Fending Off Boo Radley

Day Seventeen

2011-08-25T09:07:00.004-06:00

Have you ever been afraid to ask a question? Afraid to admit there is something you don't know? Afraid of looking like less than what you want to be? One of my favorite professors once told me that all academics live in fear of being discovered as a fraud. Beneath all of the loquacious bravado, every so-called "expert" is fearful of not knowing enough.

My cute girls are helping me realize just how ridiculous such fear is - and just how beneficial it can be to let it go. Over the course of their first week of school, each has faced assessment tests to determine a baseline from which their teachers can work throughout the year. I imagine it's a fairly standard experience regardless of school, district, or state. It's really not that big of a deal.....except it is.

On Monday, the Bug fretted over a math problem she thought she might have done incorrectly. She was so distraught, she talked about it in her sleep that night. A lot. Have I mentioned how much she wants to be like her daddy? Turns out she got a perfect score on that test, and has done amazingly well on each subsequent test.

On Tuesday, the Bear worried her way through her test, and left concerned she wasn't able to write out her full upper and lower case alphabets on the fly. At one point during her test, her sweet teacher had to reassure her that she was doing very well when she hit a math problem she couldn't complete. Turns out her teacher wanted to see how far the Bear's math prowess went, and had moved on to a test a full grade level above where she should be.

I suppose it goes without saying that we've talked at length this week about embracing what we don't know. If we don't find the courage to admit and accept what we don't know - yet - how will we ever know what we need to learn? The girls have internalized this lesson remarkably quickly. I've come to the realization that I need to do the same.

For my part, I've had a couple of questions regarding some sources for my thesis. Finding the right ones could be an immeasurable help in contextualizing a couple of my chapters. I've been reluctant to ask my advisor for direction, though, for fear he will realize I don't know something he may think I should. The girls experiences this week, however, have made me understand the absolute futility of such fear. The fact of the matter is I'm not sure which sources will be the most effective for my chapters and I do need help sorting through the possibilities. So taking a cue from my girls, I owned up to what I don't know, and emailed my questions to my advisor. I suppose it's entirely possible that he will think less of me, although that's difficult to imagine. He was once a grad student too, fumbling through the dissertation gauntlet. Regardless of his response, however, I'm in a quandary and I need to get out. Luckily, I've got my Bug and Bear helping me rediscover the path. Funny how life comes full circle sometimes....

Day Fourteen

2011-08-22T15:49:00.007-06:00

There are life moments, and then there are life moments. Some I would rather forget - like the time I saw "Watcher in the Woods" or "The Dark Crystal" or "Poltergeist". Others, I wish I could hold onto forever. Sometimes I fear I get too caught up in that which must be done, rather than the good stuff that happens while I am working on all of the extraneous mumbo jumbo. Thank heavens for days like today. The first day of school. Another bittersweet milestone in the life of my beautiful girls. Days like today are what it takes sometimes to get me to stop, look around, and appreciate every good thing that swirls around me while I am stressing about everything else.

Behold: The Good Things!

I love the way the Bear sleeps with her arms over her head - and has since she was born. She looks like she is in a constant state of surrender.

I love the way the Bug sings through life. She's even taken to making up songs on the fly to narrate whatever is going on around her.

I love that Dave is so adept at math, he can do it without numbers. In the words of my girls, the daddy is a mad genius!

I love the way the Bear's voice squeaks when she talks. I'm going to miss that one as she grows older.

I love how sincerely the Bug wants everyone around her to be okay. She often takes stock of everyone's feelings just to make sure...

I love how much Dave loves what he does and how fearless he has been to follow his dreams. He was the first one in his family to get a four-year college degree. The VERY first. In his ENTIRE family. EVER. If ever someone was destined to follow a particular path in life, it's Dave!

I love the way the Bear lights up a room just by walking in it and smiling. She could charm anyone into anything.

I love that the Bug talks in her sleep. Sometimes I will lie down next to her, just to listen.

I love that Dave loves bow ties. Did I mentioned that he was destined for his path in life? Down to his wardrobe!

I love that the Bear dances through life. This is not an exaggeration. She is ALWAYS dancing. We've had to go so far as to enforce a "no dancing at the table" rule for her and her sister!

I love that the Bug wants to follow in her daddy's footsteps. I mean, she REALLY wants to follow in her daddy's footsteps. She is working extra hard at math just to make sure she's ready!

I love how ecstatic the girls are when their daddy walks through the door. One of the hardest things about our new schedule is how little they will see him. On the other hand, the relative scarcity will make that moment all the more poignant.

I love how much Dave loves his girls. There is nothing he wouldn't do for the B & B. And that includes construction of a dungeon AND a mote by the time the girls reach junior high school.

....Okay so the aforementioned examples only cover a minuscule fraction of all that is good in my life. I hereby promise to make sure to include some of these moments in my posts from now on. Otherwise, when I look back on my blog for the next nine months, I may forget that it was packed with so much magic!

Day Ten

2011-08-18T15:06:00.005-06:00

Life is a funny thing. You can focus all of your attention and energy into a very specific set of goals, yet the lessons you learn can come out of left field. Over the past week, I've experienced just that. While I've labored over my notebooks to get some traction on my thesis, raced around town to get my girls ready for school, and hovered over my computer to make my way through a to-do list for church, a lesson came out of nowhere. No really. I could not see this one coming until it hit my upside the head. But when it did hit, it offered up a very important lesson that I hope will help shape my book, my thesis, and, most importantly, my life from here on out.

Language has tremendous power and we must be careful how we use it.

Now this may seem fairly obvious - I've always been slow on the uptake - but it's something I find I needed to learn. Now. Before I write another word on either project, or try to help my kids learn from their mistakes. Words are visceral, vital things and I want to make sure I use them in best way possible.

So what brought up this little diatribe of mine? It's pretty simple really. I've had experience with some pretty powerful language as of late - both inspiring and devastating. I'd rather not focus on the latter. It would just serve to illustrate the capacity for words to bring us all down. Now the former, that is a completely different story....

After a disastrous February - please see Day One for further information - I questioned whether I have what it takes to actually write a solid piece of research. (This is not an idle concern. Trust me, my master's thesis was NOT my finest hour.) I've pressed forward under a suffocating cloud of doubt. Well, last Friday I finally decided to admit as much to my advisor. I described in painful detail the crippling writer's block that has impeded my progress, I explained my confusion regarding the best course for a chapter, and I expressed my doubts over the path I have chosen. His reply? Exquisite. He understood. He empathized. He assured me that my research was sound. And he helped me chart a way forward. Throughout all of this, I realized he is not about to give up on me - a student he inherited by default when my original advisor retired - and he wants me to find my way to the promised land. They were only words, but they made me realize that I might just have a viable project on my hands, and the mental alacrity to make it work.

