tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-99327782024-03-13T22:04:58.093-05:00UpheavalUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger548125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-70062228809154797692016-11-27T20:39:00.000-06:002016-11-27T20:41:26.165-06:00ShoesRepost from a Facebook comment. I don't even know if it is right to say "black" or "white" anymore. Please feel free to correct me. I want to learn the right thing to say. I get that we are all Americans - and for the purposes of this post, I am racially descriptive.<br />
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It feels so stupid to have to even say this but as a white girl married to a Korean cop, I tend to think these things must happen in other communities.<br />
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A few weeks ago, I was helping a friend put together a community event. Her brother took me to pick up some things from a storage facility. I had never met him before, and he was black. He listened to loud music and had low slung pants and smoked. Not a guy I would usually hang out with but we had great conversation about his time in the military (thank you!) and how hard it is as a veteran to get work, even with a Master's degree.<br />
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We got to where we were going, and I hopped out of the car to go unlock the storage building. A big guy in literal overalls and a big diesel pulled his truck up to the bumper of my new friend's truck. He idled for awhile and then got out and shouted at the driver about "blocking the drive" which we weren't.<br />
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During this whole event, I never once was "afraid" or "intimidated" by this experience, until the white guy turned it into something to fear. It was eye opening to me. Being anywhere while you are black makes things suspicious and racial. I was nervous and we weren't doing anything wrong. I think it is delilusional to say we don't have a problem, but I don't know how a white girl goes about solving it unless we all just walk a mile in our neighbor's shoes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-20217763463021668172011-04-10T20:09:00.003-05:002011-04-10T20:55:34.360-05:00Warning: GrossWe have a new addition to our family. "New" as in, we just got it last week.<br /><br />It is Korenna's "bobo." It came to live with us when she slid down the driveway on the back of her hand. I am not sure it is ever going away.<br /><br />I think it qualifies as an actual part of our family. I mean, we discuss it daily at length. We look at it frequently, at Korenna's request. It requires a separate, very gentle bath. It requires daily dressings of Hello Kitty and Princess Band-Aids, on alternating days. <br /><br />Her bobo is even garnering its own blog posts. <br /><br />Tonight Korenna was taking a bath, and she exclaimed loudly "The green part of my bobo came off!" <br /><br />*GAG*<br /><br />"Yuck! That makes me sick, Korenna!"<br /><br />"Oh, I'n sowwy Mama."<br /><br />Later I heard her telling her brother, "Hey, Dillon. Don't touch my bobo!!! It will make you sick, like Mama."<br /><br />That's all she needs: some more power granted to her bobo.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-19200825721904935052011-03-31T21:37:00.002-05:002011-03-31T21:53:19.420-05:00WHAT???So, two years off. That's kind of a lot.<br /><br />I actually just read through a few of my "most recent" posts and laughed. I don't know if I am still funny, or if my kids and current life have just stolen all of my wit.<br /><br />Still married. Still have two kids. Still have Tux. Still drive the mini-van. <br /><br />Dillon is a very chatty five-year old. He will go to kindergarten in the fall. It is bittersweet to think of him growing up in that way. He loves to color, he loves Transformers and Spiderman. He still loves Thomas, but he knows that he isn't getting any new Thomas stuff. Last week was his first t-ball game. I love that we have started what could potentially be thirteen years of city baseball! I am proud to be his mom. He is sweet and compassionate and silly and smart.<br /><br />Korenna is a mini-me. She is funny and so goofy. Her favorite things in life are her thumb and her BigDog. She is in the three-year-old room at Tanglewood. My favorite thing to do is to curl up in bed with her on top of her seventeen babies. Her favorite thing these days is to just say "Mama, you just cheesing!" which translates to "Mama, you just teasing!" or "Whatchoo talkin 'bout, Willis?"<br /><br />Anyway, thanks for reading, but this blog isn't for you. It is mostly for me. I love to re-read old stuff that I wrote. Life goes too fast, and this is how I slow it down.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-72612068347115592202009-05-05T06:16:00.003-05:002009-05-05T20:25:26.760-05:00Sleep tightHave you ever had "night laughing?" It is similar to "church laughing" but instead of being in church, you are laying in your own bed. There has to be an element of suppression, so obviously, if you are in your own bed alone, you probably are not trying to suppress anything, and that would not be considered "night laughing." But if your spouse is trying to sleep right beside you, that is usually enough of a silence motivator to produce "night laughing," if and when something funny happens. In the middle of the night. While you are supposed to be sleeping.