Tap Shoes

This is for those of you who have read (or memorized in our case) If You Give a Pig a Pancake . . .

Today as we were getting ready to leave I asked Elliot which shoes he wanted to wear. In all seriousness he replies:

My Old Tap Shoes.

Pauses for effect, then giggles. If I had the patience required to be a baby-booker or scrap-booker, this would be one for the baby book--baby's first humorous literary reference.

I love that my boys, long before learning to read, have discovered the magic of books. I love that they memorize them word for word and can "read" them to me. I love story time--even though I admit, I have been fooled by the promise of "just one more" and "this is the last one" and caved to the piteous "pweese Mom! I tan't read da words" more times than I remember. I even love that, despite the late hours they sometimes keep, they both love to lay in bed at night, pouring over book after book. I love that Ethan is being awakened to the higher magic of books as he learns to read and now devours every letter and word in sight--like a hungry man sitting down to a feast after hours of smelling dinner cooking. I love that library day rivals any number of other outings (and it's free!). I love my boys, and I love books.

Guns 'n Chromosomes

My grandmother once saw my mother snuggling and kissing her baby boy and commented:

You're going to make a kissy-boy out of him.

I declare that this world is in dire need of more kissy-boys. You know what I mean don't you? Boys who grow into men who kiss their wife and their children. Men who aren't ashamed to cry or to cuddle their babies.

But, you may ask in horror, what if he likes playing with dolls? Or grows up to be . . . you know?

I'm here to say that I have strong evidence that nature plays an overpowering role in these things. It is my job as a mother of boys to tamper that three-headed-macho-monster a bit. I have a couple of babydolls that I keep in my boys' toy box. I'm happy to find them playing with them on occasion. When I was pregnant with Elliot, I encouraged Ethan to hold and rock the baby doll. I've tried very hard not to shame or discourage "girly" interests such as when Ethan's favorite color was pink, or when they want to play with my jewelry.

And though we haven't outlawed toy guns, I do try to avoid having them in the house and discourage violent pretend play. And though we don't discourage sports play and Matt does occasionally watch a game, we certainly aren't sport fanatics in our household. Let's just say the macho threshold is very low around here.

All this withstanding, my boys both know how to distinguish a skid steer loader from a front loader and an excavator from a backhoe. Why? Because they're naturally interested. We own The Little Mermaid and they both enjoy using their Fairy toothpaste, but by and far, the winning movies in this household all revolve around heavy equipment.

Imagine my surprise the other night when we came in and the boys asked to leave the lights off. They began commando crawling around the house with headlamps and flashlights. A little bit later I noticed they both had ball point pens clipped to their clothing.

What are those? I asked.

Those are our guns! Ethan happily replied.

We're dookin' for bad duys in da dark. Elliot chimed in.

And they ran off making shooting noises at shadows lurking in dark hallways.

I smiled and put them to bed and they both asked to sleep with their guns. The next morning Elliot comes to me bright-eyed.

Good morning sunshine! I say.

Where are my duns?! He asks with concern.

I'm not overly disturbed by this. Boys by nature are definitely boys. I doing my darndest though to make sure we end up with a couple of kissy-boys--even if they're dun-toting kissy boys.

Trapped

Last evening I spent several suspense filled minutes trapped in my car. No, don't go getting the jaws of life or anything. Though perhaps some tomato juice would be in order. Can you see where this is going?

As I pulled into my driveway after yet another harrowing orchestra rehearsal (I swear I'm going to get better at this whole violin thing before long), I spotted something darting across the road in front of me toward my driveway.

I stopped, backed up slightly and shined my lights on it for a better look. I didn't get much better of a looksee, but it was definitely black and I distinctly saw some white on it's head region. What do I do now? What would you do? Dart up the driveway hoping the likely skunk wasn't on it's way up? Wait patiently at the bottom to see what the next move would be?

I did both. I waited a moment, then figured I'd dart up and hope it wasn't headed for my tires. I made it--no dead skunk in the middle of the road, stinkin' to high heaven--yet. So then what did I do, you may ask. Well, being as smart as I like to think I am, you might assume I'd hurry inside and lock the door. But no, I figured it'd headed on up the road and I decided to gather up a bunch of junk in preparation for my $700 car service tomorrow (why is it I feel compelled to clean out my car before it goes in the shop?).

Then, I began to exit the vehicle, arms full of garbage, having completely forgotten about the critter, when suddenly I hear leaves rustling over behind my shed. I jump back in, slam the door and spill garbage all over myself. Now what?

I turned on my cell phone--perhaps I should call Matt and he can . . . I dunno, do something. Oh yeah, no cell service here. Plan B--horn? No, lights! I start flashing my lights in it's general direction . . . nothing.

