, "Doesn't she also get to drink mommy's milk?"

"Oh!" said the tiny mama, "Yes! She can have milk from her mommy's....her mommy's..." At this, she looked down at her shirt with such concentration that I knew whatever she said next would be good. "Her mommies, um, zoobies. Mommies have zoobies."

I stifled my reaction, so that instead of seeing me slapping my thighs and sobbing with laughter, she saw me nod in understanding. "That's right," I said, closing my eyes for just a split second to keep my composure, "But that word that you can't remember, so you said (*deep breath*) zoobies instead? That's not a word we want to say anyway, ya know? But you're right - newborn babies get their milk from their mama's chest."

And I left it at that.

Zoobies. *chuckles*



6. Over the past week or two, when Lauren's gotten in real trouble, we've taken her away from the activity and placed her in a sort of time out. Not that it's really a time out, but that's the language we use with her big sister, so it seems natural. I think she's really too young at 17 months for a full-on time out, but the distraction and loss of interaction for a moment seems to mean something to her. Plus, she sees Mia going to time out occasionally, and she seems to understand that it's not a desirable consequence. She often gets a concerned look on her face and points to Mia's room saying, "SISSY!! TY-MOW!!" So I think she already knows what it's about. Plus, I've seen her putting her baby doll into time out for some imaginary infarction. Cute stuff.

Further evidence that's she's understanding it came today when she got scolded for purposefully dumping out a cup of snacks onto the living room floor.

"Lauren!" I said sternly. "No dumping! We don't dump snacks! Pick them back up, please."

Her face started to crumble into sadness. I hate that part. It's why I've become such a successful discipline dodger. The lower lip and the downturned face make me want to cuddle her up and apologize for daring to scold her so freely. Yes, I know. I'm in trouble.

But, the most surprising thing happened next: She looked to the edge of the hallway - an occasional time out spot for Mia - and walked herself over while saying, "Dump cack-uhs, ty-mow. Ty-mow." Then she sat herself down, and stayed there - peeking over her shoulder every so often at my reaction. Which was dumbfounded.

My 17 month old is disciplining herself. Can I get an AMEN?!



7. One of my very first blog friends, Lenae, welcomed a new baby boy this week! Stop by and wish her well, wouldja? She's such a good mother and I know I'll miss her around the blogosphere while she's settling into raising 3 boys, but that doesn't mean we can't inundate her with blessings, right?!

Congratulations, Lenae, on your beautiful new sweetheart. We can't wait to hear all about him. (And by we, I mean I. And by all about him, I mean THE BIRTH STORY! HIS PERSONALITY! HOW YOU'RE FEELING! WHAT HIS BROTHERS THINK!)


Have a wonderful weekend, and thank you for subjecting yourself to my Quick Takes! Be sure to check out the rest of the Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.

We've Got A Gaseous Kind Of Love

At almost 18 months, Lauren is coming into her toddlerhood quite rambunctiously. Playful and mischievous with her tiny grin, she can soften the brunt of any difficult day - even if she's part of the reason it's been difficult.

Yesterday as I chased her down for the quadrillionth time, she ran away laughing. And instead of being frustrated by her escape, I decided to encourage it to see how much fun we could have.

"Lauuuuuureeeeen," I taunted, "I'm gonna GET YOUUUUUU!"

She squealed with glee and picked up her speed. Tripping along on her baby legs, looking back to check my proximity - it's amazing how she managed to stay upright with all of her laughing and turning.

I closed the distance between us and grabbed onto her, throwing her in the air before laying her down on the floor for a tickle-and-kiss session. And while she was there, I could do what I'd been chasing her for all along - a diaper change. Since we'd had so much fun with the pursuit, the task was tolerated. I continued to tickle and play with her, delighting in her chuckly laughter. When I'd gotten her diaper off and was about to reach for a new one, she quieted suddenly, stopped wiggling, and gave me a blank stare. Her stomach muscles contracted, her forehead tensed, she raised her legs....

And farted at me.

Then, seeing my surprise turn into giggles - I had expected something MUCH messier than a toot, after all - she laughed and kept pushing with all her might....

And farted at me 6 more times. In a row. She had the laughing farts, I believe, and they just kept squeaking out. At this, I began to worry that she was actually working on something more tangible, and I quickly wrangled the fresh diaper onto her noisy bottom.