<br /><br />This happened the other night when Dillon got out of bed. Forty times. For many reasons, like "Come fix my covahs" and "I need to go potty" and "My clock won't turn to six!"<br /><br />It was Daniel's turn. I had my turn the night before.<br /><br />Daniel was furious. He does not handle being awoken from his nocturnal lumberjack adventures (sawing logs) with any kind of grace. He stumbled out of bed and fixed Dillon's covers. He went to the bathroom with him to turn the light on (cause we emphasize good aim at a young age). He explained that his "clock would turn to six when it actually was six, and not THREE in the morning."<br /><br />The last time Dillon came in, the hilarity of the moment pushed me over the edge. He brought in his sippy cup of ice water. (His daddy fixes it for him every night so that he won't have to come get us when he is thirsty.) He shook the cup and made the water slosh and to show his daddy that there was no ice in there anymore.<br /><br />"Daddy?? This water is NYAAAAAASTY!" He said in his a really nasal and whiny voice, and since "nasty" is not a word we use much, and he obviously picked it, and the pronunciation, up from someone else, it made me think about what would make a three year old be so vehement about how NYAAAAAASTY something was, and it just made me laugh. <br /><br />A lot.<br /><br />With tears.<br /><br />Because, really???? This kid picks his nose (while saying, from the backseat where I can't reach him, "Mama! I'm not picking my nose, okay?"), and he eats food off the floor, and he talks a lot about bathroom stuff. So for THIS kid to think that his water was NYAAAAAASTY, and the very idea that this so compelled him to come out of his bedroom and announce this observation to his (kind of) slumbering father, was just too much for me.<br /><br />And it would have been for you too. If you had been there. In which case we both could have laughed out loud! Cause two night laughers can overpower one night sleeper anytime.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-53563789141505457142009-04-12T15:57:00.002-05:002009-04-12T16:17:21.055-05:00Wally worldNot to whine, but I am TIRED. You wanna know why? Really?<br /><br />Because I just left WalMart.<br /><br />I guess every once in awhile, they do a big overhaul of department stores. They "flip" them, so to speak. Ours is being flipped. There is a rather hopeful sign by the front door that says, "Your new WalMart, coming soon! 44 more days!"<br /><br />Well, I broke out the calendar, counted the days, and I won't be setting foot back in there until after May 26th. You can check my math, but I might make it the 27th, just to be sure.<br /><br />It took me over an hour to locate seven little things. Anti-perspirant? Well, most of it was kinda close to the pharmacy area, but not my brand. MY BRAND was on some tiny whirly-gig kiosk thing, ten feet away by the plant hangers. Carpet cleaner? I still don't know. I would turn a corner and get all hopeful, only to realize that the sign hadn't been moved yet and I was lost in the largest pet department ever built in a WalMart. (Who needs that much pet stuff???)<br /><br />You can forget about asking the friendly associates at WalMart. They walk around staring at their feet, mumbling "H'lo-how're-you" without even making eye contact. I am sure they are so tired of the griping and complaining from lost customers that work is pretty much unbearable right now. Good thing they are open 24 hours a day, and that they have a bedding section. This gives shoppers plenty of time, and the more traumatized customers have the opportunity to assume the fetal position under a comforter, clutching their list that says "Ziplock bags" and "Hairspray."<br /><br />Fortunately, I was able to locate my Frappucinos. And toilet paper. You know. The necessities. As for allergy medicine, a new belt, and AlphaBits cereal, those things are going to have to wait. At least another 44 days.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-32664232879056217802009-04-04T14:19:00.002-05:002009-04-04T14:44:43.146-05:00Top o' the mornin'!I am absolutely positive that my children love me. Korenna lunges at me with open-mouthed kisses of unashamed affection. Dillon says "Mama? Ah you my favwit boy?" at least thirty times a day. Hugs, snuggles, love pats, and all that good stuff.<br /><br />So, why, in the name of all things Holy, do they not ever let me sleep late? And by "late," I mean one nanosecond past six. Seriously!<br /><br />Friday morning won the award for the most absurd, sitcom-ish morning of the week. K started talking and whining at five. I lay in my bed, waiting for her to start sucking her thumb and go back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later, I rolled out of bed and went to get her.<br /><br />The babysitter takes naps with my daughter on a regular basis, so I thought maybe I could too. I have even asked her specifically how this is done, because <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> has Korenna ever tolerated a nap with me. I positioned her in my bed exactly how Krystal told me to, and closed my eyes.<br /><br />Yeah, right.<br /><br />Thirty frustrating minutes later, I rolled out of bed and went to put her back in her own bed. She sucked her thumb and went to sleep. SCORE!<br /><br />I still had twenty minutes to snooze before I had to get ready for school. I crawled eagerly under the covers and relaxed.