Nothing has changed. Not really. I'm still stumbling along, trying to muster the courage to believe in myself and my ability to earn the mantel of PhD. I'm still trying to find the energy, patience, and serenity to make it through the day with a modicum of grace. I'm still trying to discover the secret recipe to dividing my time in the most efficient way possible. I've just come to appreciate the power of uplifting words a bit more than I did a few days ago. I hope I can make better use of them in my writing.....and my life. I suspect a lot of other things will fall into place a lot more easily - or at least more pleasantly - as a result.

Day Six

2011-08-14T18:33:00.007-06:00

And now for something completely different. No, not Python. Primary.

I am a big believer in balance. I find it to be an absolute necessity if one wants to have any degree of sanity in life. Too much of one thing or the other, and an entire life can be thrown off kilter. Sure, there are seasons in which one facet of life takes over by sheer necessity - when you're up against a deadline, when your child is sick, or when your daughters' dance studio suffers a major fire and the staff is in desperate need of help. In such moments, you focus and deal. And then you move on to make up for whatever tasks or schedules have fallen by the wayside. You get back to the delicate art of balance. About two and a half years ago, a different kind of balance asserted itself upon my life. In the midst of everything we were trying to keep up with as a family, I was asked to "take charge" of the 70+ children in our church between the ages of 18 months and 11 years. (Please note that these are monster quotations marks! I certainly do not do it alone!)

We have a very diverse congregation and these cute kids come from every conceivable background - from the strongest of families to anything but and everything in between. They need a lot of love, understanding, and, yes, lots and lots of patience. At the moment this request was made of me, I felt overwhelmed and utterly unequal to the task. I hated babysitting while I was growing up and had not ventured near the children's meeting room from the moment I was old enough to leave. This was not my thing by any stretch of the imagination. Nevertheless, I said yes and dove in with both feet. And I nearly drowned several times, but that is a completely different story!

It took me a while to understand the gift of such responsibility. One day, it hit my like the proverbial ton of bricks. I mean seriously, what better foil for hard academic research can there be than two solid hours in the middle of wacky, energetic, wonderful kids once a week? During the week I am a scholar and a mom. On Sundays I am a walking kleenex, a security blanket, a vaudeville act, and a buddy. I am racing through the halls making sure each class has a teacher, finding sufficient numbers of chairs (a huge challenge in and of itself - we are the third congregation to meet in our building each week), and playing goalie at the door when escape attempts are made. I cannot think of any experience further removed from the rigors of academia than this one. And the deep satisfaction I feel at the end of an exhausting Sunday can rival anything I've felt following just about any other effort exerted in my life - except with my own beautiful girls, of course, but that too is a different story altogether.) In fact, Sundays often give me a kind of emotional and spiritual jolt that helps me balance all the challenges and responsibilities of the week that follows. Not a bad exchange, if I do say so myself.

Sure, there are days when I am ready to abandon it all out of sheer frustration. These are kids after all! There are times when my responsibilities require me to act as jail warden when children misbehave. There are times when all I want to do is hand in my keys and run. But these kids - as crazy as they can be sometimes - are incredibly dear to me. They are my responsibility. They are my friends. They remind me every week that there is so much more to life - and to love about life - than the "hard stuff" like school. And I love them more than I ever thought possible that morning two and a half years ago when their spiritual care was placed into my unsteady hands.

Thank goodness for balance.

Day Five

2011-08-13T20:58:00.005-06:00

How do you do it all? I get this question a lot. The truthful answer is this: not very well. I scramble, I chase, I stay up late and get up early. But doesn't everyone, really? In spite of the nature of my life - the strange amalgam of academics, motherhood, and religion that it is - I cannot imagine that it is any more or less complicated than anyone else's. And there is always that lingering truth that this is all leading.....somewhere. To a book deal? To a teaching position? To Target? I cannot say for sure. But the opportunity to pursue an advanced degree is a gift. The chance to do so with my girls looking on is a freaking miracle. My thesis has been their reality since birth - and they will be old enough to understand and appreciate it when I graduate.

All of this brings me back to that ubiquitous question: how do I do it all? I think a much more interesting question is this: where do I do it all? With Dave off at work and school during the vast majority of his waking hours, my home must double as my library and office. Have I mentioned that my home is very small? Let me preface this by saying that I love my home to an unhealthy degree. It is warm, cozy, inviting, and old in a "lived-in-and-loved-for-generations" kind of way. Nevertheless, the fact remains that it is small. So small that my desk has led a rather nomadic existence for the past several years. It has done a stint upstairs in the living room. It currently resides on the landing at the bottom of our stairs. And it will be returning to its previous location as soon as we finish re-doing the living room walls and windows.

The size of my home has also meant that my desk is not the only nomad in the family. I am constantly migrating - with all of my books, notes, files, and binders - as occasion requires. I will work on my kitchen counter while the girls are playing outside so I can keep an eye on them. I will work on my dining table while the girls are playing in their rooms, or watching a movie downstairs...next to my desk. I even have been known to work on my girls' floors when they have been sick. I am a movable feast of obscure historical information. Somewhere, my grandpa and great grandpa - my predecessors through this doctoral gauntlet - are looking down on me............and laughing. I like to think that in between chuckles, they are smiling with pride - just a little bit.

In the coming weeks, however, I will be a nomad no more. As part of our plans for the living room, we are setting up a bona fide office area for me and I could not be more excited. I am about to dive into a demanding work schedule once the girls are in school, and after four years in this house, I am finally going to get my own little corner in which to write! The plans call for a wall-mounted shelf, and an excellent desk lamp. I am even going shopping for a real, ergonomic office chair to replace the $10 folding chair I have called home since the dawn of time. Writing my thesis is about to get a lot more comfortable and convenient. And if someone ever asks me where I do it all - I can tell them with a smile.

P. S. I am so happy and grateful that a few of you out there are coming along on this crazy journey of mine! Mia, Ryan, and Lindsay - I love and miss you all!!!!!

Day Two

2011-08-10T15:41:00.002-06:00

Mornings are an interesting emotional exercise around here. My family is besought with what we affectionately call the Dahl Worry Gene. It is a genetic compulsion to stew over anything and everything. When one problem is solved, another takes its place. It is a vicious cycle. And it is imprinted upon each strand of my DNA. So as each morning begins, every concern that has ever crossed the recesses of my mind washes over me. I feel it all to the core of my being. Each day I have to consciously fight back against its pull. Either that or just succumb to the dark side. I've seen what that can do to a person's heart and soul. I choose the former.

Herein lies the irony of it all: many of the very concerns that threaten to debilitate my psyche truly are blessings in disguise. If it were not for my student loans, I would have quit my PhD program long ago. There were moments along the way when my desire to have something to show for the financial stress I have inflicted on my family was the only thing that kept me going. If it were not for the ridiculous amount of time it has taken me to complete my degree, I would have been forced to send my sweet munchkin to day care so I could work to pay off the aforementioned student loans. As it stands, BOTH of our beautiful girls will be in school all day before I have to set foot out of the home and into the workforce. When faced with such indisputable evidence it's difficult NOT to feel like things are working out just as they should, in spite of our numerous missteps along the way.