I never imagined having daughters would be so...

Gassy.

And I never imagined it would be so much fun.



This post is included in Real Life's Your Life, Your Blog.

In Our World...

Fairies wear glass slippers.

Motorcycles are more frightening than thunderstorms.

Leaving the Chick-Fil-A playground is akin to torture.

When the phone is in use by an adult, attention will be demanded; when the phone is abandoned by the same adult, attention will be unwanted.

Stickers are like gold.

Climbing on couches contributes to a vital part of the daily exercise.

Falling off couches contributes to a vital part of the daily excitement.

Ursula the Sea Witch might just be the scariest thing in the universe.

Below the kitchen table is where the most fun happens, especially when food crumbs can be located.

Broccoli happens far too often. Brownies happen far too infrequently.

Screaming will be employed at will. (Sometimes, the adults will do so as well - this is great fun.)

Hugging will be endured at will (or welcomed if used in response to motorcycle noise or Ursula).

'NO' will be interpreted as 'Do that AGAIN!'

Eating real food cannot be proven as a verifiable way to sustain life. Breathing air is all it takes.

A well-timed sniff of blankie can solve all the problems in our world.

What's it like in your world?

What We Found At The Library

Lauren's Favorite:  Orange Pear Apple Bear, By Emily Gravett

I imagine that because it was smaller in stature than our other library books that day, Lauren's first choice of book to explore was Orange Pear Apple Bear; she hasn't put it down since.  She loves this sweet, simple book with it's sweet, simple illustrations.  The words and pictures are engaging enough for Lauren to basically read all by herself.  She pointed to each picture as she turned the pages and enthusiastically described them to whoever would listen while backing her little self up into the nearest lap and beginning a narration. This is a wonderful book for distractable toddlers - and it comes with two thumbs up from my sweet Lauren Jade.  High praise, indeed.

Mia's Favorite:  How Do Dinosaurs Eat Their Food? By Jane Yolen & Mark Teague (Illustrator)

We've been running through the whole series of Dinosaur books lately, and Mia enjoyed this one very much.  She's had quite a time with learning how to eat respectfully, so I think the hilarity of these ill-mannered dinosaurs really struck a note with her personal experience.  In particular, she seems to notice the expressions on the parents' faces.  She asks for detailed descriptions of what they must be feeling, and I make sure to pepper their reactions with words that grab Mia's attention: flabbergasted, irritated, furious, disappointed, then pleased, proud, happy, encouraging.  My favorite part of this book is the ending, when all the dinosaurs are shown eating patiently and kindly - earning proud looks from their parents.  Not that I can sympathize with those parents, or anything...

This Heavenly Mama's Favorite:  I Took The Moon For A Walk, By Carolyn Curtis & Alison Jay (Illustrator)

I'm a sucker for children's books with lulling rhythms, rhyming cadences, and lovely artwork.  All three qualifications came together in this quiet story about a boy enjoying the full moon.  One of my favorite passages evokes the calm and mysterious night: 'We tiptoed through grass where the nightcrawlers creep, When the rust-bellied robins have all gone to sleep, And the Moon called the dew so the grass seemed to weep, When I took the Moon for a walk.'  One of our most-used times for stories is right before bedtime (universally so, I think), and I always appreciate it when a book is geared towards calming and lulling the action of the day.  This book accomplishes that task beautifully.  Plus, there's not a ton of words on each page, so both Mia and Lauren can enjoy it: Mia for the story and words, Lauren for the rhythm and illustrations.  The story clips along at a nice pace while still seeming calm and quiet - perfect for bedtime.

Housefly Lady

This would not have been my first choice of tasks to be greeted with in the morning. 

As I lifted the blinds on the living room windows to accept the morning light, I saw them: flies.  A dozen or more, camped out on my window, sitting pretty in what they assumed was a safe and cozy habitat.

They assumed wrong.  

Spiders, crickets, creepy crawlies, I am afraid of.  Flies, I LOATHE & DESPISE.  The buzzing, dizzying annoyance of them makes my skin crawl and fills me with a sense of purpose: to get rid of the flies, with all due speed.