<br /><br />Fourteen seconds later, Dillon was standing by my bed. "Mama! My clock can't say six yet! Go put my clock to six! And also, my pants are wet."<br /><br />He has been potty trained since last summer and has had all of two accidents in his bed. One of them was Friday morning.<br /><br />It was like a Great Lake in there. Everything had to be stripped and Dillon had to be bathed.<br /><br />There went my twenty minutes, plus some! I was totally late for school Friday! <span style="font-style: italic;">And I woke up at FIVE!</span> Am I on Candid Camera???<br /><br />I know there are some people who opt for early wake-up. Like old people. And exercise fanatics. And my own children.<br /><br />Are there any old people or exercise fanatics who want a morning babysitting gig? I don't want to keep all the baby love to myself, especially before the sun comes up.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-11613292258393474102009-03-26T20:47:00.003-05:002009-03-26T21:09:16.626-05:00Dillon had his tonsils out about two weeks ago.<br /><br />What? Um, NO. Not "about" two weeks ago. EXACTLY two weeks and twelve hours ago. I know this because it has been the most miserable two weeks and twelve hours of his (and maybe my) little life.<br /><br />I didn't realize tonsils were such a big deal. I thought it was like getting your appendix out, and people go back to work like the next day I think...<br /><br />But tonsils? Nope.<br /><br />A tonsillectomy starts off okay, cause you are sure this is gonna be the big fix for your miserable little one. Even after the surgery, it seems promising because the patient is rather rambunctious (in my experience) and is playing rather loudly with his train in the surgery center room while you try to nap next to him in the tiny bed. (Of course, for the purposes of my illustration, "you" is really "me/I." But it doesn't matter. All of this is an illusion.)<br /><br />Because, after going home, it becomes apparent that this is a way bigger deal than you signed up for.<br /><br />The patient begins a heartwrenching cry/whine that continues for no less than nine days. It varies in tempo and volume, and can be quieted only with the EXACT size portion of EXACTLY the right kind of ice cream. When ice cream is unavailable or inappropriate for treatment, the doctor suggests filling a huge syringe with vile acid and persuading your preschooler to swallow it willingly to help control his pain. Every four hours. Even throughout the night.<br /><br />Yes. The "night" where you are supposed to be sleeping so that you can be rested enough to fix perfect bowls of ice cream all the live long day tomorrow.<br /><br />I think, if this does not sound fun enough for you, about five days in, when you are as sleep deprived as Octo-Mom, you should schedule for yourself a thyroid removal surgery. Hey, if the kid has to have a sore throat, why shouldn't mom?<br /><br />Ug. Even recalling this for you is making me tense and tired.<br /><br />I just wanted you to know that it is true that mothers will do anything for their babies. Once.<br /><br />I hope tonsils don't regenerate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/Scw1IVS8IUI/AAAAAAAAAEE/Kvoh6NqaHXY/s1600-h/dillon+surgery.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/Scw1IVS8IUI/AAAAAAAAAEE/Kvoh6NqaHXY/s320/dillon+surgery.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317683677289521474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Glen/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-36505651742603576482009-03-23T19:31:00.004-05:002009-03-23T20:21:42.328-05:00Return of the Mack (What is a Mack anyway?)Can you give up on quitting? I guess you can. A lot of people give up on quitting smoking, drinking, gambling or any number of other vices. (I know cause I watch a lot of Intervention.)<br /><br />So, I guess I am giving up on quitting this blog. I took a couple of months off, but now I am having guilt because Korenna's babyhood is not going to be as well chronicled as Dillon's was. Of course, what second child's baby book is ever as fat as the first child's anyway? But, still...<br /><br />This blog is my forum. I can put stuff about what is happening, and you can lurk or comment or whatever, but most importantly, I can come back and read it later. And laugh. Cause these kids are funny.<br /><br />Maybe not always "<a href="http://amandajohnson.blogspot.com/2007/09/my-favorite.html">right now in the moment</a>" funny. But usually at least "<a href="http://amandajohnson.blogspot.com/2006/02/lala-land.html">remember when that happened</a>" funny.<br /><br />And I need that. My Prozac is up as high as it can go. Something's gotta give.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-19190296937878808182009-01-08T20:01:00.004-06:002009-01-09T21:04:23.984-06:00Smarter than most<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCdZwitrNoY">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCdZwitrNoY</a><br /><br />Smart kid, right?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-49754838865962689392008-12-25T20:09:00.003-06:002008-12-25T20:26:44.773-06:00Five year reflectionYou know how sometimes you get asked that question, "Where do you see yourself in five years?"<br /><br />Do you ever look back to see if you are in the right place? Does your life line up with what you dreamed and hoped five or ten years ago?