I live in the country. Way out in the country. When you live out in the country you tend to see a lot of wildlife. We have rabbits, chipmunks, raccoons, opossums, deer, etc. You know, cute fuzzy animals. We also have the non-cute fuzzy animals. The wildlife that doesn't want to stay in the wilderness. I'm talking about mice.
Oh sure, some folks have the nasty little things as pets. Personally, I would rather see them get fed to pet pythons. Ewww! I have don't have much love for the disgusting little rodents.
We've been waging our war on mice for some time now. They come and go. They tend to show up in the winter when the weather gets cold. This winter has been particularly cold, so we've had a real problem with the little critters. I found some stuff a few years ago that seemed to work for quite some time. It was a powder that supposedly smelled like mouse predators. It kept the mice away for a long time. I don't know if the little buggers have gotten used to it, or if they're just too cold to care, but recently the powder doesn't seem as effective.
The other day I walked into the pantry and noticed that there were broom bristles all over the floor. I moved the broom, and there it was. A mouse. It was caught on one of the little glue pads we've been putting out to catch them. The mouse was trying to pull itself off the glue pad with the broom bristles! I got a plastic bag and swept the mouse, still stuck to the glue pad, into the bag and closed it up tight. I hope it died a slow, torturous death. Sue me, PETA.
We tried poison a while back, but it didn't kill the mice. It just made the next generation of mice slightly retarded. Don called them "Tom and Jerry's Kids." That's terrible, I know. I didn't say it, my husband did. Anyway, the retarded mice would just walk out in the middle of the room and look at us. Then they would scamper off sideways like they were totally wasted. They would run into the walls and the furniture. They were fairly entertaining, albeit nasty.
Today I pulled a t-shirt out of my dresser drawer and a handful of almonds fell out of it. The little buggers have been storing nuts in my dresser! And they were my nuts! I was very upset. I emptied my entire dresser and threw everything into the washing machine.
So now this is war. I am thinking seriously of getting a cat. We had a cat a few years ago. His name was Simon, and he was quite old so he couldn't really chase mice anymore. He passed away at the ripe old age of 17. I think it's time for another cat. I'm not really crazy about having animals indoors, but I think I would rather have a cat than mice. So, if any of you know where I can find a good mouser, please let me know. I've had it with the rodents eating my food, and leaving their little droppings, and chewing up my stuff. They MUST go.
*Please don't tell my grandmother about my little problem or she'll never come to my house again! Those of you who know my grandmother, know what I'm talking about.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Let's Hear it for the Mommies!
A beautiful young mother-to-be smiles at the sunny, sparkling nursery. She places her hand on her smooth, perfect, round belly...
Pregnancy. It's a magical time. Well, at least according to commercials and movies where it's romanticized into nine months of glowing bliss. Where morning sickness, if there is morning sickness, only happens in the morning. Where a woman gets the slightest baby bump and gains weight no where else on her body. Where maternity clothes are actually stylish.
Anyone who has had a baby knows that this scenario is, to put it nicely, bull hockey. Morning sickness can happen any time of the day, and it can last all day. Everything swells, belly, boobs, fingers, toes... No one tells you that your feet get bigger, but they do get bigger. And they stay bigger. As for maternity clothes, they have gotten better. However, after five or six months of wearing jeans with tummy panels and little poofy floral tops, you start feeling like a style- challenged Weeble.
Another thing no one tells you before you get pregnant is the fact that your IQ will suddenly drop to about 17. Apparently, your brain is so busy with the task of putting together a tiny human that you become a drooling moron who can't walk without falling down or running into stuff. It doesn't matter that you were a rocket-scientist before you got pregnant. As soon as the little stick says "positive" you earn a seat on the short bus.
The Hollywood version of pregnancy cravings is the oh-so-humorous pickles and ice cream. Ha ha, that's hilarious. *Sarcasm* In truth, you can crave anything from Big Macs to laundry detergent when you're expecting. No joke. For the last month or so of my second pregnancy, I had a Big Mac every day for lunch. Needless to say, my butt and thighs still bear the evidence, but it was what I wanted, so I ate it. Pregnancy cravings are irrational. You can't make them go away until you satisfy them. It's different from regular cravings where you see a pizza commercial and think, 'I'd like to have some pizza.' This kind of craving is a deep, desperate need. You must have a banana split with extra chocolate sauce and a side of bacon or you feel like you will DIE!