As soon as I sized up the enemy, I armed myself with my hot pink fly swatter and stealthily approached the window.  I aimed, I fired...

And got ONE.  One measly fly while the rest were scattered by the wind swooshing off my pink swatter. 

No matter, I pressed on.  Mia and Lauren whimpered on the couch while I became unhinged in my pursuit of flies.  With my swatter poised for the kill, I tiptoed and dashed - snuck and darted, aiming to rid my home of my enemies.  I hunted them down until I could find no more, and scooped up their remains to be dumped in the trashcan.  I assured my girls that they could uncover their eyes; the mad swatter was done.

If only I'd known. 

For there in the kitchen was another colony of flies on the back doormat, basking in the morning sun.  I began again with my swatting, fueled by disbelief that so many flies had multiplied in my house overnight.  Where did they come from?  How had they gotten in?  By the time I finished up this round of fly swatting, I'd broken a sweat from my exertions.  During all the practice, I'd gotten so accurate in my aim that I'd even managed to take down a few nasty flies in mid air.  The satisfaction of feeling the fly hit the plastic and shoot off into the distance was a beautiful thing.  Never mind that I couldn't find where the flattened fly had landed; at least it wasn't buzzing and darting around me any longer. 

I went about the rest of my day in relative peace, stopping to grab my swatter several times for a lone fly that had escaped my early morning raid.  But I didn't come across an entire family reunion of flies again.  I was confident that I'd taken care of the majority of the problem. Nipped it in the bud.

When I finally sat down to relax after the kids were in bed for the night, I heard it again: BZZZzzzzZZZZzzzzz.  Flies.  One in particular was zipping around my head over and over again.  I carefully stood up with a look of stern concentration and tracked it - where else? - to the same window in which I'd found the first fly colony.  It landed among a group of lazily wandering flies.  I counted them. 

ELEVEN.  What.  The.  Heck.  I'd been knocking flies across rooms and smashing them against windows all day.  I'd probably killed 50 flies already, and here were eleven more?  Unbelievable.  Never fear, though.  Housefly Lady With Pink Swatter to the rescue. 

After my initial fly-scattering swat, I stood crouched in front of the window, waiting for the little hoodlums to return.  I barely moved my head, using only my eyes to track their erratic paths.  But these late evening flies were the ones that had evaded me all day; they were resilient.  I'd smash them to the ground and go to scoop them up only to have them fly away again. 

At one point I caught sight of my reflection in the dark window: crouched, poised, scowling, hovering, then weilding my swatter like a hot pink sword.  I was profoundly glad that the window isn't able to be seen by any neighbors - my level of dedication was fanatical.  It took every ounce of my concentration to get rid of that last lot of flies.  But I did it.

The flies lost and I...

Wait...

BZzzzzZZZZzzzzZZZZ...


And I give up.  I will now be going crazy. 

Pray that my rubber room has no flies, will you?

7 Quick Takes Friday, #31

1. For a few months now, I've been participating in a monthly blog carnival called Perfectly Poetical Tuesdays, hosted by Stephanie at The Little Stuff of Life. Although there's never a very big turn out, I'm having a gay old time composing my first ever poems. (THIS MAY OR MAY NOT BE A SHAMELESS PLUG TO GET YOU ALL TO JOIN ME AT PERPOTUES. IT'S FUN!)

Case in point: the other night as I was writing this month's entry (it was an Ode to Bedtime), I had trouble coming up with a few important rhymes. Justin was sitting across from me, looking all handsome and helpful, so I asked him for advice.

"Hey babe, do you think whispering rhymes with history?" I asked. His expression was not very encouraging so I repeated the words a few times, helpfully accentuating the matching syllables and sounds. "HIS-turry. WIS-purring. Do you hear it? Do you think they're similar enough words to count as a rhyming pair?"

Justin stared at me with a look of deep concentration and said, "Well...I mean...they're both...words."

At least he still looked handsome, even if he wasn't entirely helpful.



2. Mia tried her hand at the rhyming game, too. Yesterday on the way home from running errands, she was telling me what she wanted for lunch when a wayward 'rhyme' snuck in.

"I think for lunch I will want to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That's what I want, OK? HEY! That rhymes with WICHITA!"