<br /><br />Five years ago, Daniel and I had just bought our first house. We had been married almost nine months. We had no kids, but we had a sweet, sweet dog Tux.<br /><br />Five years ago, I was a pre-k teacher. I had just finished a Master's degree.<br /><br />Five years ago, I was in pretty decent shape. For real.<br /><br />Fast forward to now. I have two happy, funny kids. I have a marriage that has lasted five years, and we are still growing and learning more about each other. I have a new business that is the heart of what I want my life's purpose to be. I have awesome friends and wonderful family supporting me through all of this. I am superbly blessed.<br /><br />If, by God's grace, I am granted another five years on this earth, I hope I'll spend it with Daniel, Korenna, and Dillon. I hope there will be other children for us. I hope my school will grow and be a great resource in our community. I hope my family will have continued health and happiness.<br /><br />But I am not promised<span style="font-style: italic;"> even ONE</span> tomorrow.<br /><br />So tonight, before I tuck myself in to sleep, I'll count the blessings of today, and say "Thank you."<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD,<br />"plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. </span><span style="font-style: italic;" id="en-NIV-19648" class="sup"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. </span><span style="font-style: italic;" id="en-NIV-19649" class="sup"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.</span><br />Jeremiah 29:11-13<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-74614673810008597072008-12-13T09:37:00.003-06:002008-12-13T10:02:02.823-06:00All wrapped up in Christmas<span style="font-style: italic;">"Every kid learns differently."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Teach them in their 'learning language.'"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"There are different modalities for reaching kids. Try, then try again."</span><br /><br />That is all stuff I know. From my background in early childhood to the challenge of teaching those with learning disabilities, I know this.<br /><br />One of primary ways kids with autism learn is visual/spatial. These are kids who can do a 300 piece puzzle at age 5. They can reconstruct Lego buildings they have seen once. They memorize words and signs at a very early age.<br /><br />Not me.<br /><br />I am not visual/spatial.<br /><br />At all.<br /><br />This becomes painfully obvious around Christmas time when my joy in giving is replaced with utter anxiety of having to wrap all the gifts.<br /><br />I hate wrapping gifts. The paper is always too big or too small or too thick. I have been known to do the <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/a/a7/Tootsie_roll_small.jpg/400px-Tootsie_roll_small.jpg">"Tootsie Roll"</a> with gifts, but I cannot even tell you how ugly it looks under my tree. I have "patched" places on wrapped gifts with OTHER kinds of wrapping paper.<br /><br />To deal with this issue, I do several things to reduce my stress:<br /><br />1) I wrap a few gifts a day. (I have tried doing them all at once, but that is usually followed by a couple of miserable days in bed, where I dream about tape and paper and sticker labels.)<br /><br />2) I try to buy rectangular gifts. Clothes? Nope. Not unless in comes in a cube. Football? No way. Books? Yep. Decorative boxes? You know it. If it is a weird shaped gift, I wrap it "as is." So if you see a suspicious gift with your name on it that is shaped like a teapot, guess what? It is most likely a teapot.<br /><br />3) I lay out everything in an assembly line and make my children watch television while I tackle my daily quota. I can wrap four gifts in the length of one cartoon off the DVR (22 minutes). They don't look great, but they are covered. <br /><br />4) I use the same two rolls of paper for all gifts. Christmas or not.<br /><br />5) I use tape. (GASP! I KNOW!!! Fancy people use glue sticks or adhesive strips, but not me. Tape. Scotch, if I have it. Masking or duct if I don't.)<br /><br />6) I chop at paper. If one end of the gift has too much paper, I will chop it off and then fold the paper around the choppy part. This is not only efficient, but it relieves stress.<br /><br />7) I don't even try to do ribbons. Puh-leeze.<br /><br />8) I put sticker labels on the gifts and write on them with a Sharpie. No crafty printed cards or "gift adornments" for me.<br /><br />9) Finally, I drink. A lot. While I am wrapping. So there are several days in December when you probably don't want to try to have a conversation with me. Cause it isn't that I am drinking alcohol. But I am sucking down sweet tea and Coke like there is no tomorrow, and the sugar buzz drives ME crazy, so it probably drives other people crazy.<br /><br />Those are my handy tips with dealing with a visual/spatial deficit. Of course, there are always gift bags. But those will be recycled from my last baby shower and my name will be marked out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-13891046647197669962008-11-19T20:30:00.002-06:002008-11-19T20:34:32.322-06:00Must be the camera...In response to a comment on <a href="http://amandajohnson.blogspot.com/2008/10/if-phone-rings-in-woods-and-no-one-is.html">this post</a>, I can't ditch my friend Allison. She takes frazzled mothers, impatient toddlers, cold babies, and sleepy daddies and makes them look human in family portraits. That is a rare and valuable skill!!!