We've all seen those movies where a couple is about to have a baby. There's a comical mad dash to the hospital, and then the woman pants and pushes a few times, and Voila! A clean, pink, bright-eyed baby is born. Uh-uh.
The truth is, for most births, there is a lot of waiting involved. First off, there isn't that one big moment where you're hit with a contraction and you know "it's time." No, there's usually a grueling build-up where the contractions begin, but just slightly enough to make you go, "What the crap was that?" For the next 12, 16, 18, 32, 48+ hours, the pain continues to build until you begin to feel like Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart. I thought I would be tough and go without drugs with my first child. By about halfway through, my contractions started overlapping, and the anesthesiologist became my best friend.
With my second child, my labor progressed so quickly that there wasn't time to administer an epidural. That actually ended up not being so bad. Delivery isn't nearly as horrific as some folks would have you believe. Sure, it hurts. You're pushing a tiny person out of your body. It's actually pretty amazing. Once the pushing is over, you are presented with this tiny little purplish alien blob. For those of you who think you could never fall in love with a purplish alien blob, you've obviously never given birth.
The alien blob is cleaned up, and after a short stay at the hospital you take a sweet pink baby home where it suddenly hits you; this baby is totally dependent on you and you have no idea what you're doing. How do you know what it wants or needs? What if you forget something or do it wrong? How did you mother manage to do this twice? Suddenly you're doubtful and afraid, and it doesn't help that everything seems to make you cry. According to modern media it's not supposed to be this way! You should be skinny and smiling serenely as you calmly nurse your baby in your beautiful, sunny nursery. Instead, you're bloated and tired and still in your pajamas from two days ago while you're desperately trying to get your ravenous little milk leech to latch on properly.
Fortunately, it all passes. After a few weeks, you can nurse while doing dishes and talking on the phone. At the same time. The little darlings do eventually sleep through the night. The time between crying fits gets longer and longer. The baby stops crying so much too. And then there's all the cute stuff that happens in between: the first smile, the first giggle, the first tooth. A day comes when he looks up at you and smiles and says, "I love you, Mommy" and you forget about the hours crouched in front of the toilet. You forget about the heartburn and the midnight mushroom cravings. You even forget about the labor pains.
It's all worth it, right?
In a few more years I'll be dealing with a teenager. I'll let you know then.
*This post is dedicated to my little sister who is currently expecting baby #2. I wish I could say that I hate that you're going through this, but as Aunt Mimi for a second time, I can't. I do hope you feel better soon!
Pregnancy. It's a magical time. Well, at least according to commercials and movies where it's romanticized into nine months of glowing bliss. Where morning sickness, if there is morning sickness, only happens in the morning. Where a woman gets the slightest baby bump and gains weight no where else on her body. Where maternity clothes are actually stylish.
Anyone who has had a baby knows that this scenario is, to put it nicely, bull hockey. Morning sickness can happen any time of the day, and it can last all day. Everything swells, belly, boobs, fingers, toes... No one tells you that your feet get bigger, but they do get bigger. And they stay bigger. As for maternity clothes, they have gotten better. However, after five or six months of wearing jeans with tummy panels and little poofy floral tops, you start feeling like a style- challenged Weeble.
Another thing no one tells you before you get pregnant is the fact that your IQ will suddenly drop to about 17. Apparently, your brain is so busy with the task of putting together a tiny human that you become a drooling moron who can't walk without falling down or running into stuff. It doesn't matter that you were a rocket-scientist before you got pregnant. As soon as the little stick says "positive" you earn a seat on the short bus.
The Hollywood version of pregnancy cravings is the oh-so-humorous pickles and ice cream. Ha ha, that's hilarious. *Sarcasm* In truth, you can crave anything from Big Macs to laundry detergent when you're expecting. No joke. For the last month or so of my second pregnancy, I had a Big Mac every day for lunch. Needless to say, my butt and thighs still bear the evidence, but it was what I wanted, so I ate it. Pregnancy cravings are irrational. You can't make them go away until you satisfy them. It's different from regular cravings where you see a pizza commercial and think, 'I'd like to have some pizza.' This kind of craving is a deep, desperate need. You must have a banana split with extra chocolate sauce and a side of bacon or you feel like you will DIE!