I don't know that I will ever feel like I am on top of everything - or anything for that matter - in my life. I spend far too much time waging a civil war against my genetic encoding. I've lived long enough to know that my "to do" list will never end. My solution? It came to me while I was watching an episode of Sports Night....

"You're not going to solve everybody's problems. In fact, you're not going to solve anybody's problems. So you know what you should do? Anything. As much of it and as often as you can."

So as I rededicate myself every day to rewriting my thesis, to writing my book, to working my body, and to caring for my family, I'll continue to suit up for battle and do my best to knock the crap out of that voice in the back of my mind telling me it's all hopeless. One of these days, I may just end up on the summit of my own personal Everest. When I get there, I fully intend to look straight down.....and laugh!

For the Record:

Thesis Progress: My new chapter outline resembles one of those bubble graphs we learned to use to brainstorm in grade school. At least it's something....

Training Progress: Ran each of the past three days. Will be taking a day off tomorrow so I can watch my sister perform in a local production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

Book Progress: I ran into a snag here. Mansfield Park (1999 film) arrived on Netflix streaming queue and I got distracted - with good reason. Turns out my beloved Johnny Lee Miller plays Edmund Bertram in this particular production. Did I mention I also have a genetic predisposition for obsession with all things Jane Austen?

Day One

2011-08-09T14:45:00.006-06:00

I've heard that accountability is just inspiration cloaked in fear of public failure. Okay, so I haven't actually heard that. I made it up last night while I was running. It sounds good, though, doesn't it? In fact, I've decided to let this little nugget of truth (or total malarkey depending on your view of things) to guide my life for the next several months. You see, Dave is diving into 12-14 hour days between work, research, and a required TA with his department. Meanwhile, I am up against what can only be described as the ultimate deadline for my thesis. It is now or never. (For the record, after ten years of hard labor, I refuse to accept never.) All of this has been set against the backdrop of two girls with full schedules of school and dance, and church responsibilities that are NOT for the faint of heart.

For anyone who may be out there (and vaguely interested) the past couple of years have been an uphill battle to say the least. The past few months alone just about killed me. It took me a good two months to get up off the mat following a devastating response from my advisor after he read my first full thesis draft. No kidding. I cried for about a week. As I tried to hide any sense of disappointment while volunteering at my girls' schools, at their dance studio, and with the kids in my congregation, I fear I withdrew emotionally. I experienced the recurrence of Boo Radley Syndrome in a feeble attempt to survive. Well, turns out survival sucks. I want more out of life. Much more. Trouble is, I really can't do this on my own. I need to be accountable to people. I need to let people in. I am tired of living in excuses. Sure church and family take up a HUGE amount of my time. But that doesn't mean I can't balance all of that with everything I want to accomplish. And I refuse to turn my beloved family into an excuse as to why I never quite realized goals that have gathered dust for far too long.

So here's the deal. As of today, this blog is officially recommissioned. It is morphing into something entirely different and, I hope, something much more useful. Over the next nine months, I will log my progress toward three distinct, yet interconnected goals: completing my thesis (yeah, that again!), running a half-marathon (running is my prozac!), and completing my novel (I've been working on a novel for about 17 years, have I mentioned that?). Each day I will report my progress, along with diverting familial tidbits that warrant mention. Even if no one ever reads this, I will. You see, I realize that accountability matters. And so I will be accountable to this infernal blog if to nothing else.

One final note. I'm not superwoman. Never have been. Never will be. When people look at me and are impressed with what I am TRYING to do I feel embarrassed, ashamed, and fraudulent. Trying is completely different than doing. Just ask Yoda. If only those same people realized how many times I've been reduced to tears under the weight of it all. Even now, it is entirely possible this whole endeavor will descend into madness. I've already chopped off my hair and dyed it red, so madness cannot be too far away! Nevertheless, it is worth a try. I'd love some company along the way.

Ode to a Redhead Named Floyd

2009-08-10T17:37:00.006-06:00

I would be remiss if I did not take moment to offer a shout out to one of my the greatest people who ever graced our planet - my beloved Grandpa Floyd!

Floyd was hilarious, warm, uncomplicated, and true.

Floyd had this mischievous grin that always let you know when he was up to something. And he was always up to something!

Floyd called life as he saw it, and wasn't afraid to call a spade and spade.

Floyd LOVED golf, before golf was remotely cool.

Floyd was one of my greatest friends and was the best pal I could ask for when I lived with him and my grandma during high school.

Floyd shared a crazy bond with my Ellie that transcended everything - even his ailments over the last few days of his life. She will always be his sunshine.

We lost Floyd on New Year's Day 2005. But he made sure his Utes had the Fiesta Bowl well in hand before he went. He passed away during half time. Yes, Floyd made us smile to the very end.

Floyd was the best man, husband, father, and grandpa. EVER. And I am so happy Dave and I chose to be married on his birthday!

Happy birthday Floyd!

I love you!

P.S. SMILE DAMMIT! SMILE!

Lucky Number Seven

2009-08-10T16:42:00.004-06:00

It's hard to believe it's been seven years! I can't seem to decide if that's because it feels like it has only been a moment, or because it feels like our life was never any different. Regardless, it's a pretty fabulous occasion - to hit seven years of marital bliss and still feel, well, blissful. So to mark this auspicious occasion, I thought I would take a moment to brag about the man I had the good sense to marry.

Dave is wicked smart. Not just keeping up with the PhD students smart. He is scoring the highest in his class while working full time smart. He literally is a rocket scientist. And I must admit I tend to smirk a little every time I get to say that!

Dave has an amazing sense of humor. He is a living embodiment of the guys from The Big Bang Theory. Seriously. And the man swears by Python and Mel Brooks. In fact, we fell in love over Young Frankenstein. No joke!

Dave is a FABULOUS dad. And his girls are hopelessly devoted to him. Dave will move heaven and earth so he can have dinner with his girls and tuck them in at night. Even if it means going back to work until two in the morning.

Dave has a refined appreciation for the finer things in life. He has been by my side on opening day for Star Wars and Star Trek. And he gets the wonder that is Firefly. Need I say more?

Dave has a ridiculously big heart. He will put himself out at a moment's notice to help anyone who might need him. When we got a call telling us my brother's basement was flooding, all I saw of Dave was a streak holding a shop vac as he ran out the door.

Last, but certainly not least, Dave is a FRAKKING AWESOME husband. He is goofy, patient, loyal, and fun. Even in our worst moments he has never wavered in his commitment to me or our family. Plus Dave is a flat out blast to live with - even if he does leave his clothes all over the floor!