<br /><br />Here is a <a href="http://thorntonphotography.blogspot.com/2008/11/long-time-clients-and-special-friends.html">sneak peek</a>! :)<div class="cssButtonOuter"><div class="cssButtonMiddle"><div class="cssButtonInner"><a><br /></a></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-33683371325215897222008-11-18T16:49:00.003-06:002008-11-18T16:54:16.616-06:00Overheard, at my own dinner tableWoman, sophisticated even though she is licking Cane's sauce off her elbow: <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.raisingcanes.com/">Cane's chicken</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> is awesome!</span><br /><br />Man, devouring his food at a phenomenal pace, just grunts and says: <span style="font-style: italic;">It's okay.</span><br /><br />Woman, overthinking and wondering how many years they have to be married before this guy realizes he just needs to AGREE with her - always: <span style="font-style: italic;">Why would you say it is "okay?" This chicken is really good and the sauce is so much better than anything else, even ice cream. I think it is GREAT!</span><br /><br />Man, still devouring his food, grunts and says: <span style="font-style: italic;">I dunno. I guess it is just "okay" cause it doesn't have anything to do with cheese.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-71799169661092636242008-10-31T19:10:00.003-05:002008-10-31T19:41:27.382-05:00If a phone rings in the woods, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?Boo!<br /><br />Are you scared?<br /><br />You should be. I am.<br /><br />I turn 30 in two days. 30. Weird.<br /><br />So, in honor of my upcoming birthday, I hired the neighbor-girl to come babysit three afternoons a week for an hour so I can exercise. (At this point, the only exercise I have been getting is lifting kids into carseats and tossing dirty diapers toward the trashcan.) This started a couple of weeks ago. It took a couple of weeks for me to blog about it cause nothing interesting happened till yesterday.<br /><br />In some fit of rebellion, I threw out all of my old workout pants sometime last summer. (What kind of incentive is that? "<span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, yeah??? I'll show YOU! I'm never working out AGAIN!!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"</span>) So I bought some new ones the other day. Pink. Green. Cute ones. That I can look cute in. While I am working out. You know, three times a week.<br /><br />Yesterday I put the new cute green pants on, peeled out of the driveway when the sitter got there, and headed to my walking spot. I parked, turned my iPod up loud and started that big-steppin', arm-swingin' grandma-athlete walk that will throw your hips out of socket. But guess what? That wasn't good enough.<br /><br />I thought I should probably give it a little jog. Just a little bit. Well, I actually said in my brain, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Jog until you can't jog another step, then turn around and power walk back to the car."</span><br /><br />That is what I did! In my cute green pants. With my cute pink iPod and cute pink Nikes. I got really far for someone who hasn't moved that fast since the last century. I petered out after about a mile. My head was pounding with the quarts of extra blood that was being supplied to my brain by my panicking body. My face was bright red. You could visually count the pulse in my neck if you drove by me at 30 miles an hour.<br /><br />So I slowed down, then started walking. Got ready to turn around and head back to my car. Gripped my keys in one hand and brushed my pants pocket to check on my phone.<br /><br />My cute, green pants pocket. My cute, green, shallow, empty pants pocket.<br /><br />Seriously? Yes.<br /><br />Remember the almost-thirty-year-old who had just run as far as she possibly could run, and was now ready to power walk? She had to run more. Like a maniac. Like Phoebe.<br /><br />All the way back to my car. With my head down and my eyes on the road. Looking for, and praying for, my phone. Not because I love my phone so much, but because my husband wants me to not lose things. Not small things, like pens. And certainly not big, expensive things like cell phones.<br /><br />I didn't find it.<br /><br />I got back home, super-annoyed. Neighbor babysitter greeted me at the door with this breathless, teenage method of communicating that I am sure I used to be good at, but now I just stare blankly. Cause I am almost thirty. In two days. <span style="font-style: italic;">Twice her age.</span> Seriously???<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Amanda? Your phone? Did you find it? Cause some guy called! And he found it. And he didn't know what to do with it? So he buried it at the intersection of Pine and Raguet? By a fire hydrant? And I told him to cover it with some leaves. So no one else would get it? You know? Go! Go get it!"</span><br /><br />So I drove back to that intersection. I looked for newly disturbed dirt. I looked under leaves. I stopped random people in the area and asked them to call my phone so I might hear it ring. I kicked some more leaves. And finally, I wasn't kicking leaves to look, I was kicking leaves because <span style="font-style: italic;">WHO BURIES A CELL PHONE THAT YOU FIND?????</span> This isn't Treasure Island, and I am not a pirate.<br /><br />Even if it is Halloween.