We've all seen those movies where a couple is about to have a baby. There's a comical mad dash to the hospital, and then the woman pants and pushes a few times, and Voila! A clean, pink, bright-eyed baby is born. Uh-uh.
The truth is, for most births, there is a lot of waiting involved. First off, there isn't that one big moment where you're hit with a contraction and you know "it's time." No, there's usually a grueling build-up where the contractions begin, but just slightly enough to make you go, "What the crap was that?" For the next 12, 16, 18, 32, 48+ hours, the pain continues to build until you begin to feel like Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart. I thought I would be tough and go without drugs with my first child. By about halfway through, my contractions started overlapping, and the anesthesiologist became my best friend.
With my second child, my labor progressed so quickly that there wasn't time to administer an epidural. That actually ended up not being so bad. Delivery isn't nearly as horrific as some folks would have you believe. Sure, it hurts. You're pushing a tiny person out of your body. It's actually pretty amazing. Once the pushing is over, you are presented with this tiny little purplish alien blob. For those of you who think you could never fall in love with a purplish alien blob, you've obviously never given birth.
The alien blob is cleaned up, and after a short stay at the hospital you take a sweet pink baby home where it suddenly hits you; this baby is totally dependent on you and you have no idea what you're doing. How do you know what it wants or needs? What if you forget something or do it wrong? How did you mother manage to do this twice? Suddenly you're doubtful and afraid, and it doesn't help that everything seems to make you cry. According to modern media it's not supposed to be this way! You should be skinny and smiling serenely as you calmly nurse your baby in your beautiful, sunny nursery. Instead, you're bloated and tired and still in your pajamas from two days ago while you're desperately trying to get your ravenous little milk leech to latch on properly.
Fortunately, it all passes. After a few weeks, you can nurse while doing dishes and talking on the phone. At the same time. The little darlings do eventually sleep through the night. The time between crying fits gets longer and longer. The baby stops crying so much too. And then there's all the cute stuff that happens in between: the first smile, the first giggle, the first tooth. A day comes when he looks up at you and smiles and says, "I love you, Mommy" and you forget about the hours crouched in front of the toilet. You forget about the heartburn and the midnight mushroom cravings. You even forget about the labor pains.
It's all worth it, right?
In a few more years I'll be dealing with a teenager. I'll let you know then.
*This post is dedicated to my little sister who is currently expecting baby #2. I wish I could say that I hate that you're going through this, but as Aunt Mimi for a second time, I can't. I do hope you feel better soon!
Monday, December 07, 2009
Dear Walmart
Dear Walmart,
I hate you. Not just hate like "I hate traffic" or "I hate Snuggie commercials." No, I loathe you.
I am not the kind of person who hates arbitrarily. It takes a lot to earn my loathing, but earn it you have.
I've known for several years now that you are an evil empire, but I have continued to give you my money. I mean, at least you aren't Kmart, right? They've allied themselves with the Antichrist herself, Martha Stewart. Recently though, I have come to believe that you, Walmart, are the spawn of Satan. Your doors are a portal to the Underworld. You are the corporate equivalent of the Taliban.
I tried to ignore the fact that most of your merchandise was made in foreign countries by underpaid (possibly underage) workers. I tried to overlook the despicable way you treat your American employees. This time, Walmart, you have gone too far.
It has become increasingly difficult for me to find the things I like to buy at your store. It seems as if every time I find a product I really like, you stop carrying it. First it was my body wash. I really loved that body wash. But it suddenly disappeared from your shelves and has never returned. Same thing with my ice cream, coffee, green tea, and a number of other products.
Why? Is there some kind of conspiracy to make me crazy? I bought that stuff all the time, so I know there was a demand for it. I was perfectly willing to give you my money in exchange for my favorite products, but no. You want more. One of my children perhaps.
