I have the Spring Cleaning bug, but can't do anything 'cause school is keeping me so busy!
I have to wait until after finals to do anything! That sucks.
But other than the GRE and gradute school apps, I have nothing school-related until August.
Can't wait for summer!
Well, on a positive note, the kids are registered and I left Thursday with a full page of volunteers with another page started.
I have no idea if we go more volunteers on Fri.
And I did miss something from my folder. But in my defense - it was something I didn't know I needed for registration.
As for Karmic retribution for the City... well, the company that has a monopoly on the electricity (etc). in town just got hit and almost the entire city went dark for almost five hours today, the hottest day so far this summer.
Yes, I was uncomfortable. No, the kids didn't even notice. They drank lots of water, but they do that every day. It's not even NBCI newsworthy at 9:00pm. Even though they were here and the event made the local paper.
Although, I am beginning to wonder if the City ever stops to think. The Flood in the spring (that was an adventure - just in the neighborhood!) The Fire last month(?) and now the Power Outage. Doesn't that say something about this place? Maybe the City has finally pissed off a Higher Power than they can pay off....hmmmm
You'd think that summer would be easy and free. Not mine. Once again we've got a DIY renovation project and we're still not completely finished. But it really looks great and I'm very excited to sit in a dining room with clean walls sans roach-size holes. We have actual trim where it's supposed to be and a dimmer switch for the chandelier. Why did we buy this house if it sucks so bad? Don't know. But we have a roof over our heads that doesn't leak, so why complain that much? Bad vibes go out with bad thoughts, so I have to keep positive to keep the walls up.
The kids are driving me batty I just want to hang them up in the closet with duct tape over their mouths. But that's child cruelty, so I just smother them with kisses and tickles to control the type of sounds coming from them if not the volume level.
On top of it all, there's the online Ling class. This isn't hard on the surface. If I had more time to spend going over the notes, I'd totally get it instead of being "on the right track." But It's almost over.
Just in time for registration, school supply/birthday shopping, and so many other things to finish and do before school actually starts. People keep asking how I do what I do. I really have no idea. I sometimes feel really lazy and don't leave the house unless I have to for days at a time. But then, (like this semester), I'll be out every day; dropping off, picking up, going to classes, finding time to shop for groceries and still study for five classes.
The secret is: an organized calendar and a phone that beeps reminders that can be synced to that calendar. Otherwise, I'd forget to pick up the kids! Nobody believes that is a possiblity. But it's actually happened three times in the past five years. I beat myself up over it all the time.
I guess that's enough rambling for now. I'll have more fodder for thoughts later. As it is, I don't know how I have the time to think!
Ever had one of those weeks when everything goes wrong?
A couple of months ago....
1. lost a $100 check
2. got a ticket for not having current inspection
the cop also called me argumentative and wanted to impound my van!
all I was trying to do was verify what to do take care of it - he may hand these things out like Halloween candy - but I don't get them every day
3. got the worst parking spaces ever!
4. lost the opportunity to get into a mandantory class next semester (for the third time)
5. lost one of two papers I had to turn in that week (started from scratch - worked furiously - got an A the next week)
So I was cussing at the selfishness of some drivers in our neighborhood when my oldest says that I'm putting out some very bad Karma and I would have to fix it soon. He's eight. He was right.
So far - that was the worst week in 2007 and no one died. I found things to be thankful for little by little.
1. I recieved my first scholarship (from the English department)
2. met 7 out of 8 people in the Linguistics Department and recieved invitations to get-togethers and futures speeches and classes (for an anal nerd, that's a good thing)
3. my kids have NOT suffered from endless allergies
4. my house has NOT yet fallen down
5. my temerity and my husband's reputation made the difference in one call to change one thing around us
So things can get better. Sometimes all it takes is a change in attitude. Think about it.
Background Info:
My eight-year-old and I watch Doctor Who on a very regular basis.
I Tivo Battlestar Galactica to reward myself after a long day.
I found this blog searching for anthropology blogs. Imagine my surprise and absolute pleasure when one day I see a post reviewing Doctor Who.
I do not personally know this guy. I think he's in Canada and may be getting different episodes, but his reviews are always very thorough, well-thought out and well-articulated.
Thought I'd share. In his blog, there's many other things I like, but I thought I'd share the reviews.