I wait, trapped in my car, for perhaps 10 minutes. Then, I open the door slowly and again those darn rustling leaves--but this time behind me! I look and the thing is running back down my driveway. I slam my door and start checking my rearview--hit the breaks to get a little breaklight shine going. Finally, I think he's gone. I grab my garbage and dash in the house.

Crap! I forgot my violin. I can leave my wallet on the front seat of my unlocked van, but I draw the line at my violin--especially if there is a skunk in the vicinity. So, I enlist Matt and his big flashlight and we head out again. Slowly, slowly, we're almost to the car. What's that noise?

Those darn leaves again. It's back behind the shed again. We turn tail and run back into the house. We spend the next 20 minutes shining flashlights out the back windows and finally it heads up the hill behind the house. We dart out to the car, grab the violin and run back in, locking the door behind us.

I think I need a glass of tomato juice.

Weight Wait

Every time I go to the doctor I'm asked to step on that scary looking scale and wait, and wait, and wait, for the nurse to fumble around with the little weights. I like to think it is a compliment, that perhaps I look slimmer than I am, but I'm skeptical.

Last week when I stepped on, she started at 150 pounds. Yes, 150. Excuse me, do I look like I weigh a mere 150 pounds? I know we're in blogosphere land, but just imagine me--5 foot 9 and a far cry from slender. Not to mention the fact that the nurse is holding my file which clearly states my weight when we did this a mere 6 months ago was 260 something. Perhaps I've lost a good 100 pounds in 6 months? Perhaps not.

So, as I watch her put the big weight on 150 I say:

Um, you're gonna need to go up a bit.

So she moves the little pounder up 20, 40 . . .oh the suspense.

Um, better start at 250.

So she moves the hefty weight to 200.

I'm about 270 . . .

She moves the little guy--220, 240 . . . really, you're killing me.

Then finally moves the biggie up to 250.

There we go.

260, 270, 272 and she says: There it is.

Yes, there it is. I'm flattered really, but would have been perhaps happier if the whole weigh in had entailed much less suspense.

You'd think for the amount of money I pay my doctor and insurance company, they could afford a digital read scale.

FairyLand Fall Finery

Okay, so I finally got to posting some fall pictures. I literally have taken over 500 pictures in the past month. I suppose my spree is over at present as all the trees seem to have given a big shiver as it were and suddenly dropped all their leaves. This afternoon we were piling leaves at the bottom of the slide for fun. I know I never posted pics with my Forest Fire entry, so pretend these are for that post. Though none of these actually came from that day. I took my camera to the bus stop to get Ethan a couple of days last week and from that and a short walk around my house I pretty much got all these--they're actually much better than my blue ridge parkway shots. But still, in no way do they do justice to the beauty of fall in FairyLand. If you want to see more let me know, I'll post an album online for you. Enjoy FairyLand.

This tree looms over our house. It's like it's imprisoned in an ivy straight jacket and is just managing to burst out in yellow splendor. Some days I feel like that.

This is perhaps my favorite fall pic of the season. This is a tree at the bottom of our driveway.

This is the view from the mountaintop FairyLand perches upon.

This is the view from the top of my driveway. Some days it's hard to get down the driveway without running into something for gaping in awe at the beauty of this place. My favorite phrase: "We LIVE here!"

This doesn't even halfway do it justice, but I was trying to capture the feel of being shrouded in these trees and colors as I drive 5 minutes to the bus stop every afternoon.

Fall is like a cozy blanket to me. I love finally having some relief from the miserable heat of the summer. I love the sound of leaves crunching under my feet. I love the smell of campfires in the crisp air. Perhaps because I was born in the fall (did I mention I turn 35 in a mere 18 days ? I can't wait!). I love pumpkins and stuffing and squash and all the hallmarks of the season. I love that I was married in the very beginning of fall --even then I wanted to be surrounded by brown, red, orange and yellow (I'll show you my wedding pictures sometime). Fall makes me happy. Can you tell I'm smiling?

Cap and Trade

As I took the garbage to the FairyLand dump today I contemplated my trash. FairyLand is a bit of an EcoTrash sort of place. We like to recycle and compost around here. Some have even been known to use (shudder) cloth diapers. And please don't mention styrofoam, as it is harmful to fairy habitat and makes their little ears wither just to mention it.

I'm all for kindness to our environment, but I try not to get carried away--moderation in all things. As I said, I do recycle and compost, but perhaps not for the reasons you may think. Yes, I feel good because I'm told I'm doing my part to save Mother Earth when I carry my potato peels out back and stomp on my cardboard boxes . . . yada yada.