Fortunately for me, there is my little hometown grocery store. They have all the things I need and so much more that you, Walmart, do not. It's not like I'm looking for something exotic or unusual (although my local grocery store carries tahini and prosciutto and Walmart carries neither.) I just want the basics: decent meat and produce at a reasonable price, good milk that costs less than and arm and a leg, and a little friendly service. My local grocery store has all of that. The produce is excellent, and most of it is locally grown. The meats are great as well, and very reasonably priced. I can get really good milk for less than 3 bucks. And to top it all off, the employees are helpful and friendly. The cashiers actually talk to you while they check you out. The baggers not only bag your groceries, they offer to take them to your car for you. At Walmart, I can't even get a cashier to put my stuff in my cart. They just pile it all up on the counter and expect me to juggle that, my money, and a three-year-old on my own.
Walmart, you have failed. You and your wilted produce and over-priced, poor-quality meats have fallen short. It doesn't help either that you've given rack space to the shrieking Harpy, Miley Cyrus. You call yourself a superstore, but you're really nothing but a bargain basement for all things unholy.
I thoroughly and completely detest and abhor you, Walmart. You've had the last of my hard-earned (or not-so-hard-earned) money. Farewell, you merchant of misery. I will see you at Armageddon.
Most Sincerely,
Amy
I hate you. Not just hate like "I hate traffic" or "I hate Snuggie commercials." No, I loathe you.
I am not the kind of person who hates arbitrarily. It takes a lot to earn my loathing, but earn it you have.
I've known for several years now that you are an evil empire, but I have continued to give you my money. I mean, at least you aren't Kmart, right? They've allied themselves with the Antichrist herself, Martha Stewart. Recently though, I have come to believe that you, Walmart, are the spawn of Satan. Your doors are a portal to the Underworld. You are the corporate equivalent of the Taliban.
I tried to ignore the fact that most of your merchandise was made in foreign countries by underpaid (possibly underage) workers. I tried to overlook the despicable way you treat your American employees. This time, Walmart, you have gone too far.
It has become increasingly difficult for me to find the things I like to buy at your store. It seems as if every time I find a product I really like, you stop carrying it. First it was my body wash. I really loved that body wash. But it suddenly disappeared from your shelves and has never returned. Same thing with my ice cream, coffee, green tea, and a number of other products.
Why? Is there some kind of conspiracy to make me crazy? I bought that stuff all the time, so I know there was a demand for it. I was perfectly willing to give you my money in exchange for my favorite products, but no. You want more. One of my children perhaps.
Fortunately for me, there is my little hometown grocery store. They have all the things I need and so much more that you, Walmart, do not. It's not like I'm looking for something exotic or unusual (although my local grocery store carries tahini and prosciutto and Walmart carries neither.) I just want the basics: decent meat and produce at a reasonable price, good milk that costs less than and arm and a leg, and a little friendly service. My local grocery store has all of that. The produce is excellent, and most of it is locally grown. The meats are great as well, and very reasonably priced. I can get really good milk for less than 3 bucks. And to top it all off, the employees are helpful and friendly. The cashiers actually talk to you while they check you out. The baggers not only bag your groceries, they offer to take them to your car for you. At Walmart, I can't even get a cashier to put my stuff in my cart. They just pile it all up on the counter and expect me to juggle that, my money, and a three-year-old on my own.
Walmart, you have failed. You and your wilted produce and over-priced, poor-quality meats have fallen short. It doesn't help either that you've given rack space to the shrieking Harpy, Miley Cyrus. You call yourself a superstore, but you're really nothing but a bargain basement for all things unholy.
I thoroughly and completely detest and abhor you, Walmart. You've had the last of my hard-earned (or not-so-hard-earned) money. Farewell, you merchant of misery. I will see you at Armageddon.
Most Sincerely,
Amy
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Now that it's officially December I feel it's more appropriate to discuss holiday matters. Before December 1st it just feels silly. Since I changed the calendar and had my first eggnog latte of the season this morning, I'm feeling festive. So, here we go.
Radio stations have been playing Christmas music for a while now, and I have been preparing my Top Ten List of Favorite Christmas Songs. Most of the songs on my list have a special meaning to me. Some are just musically appealing, while others have special memories associated with them.