Yes ladies and gentlemen, in the words of my friend Portia, "Dave is skeewompus, but in the best possible way." Amen, sister! Amen! And I am one lucky girl as a result!

Happy anniversary, cute boy!

Let me explain....

2009-08-06T11:27:00.004-06:00

Has it really been two months since I added a post to this thing called blog? And what a post to leave on. A bit maudlin, don't you think? I'm not even sure where to begin with all that has transpired over the summer. Rather than bore you all to tears with any drawn out reminiscing, let's hit the highlights, shall we?

Dave has been traveling quite extensively for work. While it's been fabulous for him to see and do some of things he has seen and done (Don't ask! He can't tell!), the girls and I decided we like our family considerably more when we have "our Dave" around. On the bright side, Dave has a job. And a darn fine one at that!

The girls experienced yet another marvelous birthday week. (For those keeping score, they turned five and three and yes, their birthdays are a day apart.) We dined. We partied. Their beds got magnificent princess makeovers. The Ariel and Tinker Bell cakes were a hit. And I felt just a little sad as I marked the occasions of my little buddies getting bigger and more independent.

I finally finished the chapter from h&%# and sent it off to my advisor. The response? Split it in half, double it's length and detail, and voila! You shall have two chapters from one. The bright side? My advisor is finally convinced that I have the makings of a strong dissertation. Thank goodness!

So where does that leave us now?

Dave is working insane hours solidifying his position and projects for the next round of layoffs that are due next month. He is also preparing for his PhD qualification exams next week. Good times! At least GI Joe comes out this weekend. It will be manna for his soul!

I am diving into the revisions to try to get the very first, FULL draft of my thesis to my advisor by the end of next month. Tears will be shed. Gelato will be consumed. And there will be much rejoicing. I am also working on developing a religious studies curriculum for a new academic institute that is in the works. Tentatively named the Institute for Religion, Government, and Diplomacy (or Community, depending on what day it is) it looks like it could be an amazing resource for all of the area universities. (And it may be a real life academic gig for me. As for now, it's all pro bono, baby!)

Ellie starts kindergarten in two and a half weeks. (Remember in the epilogue to Harry Potter when he describes his son leaving for Hogwarts as a little bereavement? Yup. It kind of feels like that.) She alternates between excited and nervous, but is ready to be a big girl. Ellie has also decided that it is her calling in life to be a ballerina. Thus, ballet has been added to her fall schedule. And she can hardly wait. In truth, neither can I!

Ginny starts preschool at the beginning of September and has no fear whatsoever. She is ready to go. To meet and greet. To charm and amaze. Her summer has been focused on mastering the one physical skill required to enter said preschool. (For those of you who don't know what I am talking about, my sincerest apologies. I'm not about to discuss it here!) Ginny reminds me every day that she isn't little. And that she is lovely. I cannot argue with her there! (At least on the lovely part. She will always be my little munchkin.)

So there you have it. The life and times of our family. Riveting, no? I would promise to do better in the coming months, but let's be honest. A prodigious blogger I am not. Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to offer the occasional glimpse into the wonderful insanity that is our life. For now, the girls are hungry. And there are peanut butter sandwiches to be made! Tally ho!

For Home’s Sake

2009-06-05T17:45:00.001-06:00

It has been called many things: the American dream, heaven on earth, the primary residence of the heart…. The quest for it is in our blood – we yearn, dream, and work to realize it. “It” is a home. Not just a house – one can find that anywhere. But a home. The kind of home Norman Rockwell immortalized. The kind of home in which Barbara Stanwyck’s fraudulent domestic goddess was supposed to reside. The kind of home about which Bing Crosby sang. Home.

I have come to appreciate the very idea of home with increasing intensity over the past few weeks. It has been a season of changes around here – for us and for many members of my family. Some changes have been welcomed with excitement. Others with immense concern. But each change, in its own way, has pointed back home.

My parents are moving tomorrow; moving out of the home they have lived in for nearly seventeen years. They are moving to a new home near by, which will be much better for my father’s bad knees. As excited as they are, there is a twinge of sadness in the proceedings. As awful as winters have been on top of the mountain (just TRY to drive up the road to their house in a snowstorm without a four-wheel-drive vehicle!) the rest of the seasons have been equally magnificent. The sunsets alone are worth those pesky winter months. The family milestones that have occurred in and around that house were remarkable. From preparing for high school proms (not mine!) to the blessing of a child (mine!), we have enjoyed many a fabulous occasion within the confines of the old house up on the hill. And as of Tuesday, I will turn in my key. But never mind. The trappings of our family – and really the only things that really matter in creating a home – are moving with my parents and will soon fill the lovely house down on the flat.

My sweet Grandma broke her hip a few weeks ago. Later that evening, my sister and I went through her house to make sure everything was prepared for a long absence. It was sad. I love my Grandma’s house. It was MY home the year my parents moved into theirs. I did not want to miss my senior year at the high school I had attended for three years. So my grandparents opened their home to me. While my Grandma has had her ups and down during her stay at the hospital and now the rehab center, she has unabashedly wanted to make her room as much of a home as possible. Within just a few days of her arrival, she sent me to the store with specific instructions: purchase a load of M&Ms and a bowl to put them in. For as long as I can remember the hallmark of my Grandma’s home was her always plentiful junk food jar. If Grandma couldn't be in her home for the time being, she was going to bring a piece of her home with her. It seems what you really need are the things that define you – from treats to people – to make a rehab room a home.

These lessons have been timely indeed as we have struggled to keep up with myriad challenges presented by our own home – and all at the same time. From our water heater to our swamp cooler, things in our old but lovely home have begun to fall apart. And so as we have engaged in sometime lengthy repairs and installations (hello central air conditioning!) we have had our moments of frustrations as we ask the eternal questions: what now?!?! But this very afternoon, I happened upon a few pictures on the computer – the pictures from the real estate listing for a home that would become our own. I was able to see the progress we have made toward making it beautiful (ugly trees and bushes out, new shutters and window boxes in) and remembered the character that made us fall in love with it in the first place. While looking at the picture of the kitchen – my kitchen now! – I remembered fantasizing about making thanksgiving dinner for my family in it. Nearly two years later, the pictures (and accompanying memory) still give my butterflies in my stomach. That’s when it hit me. The relative cost of maintaining and improving our beloved home is low indeed. This home has become a integral part of our family’s story. This is where milestones have been and will continue to be reached. This is where memories will be made. This is where my family finds refuge, solace, and joy. In the wake of much madness, we have managed to make a home.

Addendum

2009-04-29T17:28:00.004-06:00

Lest I forget or neglect, a few more things to add to my previous offerings...

Twizzlers as appetizers before dinner (Thanks, Dave!)

An unexpected birthday card from my lovely and talented niece (Thanks Mikayla! You rock! I love you too!)