"Uhhhm...I don't think...Wichita?" I stumbled over my response. I tried to see what in the heck she was talking about, so I went back over her words. Lunch, Peanut Butter, Jelly, Sandwich, Wichita....waaaitaminute. She was connecting sandWICH with WICHita.

Close (and a similarity, indeed), but no cigar. (HEY! That rhymes with garden!)



3. After being so caught up in the difficulties of putting Lauren in Kid's Day Out, I feel like I kind of missed out on some of the excitement around Mia starting Preschool. She's settled into her new class quite easily - getting along well with the teacher and her new friends. But still, I feel like I've gypped her from my attention. (I guess this is one more instance of the ever-present GUILT OF MOTHERHOOD.)

On school days, I've been dropping Mia at her room first, so I can stay a bit longer in Lauren's room to help her get settled. I don't regret this; Lauren needed more help, and the squeaky wheel gets the oil, nomesayin? But now that Lauren has gotten better about the moment of separation (even though it still rips my heart bare...), I've decided to change up my routine. I think I'll take Lauren to her class first every-other-day, so I can then spend a few minutes in Mia's room getting her settled in and making sure she feels like I'm there for her. As much as a 3 year old can feel those things. It'll be hard to tell if she cares whether or not I take extra time, because she's just pumped in general on school days. She loves it there.

But at least it'll make ME feel better, right?



4. If you're on Blogger, do you ever log in only to find that your 'Following' list has disappeared? Every so often, I'll go to check my feed reader, and it'll say "You are not currently following any blogs" or some such nonsense. And then I panic every. stinkin. time. I think, "How on EARTH will I ever remember all the blogs I follow to re-do my list?!" Just about the time I start gnashing my teeth and rending my garments, I remember, "Oh, yeah. This has happened before. It will right itself. Have patience." Only, I'm always wondering if this is the time Blogger is serious, and that they actually have lost my blog list.

Does this ever happen to you? I mean, not all the crazy reaction parts, but the Blogger technical difficulty part. Is it just my account that's jacked up?



5. Last night marked a first: Mia said "I don't LIKE you," to me. I've been expecting this day for quite some time, thinking I'd be saddened and flustered - but it wasn't too bad. I fancy myself more sensitive than I really am, I suppose. Thankfully, she was being none too likeable herself at the moment, so it wasn't too hard to disregard her statement.



6. My daughters are both going through a phase right now where they LOOOVE to drink the bathwater. This grosses me right out. Feet and bottoms and hair are soaked in that water; it's very likely that the toddler pees in that water. We repeatedly discourage bathwater drinking, but it's really hard to enforce it when they're surrounded by water and the bath-giver is distracted by piddly things like washing and rinsing and refereeing. Should we just let it go as not really that big of a deal? Should we be trying harder to stop it? Any words of wisdom?



7. When Jen hosted her Defining Post carnival last week, I had a great time clicking on as many of the links as I had time for. I happened to end up visiting Philangelus' blog and read a really fascinating story about her guardian angel. It gave me chills and wondering thoughts and all kinds of good stuff. Which leads me to this: Do you believe in angels?



Thanks for stopping by today! Be sure to visit Jen at Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes and have a beautiful weekend!

Don't You Love It...

When you spend the day cleaning your house to within an inch of it's cluttered life only to hear that your visitors have cancelled their plans, leaving you with no dinner at the last minute and a half prepared dessert?

Yeah, me too.


(But, yay for dessert in a sparkling kitchen.)

What Fun Would Life Be Without Some Quirks?

You know what's strange about me? Besides the obvious, I mean? Well here: Let me introduce you to The Real Sarah.



- I will not allow myself to have just one wet hand. Both must get wet if one must. If I accidentally touch a wet object with my right hand, it's a guarantee that I will soon be rubbing my hands together to transfer the wetness to my dry left hand. It's not enough to simply DRY OFF the wet hand; the other hand has to be wet before either can be dried. Also? When my daughter puts soap on her dry hands, my brain registers an emergency that must be remedied by water immediately. I think I may even hold my breath until water is added to the soap.

- In the same category, I cannot peel a dry potato. It must be wet before the peeling can begin. Otherwise, it's like nails on a chalkboard. *shudder* By the way, when I actually do hear nails on a chalkboard (or some similar harsh and uncomfortable noise), I must immediately scratch my fingernails across denim in order to make the bad feelings go away. Canvas works well too. Nothing too supple or velvety - that would only make the bad feelings worse.