Check it out. http://www.bowjamesbow.ca/blog.shtml
But have a cup of coffee and a few minutes to relax. He's very thorough.
The interesting thing here is that I would rather type out notes than formulate my own thoughts into a readable format. I know that I have wacky notions that perhaps deserve to be written down for future reference rather than sifted through, shared with my husband and soon forgotten.
For example: We had Chinese the other night. Not even a family of five could consume all of it at one sitting. So a put some into a bowl and took it outside to share with our kitties. Normally when fed the three cats fight over the bowl. It is not big enough for all three kitty heads to munch at the same time. Neither was the bowl with the Chinese food. When I called, Little Man ambled over and covered the bowl with his head. Then Sammy followed. Yet instead of fighting for the morsels, Sammy queued up behind his brother to wait patiently for his turn. I thought for certain our latest addition, a black cat named Magic would pushed aside the grey tabbies to get to the treat. So I watched.
Little Man finished, moved aside and licked his chops while Sammy took his turn. Of course, Magic did not queue up behind Sammy, but he did wait patiently to the side for his turn. And there was food left for him.
My first thought was something about how sometimes animals can be considerate of each other. My second thought was the ingenuity of cats to copy humans. But really, where the heck would three cats see this type of human behavior? They lined up. They waited. Were they copying us, or do humans copy animals. Exactly how much does the general population resemble cattle?
Thomas and I have an ongoing issue...movies.
We do not share the same interests at all. I love to go to movies that were intended for the big screen. You know, the ones with all the special effects. I love getting lost in the huge images in a dark theater. At one point in my life, not only did I go by myself to movies, but I went on dates with guys just to go see one. (Benefit: I didn’t have to pay. Not a benefit: saying goodnight to someone you have no interest in!)
I love scary movies, sci-fi movies, and movies that touch my interests. (The couple of times Thomas and I agreed on movies were The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe and for three years his birthday present was to see Tolkien.) Thomas likes to watch comedies on TV. I have to admit that one of the best things about being married to him is listening to his laugh while cuddled up on the sofa watching Friends, ‘Til Death, Ferris Buellers Day Off, or anything funny.
However, one of the things we don’t see eye to eye on is the ability to escape into a movie. He’s constantly saying things like, “That can’t happen.” Or “That’s not real.” While I like to analyze just as must as anyone as anal as I am, (and have even discussed why this or that can’t happen in real life) this is one area where I just want to suspend belief in what is real and simply be entertained for an hour and a half.
But how many people actually do that? How many people simply sit there and enjoy, without talking, without the analysis, without judgment?
Kind of reminds me of my other peeve…literary analysis. There is such emphasis on what that symbol means or what the theme is or what is meant by this sentences, word, chapter…. Why can’t a tree be just an image, just a tree?
Why can’t a cigar simply be a cigar?
Too many thoughts….Losing sense….AAAAAAHHHHHH!
UPDATE: While in MS we went to see A Night at the Museum. While I generally don't care much for Ben Stiller and the low-brow comedy that usually comes with, this is one movie that Thomas and I agreed on. I think Thomas was practiciing suspending his belief. But then, the premise of the movie was based on magic, so you kind of have to...
Aside from that, we laughed our socks off. If you ever get the chance, this is definitely a must see.
I don't have any deep dark secret. The worst thing that I've done lately is not tell my husband about a ticket recieved on campus last month. My blog entires have been pretty bland. No one comments, not even on the family blog. There I can see at least that people are reading it.
I always thought that I was a little wierd, but comparing myself to other bloggers out there, I'm pretty blah...
Things that I like to talk about just aren't that interesting to a great many others.
What I would like to find is another English/Ling major who digs Anthro. I can't even find that in my classes. Even there, people are uninterested in the topic. They are just after the grade. Kind of tired of teeny-boppers anyway.
The terrible thing is...now that I'm exploring my interests and spending so much time doing school stuff, my husband finds the stuff that comes out of my mouth boring.
So how do I express myself without going all academicly snooty? How do I ..........
I have another blog at Yahoo 360o. (My first “thing” is that it’s hard enough to keep up with one…) But that one’s definitely family-oriented. I created that one because it’s so very handy to share the pictures.