A thoroughly appreciated contribution to the "Mo needs to golf" fund from my equally lovely and talented in-laws in honor of my upcoming "twenty-ninth" birthday (Ditto Gramma and Poppy!)

...carry on!

The Finer Things

2009-04-29T16:07:00.007-06:00

Isn't life funny? The ebb and flow and all that? As anyone who breathes knows, life come at you fast. And usually all at once. Just as you think you're getting on top of everything, life throws a curve ball at you. Yes, life is just that bold. So when that curve ball comes, it helps not to stare it down as it whizzes past your head. (Did I mention that curve ball intends to reduce you to tears at the first available opportunity?) In fact, it helps not to focus on it at all. You see, life has a way of offering proportional diversions - the little moments that bring unexpected levity, joy, and rapture to any given day. And for those diversions I will be eternally grateful. For just as the latest curve ball advanced on its potentially vicious trajectory, the finer things emerged and took my breath away. What might those things be you wonder? Well.....

Wildly dancing about the kitchen to the Tarzan soundtrack with my very own Twila Tharp and Martha Graham

The ambient sounds of lawnmowers around the neighborhood accompanied by the exquisite smell of freshly cut grass

Trying to dance about in the car to the Tarzan soundtrack while all of the drivers around us stare and laugh (Did I mention the girls are on a Tarzan kick?)

Beating another car to the merge on Victory Road while driving to my Grandma's house for our weekly visit

Finding out my great-great uncle literally ran away with the circus

Finding out that same great-great uncle homesteaded in Wyoming after the circus abandoned him following a fall off of the tightrope

Reading a book about my favorite bookstore on the planet (Curious? Email me and I will send you the title!)

Sunshine (It's been a LONG and wet winter/spring!)

Listening to Brian Stokes Mitchell sing "Some Enchanted Evening"

Dipping fresh french bread in cool, tangy pesto

Dave shaving his winter beard into a 70s 'stache worthy of Starsky and Hutch

A ridiculously fun field trip to Chuck E. Cheese's with Ellie's preschool

Finding the perfect top to go with a denim skirt that has been relegated to the depths of my closet for far too long

Being in possession of "favorite books" lists from independent bookstores from across the country

Being in possession of "favorite books" lists for every conceivable genre from my favorite bookstore on the planet

Realizing I have a LOT of books to read before I can consider myself well-read in any way, shape, or form

The butterflies in my stomach I feel when I settle on my next literary conquest - a little Salman Rushdie, anyone?

...And so it goes. Yes, life has been a wicked pitcher lately, throwing the aforementioned curve balls with some serious heat. Thank goodness it also offers the finer things in life to provide a little balance. Isn't life funny?

So Long Old Friend.....

2009-04-02T21:58:00.007-06:00

I usually don't watch much television. (This is primarily because nothing I enjoy stays on the air for very long, but we've been there and done that. Let's move on, shall we?) It seems lately, however, this strange square box that emanates all sorts of weird light has been on the forefront of my mind. Or at least at the forefront of my interaction with the outside world. (It's amazing how limited one's existence becomes with sick kiddos in tow!)

Tonight I felt compelled to watch the series finale of ER. I have not seen so much as an episode since that fateful night back in 1998 when George Clooney literally walked off into the sunset. I have no idea who the new characters are or anything about their stories. Nevertheless, I had to watch. If only to pay tribute to one of the happiest memories I have of my adult life.

ER premiered during my sophomore year in college. (Yes, I was a college sophomore fifteen years ago. Again, let's move on, shall we?) After a tumultuous freshman year (to say the least!), I found myself living in a lovely apartment, in the heart of a lovely campus, with five of the loveliest women one could ever hope to meet. We truly enjoyed each other's company. And every Thursday night, we had a sacred ritual. Must see TV. With religious regularity, we would put down our week's work for two hours to watch Seinfeld, Friends, and ER. It was our time. It was not to be missed. And it was not to be infiltrated by outsiders - no matter who anyone might be dating at the time.

And so as I sat here tonight, weeping as characters of old made their obligatory appearances on the screen, I thought of them - Kim, Kristen, Stephanie, Amanda, and Sam. I have lost track of them over the years, but just for tonight the memory of all of us on the imitation foam couch in Merrill Hall was alive and well. And for a blissful moment, I was back there with them. Of all my undergrad memories, I believe this is the one I cherish most. It was such a simple little ritual, but it was a thoroughly enjoyable one. So thank you, my girls from 428. It was divine while it lasted. And tonight was for you........and the new world monkeys.

Viewer Discretion Advised

2009-04-01T14:14:00.006-06:00

It's happened again. It seems to be a ritual with me. I have fallen for a television show. Hard. So buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

I have a love/hate relationship with television. Once I discover a show I love, the networks seem to show it nothing but hate, and I wind up depressed and without a shred of hope that anything witty, smart, or simply entertaining will ever appear on my TV screen again. My family often muses that I am a pox upon any series - once I love it, it's cancelled. Period. Eli Stone anyone? Sports Night? (I'm still not over that one! Forever will I mourn the loss of Dan and Casey.) Need I say more?

It seems this uncomfortable phenomenon works retroactively as well. After viewing (and viewing and viewing.....) the film Serenity, I recently became obsessed with it and its television predecessor Firefly. The story! The wit! The snark! Nathan Fillion! It was perfect. It was ingenious. And it was cancelled after eleven episodes aired - sporadically and out of order, I might add.

We interrupt this blog entry to bring you a momentary rant....

Seriously - Fox couldn't make a go out of something that was so good it seems a crime to call it a television series?!?!?! Really?!?!?! Another inane reality show knocking on the door with the promise of appealing to the lowest common cultural denomonator? Heaven forbid we should miss out on someone marrying a stranger for money, or yet another night of American Idol!

We now return you to our regularly scheduled musings.....

Even knowing the fate of a series beforehand, I could not help but become enamored. It appears as though I am a browncoat to the core. Who knew! Incidentally, if you haven't seen Serenity or Firefly, you must do so. Now. Type in the address of your favorite purveyor of DVDs into your browser immediately and buy them. I'll wait.......

And so, once more into the breach I go. Falling in love with a series that has no chance of survival now that I am firmly ensconced in its fan base. What series could entice me into the inevitable emotional freefall, you might ask? It's a little show called Castle. And like the others that have gone before, it is witty, smart, and more fun than one has any right to expect from a television series any more. Oh yes, and did I mention it stars the incomporable (and adorable) Nathan Fillion, our beloved Captain Mal Reynolds from the aforementioned and utterly beloved Firefly/Serenity?

So strap in boys and girls and enjoy it while you can. With me on board, the ride is sure to end in unceremonious cancellation. But what a ride it will be!