In most US cities, the magical garbage truck comes along in the wee hours of the morning once a week and magically gobbles up your garbage so you don't have to think about just where it might be going. These magical trucks cannot penetrate the uber-magic of FairyLand for very long. So, we have one big magical garbage truck which every now and again comes up to the dump and swaps out one giant compactor bin for another. But beyond that, it is my responsibility to feed my garbage to the giant compactor, which is not my friend.

I have been startled by wildlife jumping out of the compactor at me. I've slipped on the platform and nearly cracked my head open on said compactor. I compacted in the rain, I've compacted in the snow and I've compacted in 90 degrees, 100% humidity--not a pretty scent.

I've tried various methods such as collecting my stinky garbage (which consists almost entirely of poop) into a large can for a couple three weeks, hefting the large stinky can into my van and driving to the dump. This collection can attract bears however. I've tried nagging my husband to take care of the garbage, but I am a terrible nagger and would just as soon do it myself than nag. Recently I've begun taking the trash straight from under my kitchen sink, add the cat box contents, add the diaper pail contents, and head for the dump. This has been working fairly well. But nonetheless it requires loading the stinking stuff into my car and making a dump-run whenever my can overfloweth. So, I do my best to reduce the number of trips I must make.

But, and here is my guilty secret, not only do I really dislike the Fairyland dump, I really, really dislike a stinky cat box, and I really, really, really dislike the concept of cloth diapers. Therefore, I like to think I'm operating my own little cap and trade policy. By recycling and composting, I am off-setting my landfill input of disposable diapers and clumping cat litter. You may argue that it doesn't nearly offset those nasty disposable diapers and kitty chemicals. If that is true, perhaps I'll plant a tree or two, but I refuse to spend my days rinsing diapers in the toilet.

So you see, I don't recycle and compost just to save the planet (though that is a nice byproduct), I recycle and compost primarily to reduce the number of trips I have to make to the dump and to asuage my disposable diaper guilt.

. . . How many Hail Mary's does that require? Oh wait, I'm a Mormon, maybe I should call the Bishop.

The End of the End

I'm thrilled the end is tomorrow . . . the end of the election that is, though some seem to think it will coincide with the end of the world.

I've been away from my blog a bit of late. I've had ideas, just none that really wanted to formulate because I've had a few other things on my plate and my mind. So, as tomorrow is the end, I'll use this last opportunity to express just a few things that have been on my mind concerning the election.

First of all, unlike a few Mormons I've encountered, I actually do believe the Church's statement on political neutrality. I believe they meant what they said, and not in a "nudge nudge wink wink" sort of way. I really believe that "Principles compatible with the gospel may be found in various political parties". And yet, I'm going to miss hearing from the pulpit during the testimony meeting, things like the democrats are "Gadianton Robbers".

Second of all, given the anti-Mormon persecutions, the lies, the false accusations of not being Christians and so much more that has been spread, whether through ignorance or malevolance over the past couple of centuries, I would like to think that we Mormons would be able to rise above such things and choose not to spread the same kinds of lies about others. I would hope that before speaking, or forwarding defamations of characters, we would scrupulously fact check and refrain from spreading around anything that even smacks of such filth. Yet, again, from the pulpit at testimony meeting yesterday, I was priveleged to hear my fellow saints saying such things as "in the future we may have a non-Christian president." And in case you didn't get his not-so-subtle inference the first time around, he adds "in the very near future." Nudge nudge, wink wink. I'm hoping his intent was either to induce his audience to run out and vote for a democrat tomorrow, or at least head out to the church parking log and slap "Mormons for Obama" bumperstickers on their vehicles, because that was certainly my desire after the meeting.

Third, I'm glad there are people out there, though few they may be, who are willing to have a political conversation without extreme emotion, manipulation, and most of all without using the phrase "I'm so scared" in regard to views they disagree with. Hooray for those who choose to rise above the muck, seek out truth, search out what they themselves truly believe rather than parrot others' views. Isn't this what it's all about? Disagreeing without being disagreeable, I believe is the cliche.

In closing, let me say that I believe I will be voting for Obama tomorrow. I'm not going to give my reasons here. Instead, I'm going to let you guess. Multiple-choice like. Please respond with your best guess.

I am voting for Obama because:

A) He has a great smile.
B) It's a great conversation starter when I visit the in-laws.
C) After weeks of research and introspection, it matters exactly squat who I vote for.
D) John McCain is an admitted adulterer, and I therefore find it difficult to trust him.*
E) All of the above.

*I was called out, and rightly so for my hypocrisy in the personal attack I posted in option D. I should not have referred to him, even in a multiple choice question on my personal blog, as a "philandering creep" and I have tried to clarify what I meant.