Number 10: Adeste Fideles sung by Pavarotti- Even before I was old enough to really understand who Pavarotti was, I adored this song. To me it represents the grandeur and awe that surrounds this season. Beautifully orchestrated, it always makes me think of the music of Heaven on that first Christmas night. And with the Maestro singing, it's heaven indeed.
Number 9: Let it Snow sung by Michael Buble- I love this jazzed up version of the classic holiday song. It makes me want to bundle up and build a snowman. Unfortunately, snow is a rare thing in these parts, and if it did snow I wouldn't get to build a snowman. I would have to join the throng at the grocery store to buy bread and milk. *Sigh*
Number 8: The Christmas Song sung by Nat King Cole- How can you not love the velvety voice of Nat King Cole singing about folks dressed up like Eskimos? Classic.
Number 7: Santa Baby- Madonna does a version of this song that, I must admit, makes me smile. It's such a cute song anyway, and when you sing it like Betty Boop it just gets better!
Number 6: The Twelve Days of Christmas sung by Jim Henson's muppets- Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a sucker for muppets. This song always makes me laugh. Especially Miss Piggy singing "Five Gold Rings...ba dum bum bum!"
Number 5: White Christmas sung by Bing Crosby- This song plays twenty-zillion times a day on the Christmas station, but twenty-zillion times a day I listen and sigh. Ahhhh...Bing.
Number 4: Jingle Bell Rock- A fond memory comes to mind whenever I hear this song. When my older son, Timothy, was very small, he loved this song. Any time it came on we had to stop and dance together. Any time. At home, in the grocery store, or in the middle of the mall, we had to dance together.
Number 3: Christmas in Dixie- Okay, so even though I live in this state, I'm not a huge fan of the group Alabama. I do like this song though. It reminds me of the years that I lived up North. During the holidays I would listen to this song and miss my grandparents so much. When I hear it now I have to smile because I get to spend Christmas in Dixie!
Number 2: Feliz Navidad- This is another song that plays twenty-zillion times a day on the Christmas station, but I love it! Every time it comes on I turn up the volume and "canto" my little heart out!
Number 1: O Holy Night- Whether it's Josh Groban, Michael Crawford, Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, or the Celtic Women singing, I love this song! It's beautiful in every way. The music is sublime, and the words are so powerful and moving. "A thrill of Hope; the weary world rejoices for yonder breaks a new a glorious morn." Wow. You can't get much better than that. Well, unless you get Josh or Michael or Celine or Mariah or the Celtic Women to sing it.
There you have it, my Top Ten List of Favorite Christmas Songs. What are yours?
*Soon to come: the Top Ten List of Least Favorite Christmas Songs: a compilation of songs that make Sam the Snowman want to sit in a toaster oven.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Radio stations have been playing Christmas music for a while now, and I have been preparing my Top Ten List of Favorite Christmas Songs. Most of the songs on my list have a special meaning to me. Some are just musically appealing, while others have special memories associated with them.
Number 10: Adeste Fideles sung by Pavarotti- Even before I was old enough to really understand who Pavarotti was, I adored this song. To me it represents the grandeur and awe that surrounds this season. Beautifully orchestrated, it always makes me think of the music of Heaven on that first Christmas night. And with the Maestro singing, it's heaven indeed.
Number 9: Let it Snow sung by Michael Buble- I love this jazzed up version of the classic holiday song. It makes me want to bundle up and build a snowman. Unfortunately, snow is a rare thing in these parts, and if it did snow I wouldn't get to build a snowman. I would have to join the throng at the grocery store to buy bread and milk. *Sigh*
Number 8: The Christmas Song sung by Nat King Cole- How can you not love the velvety voice of Nat King Cole singing about folks dressed up like Eskimos? Classic.
Number 7: Santa Baby- Madonna does a version of this song that, I must admit, makes me smile. It's such a cute song anyway, and when you sing it like Betty Boop it just gets better!
Number 6: The Twelve Days of Christmas sung by Jim Henson's muppets- Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a sucker for muppets. This song always makes me laugh. Especially Miss Piggy singing "Five Gold Rings...ba dum bum bum!"