Music and Lyrics

2009-03-27T09:05:00.009-06:00

Wouldn't it be lovely if life had a soundtrack? Think about it for a moment. Every memorable or powerful scene from any film you have ever seen has some sort of musical accompaniment to go along with it. Why can't life be like that too? I suspect even the more absurd moments of life would be rendered hilarious rather than potentially frustrating with an appropriate tune behind it.

Case in point - imagine standing on your back porch on a cold and windy spring day, clothed only in your bathrobe and dripping wet from having just jettisoned yourself from the shower in order to let the dog out to do what dogs do. While you stand there shivering, you are imploring said dog to do her business so you might return to the warmth of the house to regain what remains of your dignity. This experience along might not be enjoyable per se. But imagine going through it with the strains of the "Overture" from the Marriage of Figaro swirling about your convulsing self. It makes the entire experience seem almost funny. And what about the race to get two girls fed, dressed, and otherwise ready in time for preschool drop off with its inevitable lost shoes, spilled juice, and ill-timed bathroom breaks? The William Tell Overture or Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries would send the entire experience from just plain loony, to the ranks of Looney Tunes.

While we are at it, why don't we request sound effects as well? (I'm not certain to whom this request might be made, but I am making it nevertheless!) Even the most frustrating or embarrassing pratfalls and mishaps that invariably fill your day would lose their edge with a "wah-wah" or a "ba-dum-bum" going on behind the scenes. Again, think about the classic cartoons. The animators behind them could make corporal punishment seem funny with the right audio mix. I am simply suggesting that we add that audio mix to life.

Life is absurd. There is no getting around that. Even the most ordered and controlled environment cannot insulate one from the inherent chaos of it all. The beautiful thing about life, however, is that it is crazy, wacky, and, as a result, undeniably funny. Perhaps if we all had the appropriate soundtrack accompaniment, it would be easier for us all to enjoy the inescapable hilarity of our existence.

"BA-DUM-CHING!!!!"

Ladies and Gentlemen.....

2009-03-04T14:24:00.007-07:00

I am a schmuck. I have heard it said that admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. So I thought I would take this opportunity to do so. I am a schmuck. Please allow me to explain. I feel sorry for myself. Often. Way too often if we are to be honest. I struggle almost daily to maintain some semblance of a positive attitude as I attempt to live in and manage my life. Dave works full time and is pursuing his PhD in Chemical Engineering. I am a full time mom and trying to finish my PhD in History. Our girls are active, bright, and demand (and deserve!) a great deal of attention. Our church responsibilities often require a great deal of time and effort, sometimes taking away evenings we would otherwise spend on our family and/or our research. And then there's the dog. Did I mention we got a dog? Every day seems a gauntlet of things to do and not enough time in which to do them. And there are days when the pressure gets to me. A lot. I am embarrassed to admit that I strain under the weight of it all, sometimes to the point where I find myself sitting on the floor crying wishing I were stronger, smarter, or simply more capable of succeeding in the life I have been given.

I have been in one of those ruts lately as I have wrestled with my latest chapter while trying to maintain some semblance of balance with everything else. Needless to say it has been difficult to see the proverbial forest through the trees. But every once in a while I make the effort to climb above the timberline and look around me. Last night was one of those occasions. And that's when it hit me. I am a schmuck.

There are people - some who I know and love, some who I've never met but in whom I have become invested through the blogosphere - who are truly struggling. The difference between these resplendent people and myself? They They do it all with nary a complaint. The beautiful and talented Nie Nie was in a near fatal plane accident and now spends her days coping with the surgeries, therapies, and other traumatic challenges that go along with having severe burns over the majority of her body. Yet she soldiers on with amazing grace. My lovely uncle Bill is dying. He was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor not long after he married my Aunt Nancy and his health has been a slow descent my entire life. And yet he has always been the sweetest, kindest, and often funniest person I have known. His remarkable family is taking such great care of him in his final days and has faced the realities of his life with enviable courage and perspective. Every where I turn it seems I find more stories like these - of friends and family staring down the financial crises surrounding all of us while maintaining their faith and humor or facing familial crises with hope and optimism. I firmly believe that God gives the greatest challenges to the strongest souls. Just one look around me proves this to be true.

And so I arrived at the realization that the challenges in my life - you know, those under whose weight I regularly crumple - are not truly challenges at all. They really are opportunities that require an inordinate amount of effort and perspective. So what if Dave loses his job in the forthcoming layoffs announced by his company? He has a position waiting for him with his graduate advisor. He would have the luxury of taking a full load, and would have more academic options open to him when he's finished. Yes it would mean a huge cut in pay. But we would keep our house. That fact alone means we will be so much better off than so many. So what if my thesis has been held up again? This time it's the result of a potentially game-changing realization. Some things are more important that a deadline. And in the end, I will have a PhD. Neat. So what if I find it difficult to balance mom and grad student on a daily basis? I have kids - something for which many people ache desperately yet are never able to have. And not just any kids. The most amazing, talented, charming and otherwise adorable girls who have ever walked the face of the earth. I can deal with any amount of stress as long as I get them in the bargain. When all is said and done, being Ellie's buddy and Ginny's prince charming equates to a happy life. Period. As for my husband? With marriages falling apart all around us, I am profoundly grateful that Dave is my best friend. He is my refuge, my comic relief, and my sounding board. And he is a phenomenal dad. So what if our life feels like a pressure cooker sometimes? We are a team. That alone makes everything else okay.

And so I reiterate. I am a schmuck. But I hope that my willingness to admit to that fact will help me to appreciate everything I have and not let petty discouragements get me down. In the meantime, please allow me to send a virtual but sincere thank you to all of you who remind me of the kind of person I want to be - who exhibit kindness, hope, grace, compassion, consideration, generosity, and optimism. These have never been my strongest traits. I intend to make them stronger. And maybe, just maybe, one day I will be a little less of a schmuck and a little more like you.

A Word From the Void....

2009-03-03T15:31:00.008-07:00

Yes, I am living in a thesis-induced stupor right now. Thank you very much for asking. I should be writing. Really. It is time. I went through all of my documents twice over and had a game plan. I even wrote it down. On paper. In outline form and everything. I was ready. But a funny thing happened on the way to my deadline. I made a discovery. Something cool. I even think it will make my project better. At the very least it will make the finished product a little more interesting. So herein lies the trouble. This thing that will improve my project is something that I had not noticed before. In any of my readings of my documents. At all. And so, once more into the breech I go. Hundreds of pages of barely legible documents captured in photograph upon photograph of marginal quality (I was pregnant and on the other side of the Atlantic for crying out loud!) have wriggled their way back into my life. And while I am excited about what this all might mean for the ultimate result, in the short term this means I will not have my chapter finished by my goal, the most hallowed of all hallowed days, Selection Sunday. I will not have the luxury of indiscriminately watching game after game for days on end. In short, basketball gluttony will have to wait until next year. Ah well. There's always the Masters.....