- I get easily confused between the number 5 and the letter E. Or the number 4 and the letter R. They are nearly interchangeable in my mind, and when a string of numbers and letters is mixed together (on a license plate, for example), I need to concentrate very hard or else the 5's will become E's and vice-versa; The R's will become 4's.

- When hair gets stuck under collars, I go a little crazy. I get so distracted by this annoyance that I can barely function until I've freed that hair from bondage. And I'm not talking about my own hair - it never gets anywhere close to the collar before I've either smoothed it away to safety, or cut it off entirely. I'm talking about other people's hair. I start to get squirmy and itchy just thinking about a lock of hair being tucked into a tall collar or - heaven forbid - a turtleneck. But I've realized it's just not polite to untuck a stranger's collar-bound hair. They'll quickly become weirded out by such an intimate gesture (not to mention how red MY cheeks would be). Over the years, I've trained myself to endure the aggravation silently while trying to tear my eyes away from the black hole of a hair-filled collar. But if you knew the battle that raged behind my benign smile...it's a sickness.

- I have a hard time speaking the words 'eggs and bacon.' Inevitably, I get my mords wixed and what I will say is 'beggs & acon.' No matter how hard I visualize the pair of words, the objects themselves, or the letters in the words, it is almost always out of my control and I usually bungle it. So if I invite you for breakfast, you could expect a written menu before I'd tell you what we'd be having.

- If there are any toys left out in the living room at night, I need to arrange them comfortably before I turn the lights off. This rule only applies to stuffed animals and dolls - like they're living creatures who would be uncomfortable 'sleeping' while crushed under a Thomas train. If there are more than one of them, they must be put together in a cuddly position, so that they can rest easily overnight - arms embracing one another, leaned back against a soft pillow, no -erm - bottoms resting against faces. Can you imagine sleeping with a backside smashed against your nose?! Yes, I know. This one is truly disturbing. I think it's due to some residual feeling of tenderness towards The Velveteen Rabbit. (Are you familiar with that story? Where they toys are real, with feelings and actions?) Otherwise I'm just a certified nut job, and I'd really prefer to be affected by a children's story than to be a real, live nut job.


Whew! I feel better now, having that all out in the open. But you know what would make me feel REALLY great?

Hearing about your quirks. Then I'd not be so worried about myself after seeing all that nonsense in writing up there.

So 'fess up.

We're all friends here, aren't we?

*crickets chirping*

AREN'T WE?!

Love,
Sarah The Kooky The Pushy The Heavenly


PS - This post is included in Real Life's Your Life Your Blog, where you can link up to a post from the previous week - check it out!

Perfectly Poetical Tuesday (Ode)

Thanks to Stephanie for hosting PerPoTues! The poem this week is an Ode, which for our purposes is basically a rhyming tribute to something we love. And - just like last month - let me encourage you to build your own Ode to share with us - if I can do this, you certainly can too!

Check out the other Perfectly Poetical Ode entries at The Little Stuff of Life. (There's still time for you to submit your entry...winkwink.)

Ode To Bedtime

When first we awaken and greet the day

You seem but a far off dream.

We spend our time, we work and play

And manage to burn off steam.

But all the while, your peaceful promise

Looms in our hearts so large,

That when you arrive, nothing can stop us

From throwing ourselves in your arms.

Through baths and stories, we're waiting

for your actual time to draw near.

The ticking clock starts to hasten;

we're listening with day-weary ears.

Now screaming, now giggling, now whispering;

the children's cacophony has ceased.

The day has gone into history,

Our minds are calmed and eased.

What quiet! What serenity! What rest!

What shall we do with our freedom?!

How can we use our time best?

We're like peasants set free in the Kingdom.

We can read without interruption,

or leave the house for a date.

We can have a thoughtful discussion,

or quietly ponder our fate.

We gaze around at the debris

of a day spent playing and living,

and suddenly - like an amputee -

we notice our children are missing.

Calm and relaxing though you are,

at times we wish we were stronger!

For try as we might, we're not far

from - tomorrow - delaying you just a bit longer.