Number 5: White Christmas sung by Bing Crosby- This song plays twenty-zillion times a day on the Christmas station, but twenty-zillion times a day I listen and sigh. Ahhhh...Bing.
Number 4: Jingle Bell Rock- A fond memory comes to mind whenever I hear this song. When my older son, Timothy, was very small, he loved this song. Any time it came on we had to stop and dance together. Any time. At home, in the grocery store, or in the middle of the mall, we had to dance together.
Number 3: Christmas in Dixie- Okay, so even though I live in this state, I'm not a huge fan of the group Alabama. I do like this song though. It reminds me of the years that I lived up North. During the holidays I would listen to this song and miss my grandparents so much. When I hear it now I have to smile because I get to spend Christmas in Dixie!
Number 2: Feliz Navidad- This is another song that plays twenty-zillion times a day on the Christmas station, but I love it! Every time it comes on I turn up the volume and "canto" my little heart out!
Number 1: O Holy Night- Whether it's Josh Groban, Michael Crawford, Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, or the Celtic Women singing, I love this song! It's beautiful in every way. The music is sublime, and the words are so powerful and moving. "A thrill of Hope; the weary world rejoices for yonder breaks a new a glorious morn." Wow. You can't get much better than that. Well, unless you get Josh or Michael or Celine or Mariah or the Celtic Women to sing it.
There you have it, my Top Ten List of Favorite Christmas Songs. What are yours?
*Soon to come: the Top Ten List of Least Favorite Christmas Songs: a compilation of songs that make Sam the Snowman want to sit in a toaster oven.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Perspective
I am ashamed to say that I spent most of yesterday in whine mode. I woke up yesterday with some sinus and nasal trouble, I had a list of things to do, I was a teensy bit stressed about the upcoming show, and I really felt sorry for my poor little self. I mean, what a horrible thing it is to have a head cold! There was also the fact that my older son was out of school and he and his brother had to get in some "torture time."
I went in to town and left the boys with my mom so I could do some shopping. I had five Operation Christmas Child boxes to fill before Sunday, and time was running out. For those of you who don't know what Operation Christmas Child is, I'll explain. Every year in November, churches and organizations all over the country fill up shoe boxes with toys and trinkets for children around the world who wouldn't otherwise receive anything for Christmas. It's become a tradition in my family to take part, and we all really enjoy it. This year, however, I was a little stressed about it. I had been so busy with the show that I had not had the time to spend on the project that I would have liked. The show itself was another source of stress, but I'll get to that in a minute. Anyway, I headed out to find stuff for the shoe boxes, but I wasn't in a very "Christmasy" mood. I felt sick and stressed and really just wanted to sit down and cry.
Something occurred to me though. I really have little to whine about. I have a cold. Boo hoo. I could be so much sicker. My kids could be ill, but they're not. They're healthy enough to run wild and drive me crazy. And they need absolutely nothing. They're some of the fortunate ones who'll (hopefully) never have to make do with a shoe box full of odds and ends. I should be thankful that I'm the one filling the shoe boxes and not the one waiting and praying for a Christmas miracle.
This always seems to happen to me around this time of year. I get to the point where I'm so focused inward that I can't see all the blessings that have been laid at my feet. Sure, there's tons to do, but at least I'm strong and well enough to do it. Things could be so much worse! My schedule is currently jam-packed with holiday activities, and instead of worrying myself into a tizzy over the upcoming Christmas Tea, I should just chill and be glad I'm surrounded by loving friends and family.
As for the show, I'm feeling better about that too. We had a good final rehearsal last night, and I think everything will come together. If not, well... it's been a blast anyway. I should take a cue from the characters in the show. They're all simple folks, but they do extraordinary things when the people and places they love are threatened. Family and community is a huge part of their lives, and they are all willing to fight for them.
I really live a charmed life. I don't have much to legitimately worry about. I'm not rich, but my family never goes without food. My house is warm and peaceful. My country has problems, but it's still the greatest country in the world. My family will all be together for the holidays.
I'll probably end up stressed and whiny a few more times before the New Year, but I'm only human. I hope I'll take another minute to think about how blessed I really am.