P.S. On a completely random and otherwise unrelated note, I am willing to offer a significant reward (payable in M&Ms) to anyone who can explain to me why "Blame it on the Bossanova" is going through my head incessantly and how I can get it to stop.

Joy to the World!

2009-01-07T10:56:00.023-07:00

Oh how lovely were the holidays! We had Dave home for the entire week between Christmas and New Year's Day, the girls thoroughly enjoyed their descent into the cornucopia of greed (as Ralphie so eloquently put it), Gramma and Poppy spent a few days with us, and we had a perfectly fabulous time making very merry. So as the dust settles, I cannot seem to extricate myself from one particular facet of the joyous season just past - the Utes' unbelievable, indescribable, and downright poetic victory in the Sugar Bowl last Friday. It was a thing of beauty. A transcendent moment. And it was a long time coming.

Now, as most of you know, I am a proud Alum of Utah State and bleed Aggie blue through and through. But I was not raised an Aggie. Growing up, I was only vaguely aware that a university existed in the northern climbs of Utah. USU only came into my field of vision when I announced that I wanted to go away to school rather than commute to the nearby "U" and live at home. My father's reaction I will never forget. He simply said the following. "That's great. But you are going north NOT south." You see, in my family we live, eat, and breathe the "U". We have endured cold November afternoons huddled together on frozen benches in the old Rice Stadium (during the bleak 1980s) watching the Utes take yet another pounding from their rival which shall not be named but which we shall refer to as "tds". We have fought back bitter tears as the Utes squandered a half-time lead to fall yet again to the University of Kentucky in the NCAA basketball championship game. (My poor dad has yet to recover from that one. Although it must be said that the run in the tournament up to that point was the kind of dream that only becomes reality in fairy tales!) It's safe to say that as the "U" goes, so go the emotional and psychological well being of our family. (In a mildly ironic sidenote, Dave will be the only one in my family to follow in my parents' footsteps and earn a degree from the "U"....at least in our generation. Ellie seems pretty excited to be a "go Ute!", however. We will keep you posted!)

So as we sat watching the Sugar Bowl - a fitting if daunting reward for an incredible football season - we tried to fight back our hopes for the kind of outcome that would make this season the stuff of legend. My brother Matty braved the gauntlet of the bowl game armed with beer and lil smokies. My father no doubt was pacing the entirety of his home (as has been his usual practice for as long as I can remember.) As for me, I engaged in some nervous cleaning for most of the first half, sprinting downstairs to the family room every time hoots and cheers wafted up the stairwell. By the end of the evening, our family stood united in euphoric shock. The Utes had done what most thought impossible. They had taken the advice of the inimitable Eleanor Roosevelt when she insisted that "you must do the thing you think you cannot do." The Utes had beaten the dog out of the Tide, disproved all of the pundits, took the legs out from under the BCS, and emerged as the ONLY undefeated team in Division I football. (I shall not ascribe to the FBS nonsense.)

Ever since Friday night, I cannot seem to tear myself away from the major sports media outlets. ESPN, SI, Fox Sports - I am glued to them all. The talk around the nation surrounding our beloved Utes is remarkable, and has been a long time coming. While one game remains to be played this season (some nonsense about a BCS championship), the Utes, our Utes, MY DAD'S UTES, have become the focus of a national debate over who is most deserving of the title national champion. And more phenomenal than that - the "U" seems to be coming out on top. Yes, our little team that could has become the center of a rallying cry for greater parity in college football; for a just system that rewards talent and hard work, rather than the name on the jersey; for a championship that is indeed a championship, and not yet another political debacle.

Regardless of what the final polls say on Friday, this past week has been one to remember. My dad and I have spent an inordinate amount of time trading phone calls and emails, relishing the support for the cause of the "U" that is growing across the country. No matter where they finish, our Utes are seen by many throughout the country as the team most deserving of a national title. For a family who has weathered the good, the bad, and (particularly during the aforementioned 1980s) the ugly in University of Utah sports, our time has finally come. Our team has finally arrived. My dad finally has his moment to see his Utes stand at the apex of college football. Joy to the whole darn world!

Anatomy of a Writing Coma

2008-12-22T09:23:00.001-07:00

Looking at the date of my most recent post, I am vaguely embarrassed. It’s not as though any of you out there eagerly await my contributions to the blogosphere with the anticipation of my four-year-old on Christmas Eve (and we know something about Christmas anticipation around here – and how!). Nevertheless, I have felt the gravitational pull of the blog drawing me back in. It’s a bit like Al Pacino in Godfather III – only without the threats, guns, arias, bad perms, and even worse actresses. (Sopia Coppola? Seriously?) But I digress. As usual.

Just for the record, I fully intend to return to my blissful reverie about our Disneyland trip, if only for my own enjoyment and to ensure I don’t forget the little details that made it so fabulous. But for now, I think a word of explanation regarding my apparent Boo Radley relapse is in order. And I have only one word by way of said explanation: thesis. I’ve been writing. And writing. And writing. I set a deadline for myself to get my second chapter in to my advisor by the last day of classes for the semester. By necessity everything – and I mean everything – was pushed to the side to make way for my chapter. Laundry, emails, three-dimensional people – I lived in a world a part from all of it for a solid two weeks. I was in a writing coma, with only the vaguest of awareness that anything else existed. Only now am I managing to dig out. (I should mention that my girls’ basic needs were more than cared for during this time. They just watched MANY movies while I wrote – a treat they usually don’t get. Snow White on a Tuesday afternoon? For my two princesses, life doesn't get much better than that!)

I wish I could pace myself better. I wish I could write sooner and more regularly. I wish I could find balance between leading an active life and making demonstrable progress on my thesis. But I can’t. And I never have. For as long as I’ve been in school (read: FOREVER!) it’s always been this way. I have to give my mind a chance to get around a problem, theory, or project before I can do ANYTHING. Unfortunately, this doesn’t happen overnight. The entire process takes an inordinate amount of time. I cannot force it. And I cannot write until I’m ready. Once it happens, however, writing becomes a compulsion. I HAVE to do it. And I cannot let up until I’m done.

I used to fear that there was something wrong with my brain – that I was somehow addle-minded. Either that or I was just plain lazy. But one day not long ago, I stumbled upon my Grandmother’s journal, and everything made sense. You see, when she was a newlywed she worked for my Great-Grandfather who was a PhD from Cornell, a former Dean at my alma mater, and a generally brilliant dude. One day she complained to my Grandpa that his father was the laziest man she’d ever seen. He would just sit at his desk, seemingly doing nothing for days on end. My Grandpa’s reply? Just wait. Not long after this conversation, my Great-Grandfather kicked into gear and dictated to my Grandma with something akin to reckless abandon. You see, he’d been trying to get his mind around a problem of his own. Once he did, he worked like fury. And like me, he couldn’t start a moment earlier.