My mother reads that. My husband’s family in at least three other states read that one.
Even “Bits and Pieces” is a little prim and proper for the type of people online late at night searching for secret pleasures.
I don’t write for them.
I write for myself.
I do this in a manner I can be proud of. I don’t share every tiny detail about my life. That would freak everyone out. I’m not like the prim and proper people with whom I share a city. Nor am I as twisted as most other “interesting” bloggers out there.
But just like every other blogger out there, I’m here, I have a voice, and even if no one reads this b/c I’m too shy to pass out the link, I don’t really care. It’s my first step to honestly see my name, my creation, my words out there.
Besides the obvious inference in the title....I knew that I was behind, but four months? What's wrong with me? I love doing this whether or not anyone at all reads the damn thing.
I have excuses coming out my backside: we've repainted the living room and the hallway, gone to MS, I've cleaned like I was taught to do Spring Cleaning, I have three kids, I have a pile of sewing - Christmas pajamas mostly - that I've accomplished. I'm blaming the fact that Denton is a pain in the butt when it comes to getting another phone company in here to hook up a cheaper DSL service. (BTW, AT&T is not dead!) I'm also blaming the messed up Feng Shui since there are pictures down from the walls that used to inspire. If you don't believe in the art, hang your kids pictures in your creative or even financial areas and see what happens!
Above all, I am not blaming my own simple laziness. That's not the case at all!
I know that on Friday the 13th I said some nice things.
The thing is...this is the day that I'm superstitious of. Yeah, too much Garfield, I know.
But really, not a bad day. I just shouldn't have opened my email when I got home from class.
Now, I'm tired and ticked, but not ticked enough to rant or lose sleep over it.
Happy Monday the 13th.
I think that I've mentioned before that for some strange reason since my daughter was born, I have taken up sewing again. For the past 2 years I've been sewing like a mad woman, making things for my family. I've even started a new tradition. Every Christmas, I make the kids a new set of flannel pajamas.
I'm a stickler for good prices now, so I make it to JoAnne's for their day after Thanksgiving sale and jump on their flannel for $1 a yard. This is amazing since I'm buying 8 or 9 yards for pajamas.
Usually I make them that weekend as well so they are ready for Pajama Day at school. Well, I suck this year and am trying to finish them before the MS trip and working at the last minute really sucks. Especially when I ran out of material on the last set.
So I made a quick trip to JoAnne's and got the very last yard of this material that they had. The interesting part is that the girl who "cut" it for me, remembered me from almost a month ago!
"Weren't you here for the After Thanksgiving Sale?"
Yep.
"Didn't you buy this material then?"
Yep. I ran out.
After I left, it hit me. Not only had she remembered me, but she'd remembered my purchase. Customer service is not obsolete. It there in the strangest places.
That or it's part of the whole miracle of Christmas thing.
For those who know, I was born and raised in Vicksburg, MS. After High School Graduation, my family moved to Pearl, MS just east of Jackson. One year after Thomas and I married we moved to Texas and do not intend to go back, at least to live. We end up over there two or three times a year. Now my “in-laws” call me MS, ‘cause they think I’m there all the time still tied to my mother’s apron strings, but that is another story or rather rant.
With all the destruction in LA, MS and AL, I have to report that all of my family are alive and well. Some are even well enough to whine and others are well enough to still have a tight fist on the grudges that they’ve held for over twenty years. The good news is that the one family member furthest south in Hattiesburg, got picked up by her father. She is the most spoiled among us. She didn’t leave school when she was told and found herself without money, gas, electricity, sewage, water, everything but the apartment she gets to live in while she’s going to school. There are no classes at Southern right now, so she won’t miss school, and that’s a good thing, right?
I don’t know where I got the idea that family is important and that family is always there for you good or bad. Right now, some of them aren’t showing that. In the past few years, we’ve been growing apart because the constant whining, complaining, and all just does not stop. My idea of family sticking together no matter what doesn’t seem like it came from them.
I do have some family in southern MS that we hardly ever talk to. Until Dad can physically get down there, we might not know how they’re doing. Electricity is working its way back down south, but it looks like it will take a while. For a while, the telephone is an iffy thing. Sometimes you can get through, sometimes you can’t . . . that’s cell phones as well as landlines.