***A special note of thanks to some folks who helped me put things back into perspective yesterday:
*The man in the store who stopped me and told me how good God is. Yes sir, He sure is.
*My husband who has taken over as Mom and Dad so I could do the show. You rock, Baby!
*My little Paulie who requested prayer for me at church last night.
*My cast mates who made me laugh even when I didn't feel like it.
*God for reminding me of all the blessings that I don't deserve but He has given me anyway.
I went in to town and left the boys with my mom so I could do some shopping. I had five Operation Christmas Child boxes to fill before Sunday, and time was running out. For those of you who don't know what Operation Christmas Child is, I'll explain. Every year in November, churches and organizations all over the country fill up shoe boxes with toys and trinkets for children around the world who wouldn't otherwise receive anything for Christmas. It's become a tradition in my family to take part, and we all really enjoy it. This year, however, I was a little stressed about it. I had been so busy with the show that I had not had the time to spend on the project that I would have liked. The show itself was another source of stress, but I'll get to that in a minute. Anyway, I headed out to find stuff for the shoe boxes, but I wasn't in a very "Christmasy" mood. I felt sick and stressed and really just wanted to sit down and cry.
Something occurred to me though. I really have little to whine about. I have a cold. Boo hoo. I could be so much sicker. My kids could be ill, but they're not. They're healthy enough to run wild and drive me crazy. And they need absolutely nothing. They're some of the fortunate ones who'll (hopefully) never have to make do with a shoe box full of odds and ends. I should be thankful that I'm the one filling the shoe boxes and not the one waiting and praying for a Christmas miracle.
This always seems to happen to me around this time of year. I get to the point where I'm so focused inward that I can't see all the blessings that have been laid at my feet. Sure, there's tons to do, but at least I'm strong and well enough to do it. Things could be so much worse! My schedule is currently jam-packed with holiday activities, and instead of worrying myself into a tizzy over the upcoming Christmas Tea, I should just chill and be glad I'm surrounded by loving friends and family.
As for the show, I'm feeling better about that too. We had a good final rehearsal last night, and I think everything will come together. If not, well... it's been a blast anyway. I should take a cue from the characters in the show. They're all simple folks, but they do extraordinary things when the people and places they love are threatened. Family and community is a huge part of their lives, and they are all willing to fight for them.
I really live a charmed life. I don't have much to legitimately worry about. I'm not rich, but my family never goes without food. My house is warm and peaceful. My country has problems, but it's still the greatest country in the world. My family will all be together for the holidays.
I'll probably end up stressed and whiny a few more times before the New Year, but I'm only human. I hope I'll take another minute to think about how blessed I really am.
***A special note of thanks to some folks who helped me put things back into perspective yesterday:
*The man in the store who stopped me and told me how good God is. Yes sir, He sure is.
*My husband who has taken over as Mom and Dad so I could do the show. You rock, Baby!
*My little Paulie who requested prayer for me at church last night.
*My cast mates who made me laugh even when I didn't feel like it.
*God for reminding me of all the blessings that I don't deserve but He has given me anyway.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Life Without the Magic Box
Last week was one of the longest weeks of my life. Not only was I sick and medicated within an inch of my life, my computer was gone. There was an empty space in the little cubby-hole where the thing usually sits and a sad little jumble of wires and cords beneath the computer desk.
I didn't realize how much of my life was on that machine until it was gone. Everything, I mean EVERYTHING is on my computer: my calendar, my phone book, my address book, news, weather, personal communications, work... Suddenly, I was cut off from the entire world. I didn't know how to get in touch with anyone. Sure, I have a phone, but what good is it when all my phone numbers are stored on my computer? I didn't have a clue about what was going on in the world. I couldn't even check the weather without turning on the television and waiting for a weather report. How archaic!
By Saturday, I had an irresistable urge to draw charcoal pictures of mastodons on my living- room walls. Luckily, there was football to satisfy my new itch for primitive violence. But even with Bama giving Tennessee what-for, I was disappointed that I couldn't post snide remarks about the game on Facebook.
Yesterday, my little friend returned. I was overjoyed when that big blue button lit up and it whirred to life once more. I spent the next hour or so dealing with a back-log of email and Facebook updates. I read the news. I checked the weather. I updated my Yahoo! avatar. It felt goooooood.