<br /><br />And almost my birthday. In two days. So much for Botox. <a href="http://ewordpress.files.wordpress.com/2008/02/cell_phones.jpg">Guess what I want for my birthday?</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-47559406546359929462008-10-29T16:39:00.002-05:002008-10-29T16:42:39.834-05:00CorrectionDillon, from his new favorite perch on the arm of the couch: <span style="font-style: italic;">Hey! Miss Mama!</span><br /><br />Me, from my office, aka "the kitchen": <span style="font-style: italic;">What did you call me?</span><br /><br />Dillon: <span style="font-style: italic;">Um, Miss Mama?</span><br /><br />Me, laughing: <span style="font-style: italic;">Why did you call me that? My name isn't Miss Mama!</span><br /><br />Dillon: <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh.<br /><br /></span>Silence, then...<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><br />Dillon: <span style="font-style: italic;">Hey! Miss Mommy!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-6019194585595730472008-10-28T20:27:00.003-05:002008-10-28T20:32:25.254-05:00Who are THEY, anyway?Guess what! There is something new I don't like!<br /><br />Okay, so it isn't new. It is just freshly annoying to me. My least favorite thing about technology is when something is installing or downloading or unzipping on the computer and you get the little bar that shows the percent completed? And it gets to 99%? And stops? For a really, really long time.<br /><br />That is it. My least favorite thing.<br /><br />You would think that whoever does computers ("THEY") would figure out that it is much less irritating to have each percentage point truly represent a percent of the time the procedure is going to take so that the computer user ("ME") can accurately predict how long he or, well obviously, SHE, is going to sit there waiting for completion. If it rockets through to 88 percent, then zooms to 95, then jumps to 99, of course SHE is hopeful that it will leap up to 100% in no time. But that is not how THEY made the program.<br /><br />That irritates ME.<br /><br />I'm just sayin'.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-88715406780343602312008-10-25T15:12:00.003-05:002008-10-25T15:22:52.715-05:00Food concernsWhen Dillon was a baby, I remember delighting in dinner time. I would "share" a jarful of baby apricots with him. I would get excited when he was having Hawaiian Delight, cause I knew that mostly, <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> would be having Hawaiian Delight. I loved the tropical fruit medleys, the fancy mixes of raspberries and peaches, the sweet apple pie flavor of the apple custards.<br /><br />My question is, where did all of these foods go? It is almost impossible to find baby desserts (and I know cause I have look at all of two local grocery stores.) How am I supposed to carefully cultivate Korenna's sweet tooth? And how am I supposed to kill my own before-dinner snacking urge if I can't squelch it with some pureed fruit n' sugar?<br /><br />Have we really become that healthy that we can't feed our babies good ol' desserts? What do I give her if she finishes her peas? A nice treat of .... carrots? Squash? And most importantly, what do I give ME? Cause baby raisin granola is not where its at. I might as well have a puffy star or two.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-38442779359043271222008-10-19T21:14:00.004-05:002008-10-19T21:35:44.601-05:00A Day Out with ThomasWe took Dillon to <a href="http://www.texasstaterr.com/thomas/dowt_main.html">A Day Out With Thomas</a> yesterday. We have been talking about it for over six weeks, and for the past month we have been putting an X on the calendar days. He has told everyone he knows at school and at church about going to see Thomas. Needless to say, he has been pretty excited and I bet he didn't sleep one full hour on Friday night.<br /><br />My mom kept Korenna, so it was just Dillon, Daniel, and me. The weather was perfect. We got a little map of the park, and went and did several of the activities. Dillon got a Thomas tattoo on his hand. We perused the Tent of Really Expensive Thomas Toys. We watched a movie inside, till Dillon realized that he gets to do that all the time, and that wasn't anything special. We listened to a kids' entertainer sing songs, till Dillon realized that the songs had nothing to do with Thomas. We took a picture with Sir Topham Hatt ("<span style="font-style: italic;">He wuns da wailwoad, Mama!</span>") and colored pictures. He played with trains on miles of plastic track.<br /><br />Of course the highlight of the whole day was riding on Thomas. Dillon told us throughout the morning that he was "<span style="font-style: italic;">weddy to wide on Somas!</span>" but our tickets were not until 12:15.<br /><br />When it was finally time, Dillon could barely contain his excitement. Daniel and I, being the insightful parents that we are, just knew that he was going to ask for repeated rides on the train.<br />We envisioned tantrums as we pulled him away from the big blue engine. We just knew that he would have to be carried away, sobbing. We talked to him about riding the train just one time, so that other friends could have their turns. He seemed okay with it, and really had a good time riding.<br /><br />We finished our ride, and took Dillon's picture with Thomas. He waved and said "Bye Somas!" as we walked back toward our van.