As for friends . . . well, those that I’ve kept up with mostly moved away a long time ago. We keep up electronically. I’m starting to think that there’s something wrong with my dialing finger. Except in emergencies, I’ve forgotten there is a thing called a phone, even though my cell is on my hip all freakin’ day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Anyway, my best friend’s immediate family is all far enough north to have avoided major destruction. Some of her family were down south, but are alive and well.
So everyone that I have the ability to check on is accounted for, nothing worse than a little house damage, lack of hot bathes for a couple of days, and something about missing horses . . .
As for the Great State of Texas taking in refugees and funding supplies, manpower, and education . . . well, let me compose my thoughts on that one. What they’re asking for right now is fewer donations of food and clothes and more monetary gifts. There’s a rant for anybody.
I don't want to turn thirty.
OK, most of my friends are over thirty and have been for a while. They are healthy and happy and pretty much unchanged with age.
I don't want to. Mortality is creeping up.
I don't want to lose what good metabolism I have. I just discovered that after 12 years and three kids, I'm only one size larger than I was in high school. What does this mean? That I can wear junior size jeans with the cool fades and embroidery and nifty decorations that can't be found on women's jeans unless you make them yourself. I don't want to be thought of as too old to get away with low rise waists, when mine finally gets flat enough to show a peek or two.
I don't want to be getting my Master's at thirty-something even though I took quite a few years off from the education front to have a family. (A noble thing, I'm told) - A good point would be that my children will be there when I get my Doctorate and old enough to understand what it takes to get there.
Another good point is that while I'm working toward something higher, my children will be going to school and I don't have to worry about things like diapers and lunch and potty training during all the difficult classes. Plus, when I do find a job, I won't have to worry about maternity leave and the vacations can include three kids old enough to appreciate our dream vacation spots like Greece, Egypt and Japan.
See, I've talked myself into looking forward to the future.
But I still don't want to have to cross the thirty threshold to do it.
Two days from now. . .I can't stop time.
I'm on the computer all of the time. I mean, even when I don't have an online class to keep up with, I'm checking email, writing, balancing checkbooks, blah, blah, blah. Before we got DSL, there was plenty of time to sit and play a game of solitaire or free cell while the pages were loading. DSL, while having many, many advantages, took away my game time.
So, take away a few minutes here and there of brain release, you have to take a chunk of time somewhere else. I got board with the usual stuff on my computer and stopped playing almost completely.
Then, my husband introduced me to www.insane-games.com. My addiction is Text Twist and I play it entirely too much. My own personal high score almost reached 300,000. Working together over a couple of days, Thomas and I reached over 550,000.
It's weird that something so simple, can be so addictive.
Within my comfort zone, I am a Goddess. I am self-assured and confident. I voice my opinions loudly. I am strong. I am woman. Get me out of my comfort zone and I am once again the shy girl hiding behind a book in the back of class. I am afraid and I have no idea why. So I do not create blog entries that often. This is still therapeutic exercise for me. This is why I am stretching the boundaries with these upcoming thoughts.
There are laws against toy parties of the type I went to recently. Items are sold that are illegal to purchase in most states. You can own them. You can use them. However, you cannot buy them. (Is this an antiquated law or something that really needs to be cracked down on? Is the purchase of sexual paraphernalia something that warrants policing?) This was the second time in the same town that I attended one of these.
The first was an effort to be classy. The whole idea of sexual pleasure was watered down. The idea of lotions as a quick and legal fix was emphasized. The toys were never brought out of the catalog. Although testing the lotions was a fun option. This was the epitome of the town I live in and its ideas for behavior. Sort of: “Let’s show everyone we’re cool, but not too much.” (I have noticed a pattern. The people who were born and raised here have a certain height they must keep their noses, or else. Transplants, like me, are much more true to themselves and are happy to show it.)
The second was so much fun. No one left because she was offended by anything. No one looked down from their lofty height and made us feel wrong. It was an open forum. Everyone asked intelligent questions. OK, yes there was a whole lot of laughing. Who wouldn’t when the jokes are flying? But we actually learned a few things our mothers wouldn’t dare teach us. No matter how wonderful the relationship in or out of bed, some women just cannot get enough. How weird is it to be the woman begging for some action and not the man?