Welcome home, oh prodigal PC. Don't ever leave me again and force me to buy actual newspapers and watch the Weather Channel. You and coffee and a kiss from my husband begin my day. Stay and keep me informed and connected. I will keep you dusted and protected from surges. I promise.
I didn't realize how much of my life was on that machine until it was gone. Everything, I mean EVERYTHING is on my computer: my calendar, my phone book, my address book, news, weather, personal communications, work... Suddenly, I was cut off from the entire world. I didn't know how to get in touch with anyone. Sure, I have a phone, but what good is it when all my phone numbers are stored on my computer? I didn't have a clue about what was going on in the world. I couldn't even check the weather without turning on the television and waiting for a weather report. How archaic!
By Saturday, I had an irresistable urge to draw charcoal pictures of mastodons on my living- room walls. Luckily, there was football to satisfy my new itch for primitive violence. But even with Bama giving Tennessee what-for, I was disappointed that I couldn't post snide remarks about the game on Facebook.
Yesterday, my little friend returned. I was overjoyed when that big blue button lit up and it whirred to life once more. I spent the next hour or so dealing with a back-log of email and Facebook updates. I read the news. I checked the weather. I updated my Yahoo! avatar. It felt goooooood.
Welcome home, oh prodigal PC. Don't ever leave me again and force me to buy actual newspapers and watch the Weather Channel. You and coffee and a kiss from my husband begin my day. Stay and keep me informed and connected. I will keep you dusted and protected from surges. I promise.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
To the Glory That Was...Goth?
Tomorrow is the 160th anniversary of the death of Edgar Allan Poe. In honor of this event I decided to decorate another web page with pictures and other graphics featuring Poe. While searching through numerous picture hosting sites for said pictures and graphics, I found myself growing increasingly agitated by the number of idiots in black that have laid claim to dear Eddy. How the he... heck did he become an icon to goths and emos? Sure, he was a bit dark, but I doubt that if he lived today he would be shopping at Hot Topic.
Why do these Depeche Mode-listening, black lipstick-wearing, combat boot-sporting, posers think they have a right to assume that he belongs to them? They tattoo "Nevermore" on various parts of their pale bodies and spout "The Raven" every chance they get (mainly because it's the only poem of his that they know.) They know nothing about the man, but somehow he is the poster boy for their movement.
FYI, freaks. Poe was not a goth. He would probably look at you guys and think, 'Wow, that's weird.' Yes, I know he wrote strange, twisted stuff, but that hardly qualifies him to start wearing eye-liner. He also wrote lovely, sweet, even humorous things.
And don't let the pictures fool you, emo kids. If you had to sit perfectly still for up to five minutes just to have your photograph taken, you would look a bit unhappy and droopy too.
The point of this rant is not to slam goths or emos. If that's what you guys want to do with your lives, that's your business. Just learn something about the people you take as idols. You may find out that they have nothing whatsoever in common with who you are or pretend to be. And when someone asks you who your favorite poet is, don't say Poe. Throw them for a loop and say Emily Dickinson.
Why do these Depeche Mode-listening, black lipstick-wearing, combat boot-sporting, posers think they have a right to assume that he belongs to them? They tattoo "Nevermore" on various parts of their pale bodies and spout "The Raven" every chance they get (mainly because it's the only poem of his that they know.) They know nothing about the man, but somehow he is the poster boy for their movement.
FYI, freaks. Poe was not a goth. He would probably look at you guys and think, 'Wow, that's weird.' Yes, I know he wrote strange, twisted stuff, but that hardly qualifies him to start wearing eye-liner. He also wrote lovely, sweet, even humorous things.
And don't let the pictures fool you, emo kids. If you had to sit perfectly still for up to five minutes just to have your photograph taken, you would look a bit unhappy and droopy too.
The point of this rant is not to slam goths or emos. If that's what you guys want to do with your lives, that's your business. Just learn something about the people you take as idols. You may find out that they have nothing whatsoever in common with who you are or pretend to be. And when someone asks you who your favorite poet is, don't say Poe. Throw them for a loop and say Emily Dickinson.
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