<br /><br />Daniel and I looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes you just get off easy, ya know? Especially when you are prepared for the worst.<br /><br />I was buckling Dillon in and I asked him if he had a good time. He told me that he did, and that he loves Thomas, and that he wants to tell everyone that he really got to ride on him! Then he looked at me, serious hazel eyes wide and full of the magic of the day.<br /><br />"Momma?" he said sweetly.<br /><br />"Yes, baby?" I said, anticipating his request to return to the big blue engine.<br /><br />"I tink I want to go see <a href="http://www.thewiggles.com.au/us/events/34">da Wiggles</a> now."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/SPvuHtyhMII/AAAAAAAAADQ/KUIy0TF5Pg4/s1600-h/thomas+208.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/SPvuHtyhMII/AAAAAAAAADQ/KUIy0TF5Pg4/s320/thomas+208.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259058806203166850" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-70462523738459307112008-10-06T16:53:00.003-05:002008-10-06T17:17:43.877-05:00Three trick ponyKorenna is gaining more and more useful skills! It is amazing that she still needs her mama, as she can now:<br /><br />1) clap her hands using huge circular arm motions that result in an occasional collision that you can hear if there is no other sound in the room and you are not breathing.<br /><br />2) say "buh" about everything, including "buh buh" for "bye bye" and "buh buh" for "bubba" and "buh buh" for Big Bird, and sometimes just "buh buh" for "mama."<br /><br />3) fake cough, which comes in very handy if no one is paying you a lick of attention and you STILL CANNOT CRAWL in order to place yourself in someone's direct line of sight, and you need someone to LOOK at you, so you muster up a fake cough, which sounds pitiful, and makes everyone look at you with great concern, until you have done it thirty times, and then everyone just goes back to ignoring you since you STILL CANNOT CRAWL in order to place yourself in someone's direct line of sight.<br /><br />The skills, they are amazing. It is a wonder she hasn't moved out into her own apartment by now.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/SOqOKzXfopI/AAAAAAAAADI/J0H-svfE0J4/s1600-h/outside+play+043.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/SOqOKzXfopI/AAAAAAAAADI/J0H-svfE0J4/s320/outside+play+043.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254168231519691410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/SOqOKzXfopI/AAAAAAAAADI/J0H-svfE0J4/s1600-h/outside+play+043.jpg"><br /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-69834610795600191562008-09-24T16:39:00.003-05:002008-09-24T16:44:24.200-05:00Nac DwellersHey! If you are local, go by Maurice's (in the shopping center across from WalMart) and vote for your favorite local charity. (HINT HINT! It should be <a href="http://www.the-helping-house.org">The Helping House</a>!)<br /><br />The organization with the most votes wins $500, which will go directly to our students in the form of a scholarship. All you have to do is vote by the 28th! So just do it! Thanks!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-38055347036910543082008-09-21T16:33:00.004-05:002008-09-21T17:01:50.696-05:00The MammothDid you think I was done? Never returning again? Did you just keep checking cause my link was on your favorites or something, but each day you knew I wouldn't be here?<br /><br />HA! I laugh at the suggestion that I could ever let go of a vice that easily.<br /><br />No, I have been super-busy. You know, with the school, and then with the hurricane, Dillon's birthday, and whatnot. Busy.<br /><br />But I am here. And I'm gonna post somethin' good. Cause you guys deserve it! You have held on through a steamy, but boring summer. (How is that possible? In Texas, it is possible, I promise.)<br /><br />We survived the storm. So did our big ol' pine tree. I can see it out the window, and it is still huge and towering above the house, threatening to obliterate us all in a future gust of wind. We are going to have to cut it down. Then we will officially have no trees. We lost three in a storm four years ago, and one in this hurricane. So once we cut down The Mammoth, we will have nothing. Just a vast expanse of grass in the blistering Texas summer sun.<br /><br />We haven't found a tree cutter man who was willing to tackle this one though. Most have taken a look and said they weren't comfortable taking it down. Too tall. Too close to the house. Too much wood to haul off. Too much work.<br /><br />A friend approached me at church this morning. He does tree-trimming on the side, and has helped us out before with trimming. He asked how we did in the storm, and then, with raised eyebrows, advised me to get rid of The Mammoth. It is too dangerous, he said. But he isn't volunteering. To save face, he threw out the name of another tree-guy who might do it (I know he won't - he has already told us.)<br /><br />So we are waiting. Till it is gone, we will have to evacuate to my mama's house during every storm. I'll cringe when I feel a gust of wind, and when the weather channel says there will be "squalls," you can find us hunkered down somewhere else.<br /><br />Anybody wanna take a chop at The Mammoth?