I’ve found a group of women that I like to be around for the first time in my life. We are finally secure in who we are and finally much less likely to be as petty as most [teenage] women are. But I found interesting that the other night, I found myself discussing feminism with women who held very different beliefs.
One said that a woman “has her place” she should understand and embrace her strengths and enjoy being a woman, because essentially, scientifically, biologically, emotionally, psychologically (etc) women are different from men.
This is something that I have thought for a very long time. We, as a generation, come from a recent history of women fighting for equality. Why should we be equal in a man’s ideal?
However, another friend, a woman, said that if a woman is able, why should she be denied a job or whatever based on the fact that she isn’t a man? (Here we referred to women in combat.)
Hence, the hour long discussion on feminism.
(Since we are friends and really want to stay that way, what happens is that when we have discussions like this we are listeners as well as talkers. We are willing to be open to other opinions whether or not we agree with them. The result is that everyone still likes each other when we’re done even if the only conclusion is to agree to disagree.)
The conclusion that we came to was simple. (Yes we have our own ideas still, and not much has changed but this.) Women should embrace being a woman. (You men have no idea how enjoyable some of the perks are.) But when it comes to the “glass ceiling”, yes it should be broken. Pay should be equal for the same job whether a man or a woman does it. Pay and benefits should be given on the basis of the job and how well the person does it. When it comes to women in jobs that are obviously a “man’s” such as firefighting or combat, well, the standards for that job should not be lowered to accommodate the physical differences of women. The standards should remain high for the job. And if a woman can do it, can maintain those standards and wants the job, she should have it. So what if it seems like she’s working twice as hard. Her body is different. It will always be different. As long as the standards are equal, she has equality.
I'd like to say that I haven't written anything lately because I've been so busy. OK, maybe I have just a little. We found out that my poor housekeeping skills have been promoting all the bad stuff that my oldest son is allergic to. (Trust me, if you or a loved one goes in for allergy testing, know all that it entails before you make the appointment!) So I've been cleaning things that normally should be cleaned once a week or month, that around my house, gets done maybe twice a year. So yes, I'm cleaning more. My son takes his medicine and doesn't cough like he's going to rip it two.
Yes, we had the trip to MS. But we left the kids there for the week after Christmas, so while I updated our family website, I never mustered up the thought to write here. Big deal, really. Who reads it anyway?
I've made a head start on the reading for this semester: two government classes, one history, and a computer class (two on-campus, two online). Looks to be an interesting semester, really.
I've made some clothes for my daughter. (I learned how to sew when I was, like eight. But if you remember Pretty In Pink, you know just how uncool it was to make your own clothes!) I haven't done this in fifteen years, but God gives me a daughter, and voila, I want to make pretty things for her. Plus, it saves me from searching a season too late for cool clothes. I make them for myself in the funky fabric of my choice. (BTW, I hated pink with a merry passion until I had a daughter, but now...)
So I have a somewhat clean house, a few future presents for my daughter, a jump on the semester reading, a jump even on taxes, but I didn't take the time to take care of my own therapy. That's OK, 'cause I've done quite a bit even though I think I've been super lazy!
But I click onto this site, just to see my words in print and it's been bugging me for two weeks that there's just a blank page.
Well, now it's not blank.
So the self-imposed therapy is working. I finally got off my backside and submitted a story. That, of course is the first step. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to do something so simple.
The weird thing is I’m happy about my first rejection. It means that I’ve actually done something more than waste time at Waffle House. (That sounds weird in itself. Understand, with three kids, school, housework, volunteering, etc. I have to physically leave my home to work on anything. The hard part is keeping it from being homework. But I try to make time, a couple hours a week to be alone and write. So it is off to Waffle House where someone else fills my coffee cup and I mostly get left alone. – Except for the regulars who ask me when I’m going to be finished with the “Great American Novel”!)
Anyway, I got my first rejection letter! So what if I can’t decide if it’s a form letter. The fact is, at least I got an answer. It didn’t devastate me. I still have a few balls left to resubmit this and submit a couple other stories I’ve finished. Is it strange to be so excited?
Here’s what they said. Kind of wordy for “not what we’re looking for at this time”, but hey, even an online mag has the right to be pretentious.