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/SNbD_nShXFI/AAAAAAAAADA/Nn4Ma_hWaVg/s1600-h/mammoth+001sm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/SNbD_nShXFI/AAAAAAAAADA/Nn4Ma_hWaVg/s320/mammoth+001sm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248597913392733266" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-74567727552643391652008-09-07T08:08:00.003-05:002008-09-07T08:25:22.020-05:00All grown upDillon, the little baby who was just <a href="http://amandajohnson.blogspot.com/2005/09/probably-information-overload_27.html">born yesterday</a> it seems, turns 3 this week. That is amazing! I cannot believe he has been around that long.<br /><br />His vocabulary is absurd. He picks up the funniest little phrases:<br /><br />M: Dillon? Do you need to go potty?<br />D: No, mama. I just fine.<br /><br />M: Dillon! I am so proud you didn't go potty in your bed!<br />D: Yeah. Tanks you be paysent wit me. (Thanks for being patient with me.)<br /><br />*******<br /><br />He is obsessed with trains, particularly Thomas. We talk about Thomas all day long. I made the mistake of telling him a couple of weeks ago that we were going to see the <a href="http://www.texasstaterr.com/thomas/dowt_main.html">real Thomas</a> at the train station soon.<br /><br />Ooops. He has asked about it every day since then, and it is still 5 weeks away. Kids don't forget.<br /><br />******<br /><br />He has transitioned to utter adoration of his daddy, and I think it is precious. "Mama! You see my daddy? He is a pwees oppicer! He is, mama, <span style="font-style: italic;">he is</span>!"<br /><br />His daddy has been out of town for the past many, many nights. Every night as he is getting into bed, he says "Lets just wait. Daddy be home any minute, okay mama?"<br /><br />*****<br /><br />He still wants oatmeal every Saturday. He still picks a toy to sleep with at night, and likes his same blue blanket. He likes for me to hold him when he is tired. He wants "a sugars and a hug" at night before bed. He loves his outside swing, dogs, and Little Einstein bandaids.<br /><br />So, I take what I can get. One day he will be too old for all of that, but today, he is still my little boy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/SMPVoH-fznI/AAAAAAAAAC4/9ipyiOMSuR8/s1600-h/mason%27s+party+009sm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUG25in-hLk/SMPVoH-fznI/AAAAAAAAAC4/9ipyiOMSuR8/s320/mason%27s+party+009sm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243269276502052466" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-72318479938083456152008-08-24T21:00:00.002-05:002008-08-24T21:01:27.806-05:00Check itI won't even have to waste words to tell you how I am feeling if you will just go <a href="http://amandajohnson.blogspot.com/2005/01/twas-night-before-school.html">HERE</a> and read, and then exponentiate that stress to the tenth degree. Mmmkay?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-85206831095974591282008-08-13T20:31:00.002-05:002008-08-13T20:39:22.718-05:00Mother, may I?Dillon has recently picked up some manners. (Probably from television, cause you know I don't use 'em. Okay, just kidding.)<br /><br />He has been saying, "I may..." when asking to do things. Like,<br /><br />"I may get down, Mama?" after dinner. (I think that is where it started.)<br /><br />and<br /><br />"I may watch t.b., Mama?" (Sure, to learn some more manners.)<br /><br />and<br /><br />"I may play two minutes, Mama?" (Stalling technique before going to bed.)<br /><br />This is all pretty endearing, and I am hardly able to resist. Especially when he raises his eyebrows in my direction, clasps his hands, and tacks on a "Pweeez?"<br /><br />I have been impressed with his manners. 'Til tonight, when I am sure he crossed a boundary.<br /><br />Perched on the toilet, his face strained, vessels bulging in his forehead, he looked at me:<br /><br />"I may... go... poo-poo, Mama?" he gasped.<br /><br />Well, <span style="font-style: italic;">I guess</span>. Who's gonna stop you now?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9932778.post-40854436078624886062008-08-08T11:16:00.002-05:002008-08-08T11:27:59.031-05:00I dare you...... to feed an infant mushed up peas or squash without opening your own mouth as if you are the one who is taking a bite. I have resorted to saying the Pledge of Allegiance under my breath to keep my mouth from moving funny. (Feeding Korenna is way easier than feeding Dillon. She is a lot better at keeping it in her mouth than he was. I spend most of my time just trying to get it there in the first place. She is way more interested in her thumb than the spoon. In fact, it is sort of a "chaser" to every bite - she takes a couple of pulls on her thumb after she gets a mouthful.)<br /><br />... to clean out your pantry. Yeah, you know you need to. But take my advice, and don't taste-test EVERYTHING. If the date has passed, the peanut fairy didn't grant you extra time. Just toss 'em.<br /><br />... to download Starbucks free Tuesday iTunes. But don't blame me if you clog your playlist with crap. It was free! Well, with the purchase of a white chocolate mocha. Yummm...<br /><br />... to wait till the thermostat hits 103 before dragging your almost-three-year-old and six-month-old to the zoo. Not only that, but be sure to wait until after 3pm, when the train stops running for the day. Dillon still hasn't quit talking about how the "wed twain at da zoo needs some battwies cuz it is bwoken!"<br /><br />... to count the days till summer ends, then do something special with those sweet babies, cause doesn't time fly???Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3