“While readers here appreciate what’s strong about your work, we feel it’s not quite congruent with our current editorial needs. That is not a critique of your work’s quality, and we hope you don’t feel too let down. In completing this story, you have accomplished something special and should be proud. Please persevere in your writing, and in time other readers will enjoy your creations.”
At least they didn’t say what my mind expected: “You’re writing sucks. Go back to elementary school and learn some grammar. And while you’re there, pick up a good idea ‘cause this wasn’t one.” Like I’ve said before, my imagination can put me through the worst situations before they’re even a possibility.
I got my first rejection letter. Cool. I wonder how I’d feel if anything I wrote ever got published.
I have an active imagination. What writer doesn’t?
As far back as I can remember my imagination has taken me places I otherwise could not go. My backyard was a clearing in a jungle where my sister and I gathered “herbs” and “berries” for an amazing stew “cooked” in a hole filled with water. My grandmother’s swimming pool was a mermaid’s paradise complete with a crystal wall separating the mer-people from the sharks who had stolen the golden orb of life. It was our job to get it back.
In high school simple life was dramatic, a soap opera to be lived through and fantastic myths to explore. I discovered dragons and Stephen King. Back then, his nightmare books kept me from a decent night’s sleep. Not because they were scary, but because I had to read “just one more chapter.”
My biggest worry was losing that childish fantasy world and becoming a “grown up”. I feared the day when the magic would be gone and I could no longer see the fairies.
I even lived through it. Between my first pathetic attempt at college and marriage, I forgot about writing and dreaming in the process of surviving. I lived from paycheck to paycheck concerned about things like food and rent. Oh, and the stifling, tortured relationship where I totally forgot about myself in the attempt to please someone who could never be satisfied. Reality is sometimes more painful than any made up drama.
Then, one surprisingly painful day, I became a mom. All the hopes and dreams of my own childhood came flooding back. I wanted to share all the beautiful, magical things I knew with my child. While reviewing all the paths my imagination took me, I discovered new ones.
Now an imagination is a wonderful thing, don’t get me wrong. Pretending is an art. Watching someone else discover this is a blessing. Nevertheless, there is a flip side.
My father is a superior example. He thought I was satanic because I wore black and read about dragons. (King’s harsh language and twisted realities did not help.) I had to be on drugs to question the historical beliefs of the Church. My father also thought for a while my sister might be gay.
Ridiculous thought, really. She was going to school full time and working forty to fifty hours a week. Who has time to date anyone boy or girl in that situation? It went on for two years. We have since discovered she’s just fussy and hard to get along with. It’s not just us she’s singled out for her bitchy attitude. The whole world does not agree with her.
The imagination, the origins of thoughts like that come from being a parent. My father had strange notions. I have stranger ones. That makes me extremely overprotective.
I would not let my babies sleep in their own beds because if I was not right next to them, I could not protect them from things that come in the night. I was afraid to let them out of arm’s reach in the front yard on the off-chance that some fool would come barreling around the corner and drive into our front yard. If I was too far away, I could not pull them to safety.
These are not ordinary fears. These are wild, unreasonable thoughts that come at the weirdest times. I have to clear my head of these things almost immediately or I’ll worry myself into madness.
Last year, I went to Waffle House. On the drive over, my thoughts took one of these strange turns. What if some one robbed the Waffle House while I was sitting there drinking my coffee? What if masked gunmen came in, guns blaring, stole money from the register then were forced to take a hostage? What if that hostage was me? And here goes my imagination.
My husband sees the whole thing on the news, gets an inside phone call from my cell when instead of 911, I hit and hold the number 2 on my speed dial. What happens to the kids when he leaves them with our elderly neighbors to go racing down the road through red lights to get to the stupid Waffle House?
Halfway through this stupid little thought, I get to the Waffle House, go in, order coffee and switch my tainted imagination to the (vampire) story I’m working on. I shake my head to get rid of ridiculous notions. As if Waffle House will ever be the focus of robbery, right? Stupid, unrealistic thought.
However, that night on the ten o’clock news is a story of a serial robber. The description is vague enough to be anyone. I could fit it: average height, light brown hair, blue eyes, and female. She carries a gun and has robbed, get this, four Waffle Houses in towns less than thirty miles from where I live.
Now, of course, I fear for the mental health of my children as I hover over them to protect them from all things, especially my freakin’ imagination.