Now, I’m not about to lay claim to the caliber of mind possessed by my Great-Grandfather, my Great-Grandmother (also a college Dean), or my Grandfather (a freaking brilliant chemist and yet another college Dean). But I am more than willing to claim a genetic link in the manner in which we work. I find tremendous comfort in the idea that my brain is wired according to a pattern established by those whose academic achievements I hope to emulate in my own humble way. It makes me feel close to them somehow – almost as though I can lean on them for support along the way. So despite the mountains of laundry, enumerable emails, and countless movies that pile up along the way once I am finally able to write a chapter, I’m trying to embrace my writing comas. In a strange way, it’s kind of like my shout-out to George, George, and Lizzie.

For those keeping score at home: 108 pages down, a mere 150 or so to go.....

The Day The Bear Stood Still....

2008-11-19T20:52:00.000-07:00

When last we left our tale, Ginny had worshipped at the feet of Snow White and Ellie boogied down with her Green Army guy. What could possibly compare to such idyllic experiences? One word: Aladdin. Our fourth day in the park began in a rather uneventful way. Ginny had a short but necessary list of rides we needed to hit before our trip was done - the Disneyland Railroad, Casey Junior (what is it with the Bear and trains?), and Alice in Wonderland were required, thank you very much. And so we set forth in spite of extraordinary heat and swelling crowds. Ginny was thrilled, Ellie was a trooper, and by 11:00 we were ready to head back to the hotel for a much needed break. (It appears as though the magic of Disneyland does NOT extend to the granting of limitless stamina!) After all, we had a very important dinner engagement....

To fully appreciate the watershed event that occurred on this, the eve of our final day in the happiest place on earth, we must look back a few months. During our seemingly endless countdown to our vacation, we happened on an episode of "John and Kate Plus Eight" during which the Gosselin gang heads down to Disney World. Their first order of business? Dining at Chef Mickey's - the apex of all character dining experiences. This is where the short ones (and those of us who aren't so short) can rub elbows with a veritable pantheon of classic Disney characters. Our girls watched this show repeatedly, dreaming of a day when they too might experience such joy. So when they found out that Disneyland had it's own version of this revered restaurant - Goofy's Kitchen - they would not be denied. Our date was set, and we were excited. After all, the girls had done beautifully bonding with other characters - from princesses to previously unknown woodland creatures. We had no reason to believe this dining experiences would be any different. We were wrong.

The meal began as our other character meals had. The girls offered copious hugs to Minnie & Goofy, and chatted up Jasmine yet again. We were on a role. And then the earth stopped on its axis. Aladdin arrived at our table. All bets were off. Now Ellie was giddy (he was awfully cute) but composed as they talked about Jasmine, the Genie, and the lamentable absence his loyal monkey sidekick Abu. Ginny, on the other hand, was a different matter all together. Aladdin's very presence stunned her into absolute silence. From the moment he arrived at our table and for a few minutes after he left, Ginny's hands were firmly attached to her mouth. One would have thought Elvis had arrived in the building. Our girl who had charmed the pants off of EVERYONE throughout the resort, and ran into the arms of various creatures with reckless abandon, was rendered speechless. She was in shock. Who knew Aladdin would have such a profound effect on our otherwise gabby and disarming little Bear? Once again, it was the unexpected which would prove so memorable - not to mention thoroughly enjoyable!

Once Ginny recovered (the whole scene still cracks me up!), we finished our meal and retired to our lovely room once more. (After four days of non-stop pursuit of Disney perfection, we needed all the rest we could get!) The alarm was set (for 5:30am - ah the sacrifices we make for magic), and Dumbo laid in wait for one more flight. After all, we had one more day in the best week ever, and we were determined to make the most of it.

A Mouse, A Party, and A Green Army Guy

2008-11-08T22:13:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has visited the Disneyland Resort knows this well. For those of you who have yet to have the privilege, allow me to offer some illumination. There are two parks at this amazing resort. There is Disneyland Park - the original park straight out of the prodigious vision of and overseen by one Walt Disney. And then there is Disney's California Adventure Park, or as my sister calls it, Ghetto Disneyland. This park could be anywhere. It lacks both the magic and charm of its sister park. It seems the powers that be know this and are addressing it - and how! Over the next few years a major overhaul of California Adventure will take place that looks both promising and fun. I'm excited to see how it comes together. But I digress.

In spite of our relative lack of enthusiasm for the ghetto (we spent almost ALL of our time in Disneyland Park), we committed to spend an entire evening there. You see, during Halloween Time California Adventure Park hosts Mickey's Trick or Treat Party. I've heard of other parks doing this kind of event and never felt compelled to join in the festivities. Nevertheless, the Disneyland reps made this particular party sound so great, we decided to join in. And so, on the "middle evening" of our trip, we traipsed down to California Adventure with the girls bedecked in full princess attire not sure of what we might find, but willing to give it the old college try. As it turns out, we had a lot more than fun. We had an absolute blast!

We simply had no idea what we were walking into that night. The park was decorated to the hilt with character photo-ops at every turn. Princesses and Monsters mingled with Bugs and Toys, with ALL of Disney's iconic pirates in tow. As if that wasn't enough, all of the rides were open to a relatively reduced crowd, treat stations were set up throughout the park, and numerous dance parties kept everything hopping all evening. The girls were beyond excited! In spite of the harried pace we'd kept, and the fact that the party started just shy of their bedtime, Bug and Bear fully embraced the moment. Ginny boogied down with Flik and Sulley, and Ellie had a private lesson in the art of the curtsy from Cinderella. Together, they had King Triton's carousel almost to themselves and gathered a haul of candy they couldn't have obtained after HOURS of going door-to-door back home. As usual, however, it wasn't the any structured activity that made the night so memorable. Like Ginny's encounter with Snow White the day before, we couldn't have planned the moment that would set this night apart.

At the end of the evening, many characters from throughout the park - from classic Disney to Pixar - made their way down the main drag in a Halloween parade/dance party. As was the case throughout our trip, we had remarkable luck and managed to claim a bench right in the middle of the action - so much so that a cute and most unintimidating witch came up to Ellie and asked her to walk out and dance with a few of the characters. Now, Ellie doesn't usually do this kind of thing. She's too much like yours truly. Ellie loves the idea of being apart of things, but when it comes right down to it, fear and bashfulness get the better of her. (For and illustrative example, check out the post about her school program last May!) Such was not the case on this night. It seems that the folks at Disney not only make dreams come true, they instill super human bravery in little people to ensure they have more fun then they could possibly imagine.

Yes, our Ellie danced! And danced! In the parade! With a witch and, most importantly as it turned out, a Green Army Guy from Toy Story who is officially my hero for how he treated my little girl. She was out there in the middle of the street for the ENTIRE dance and boogied her heart out. I only wish you could have seen her face when she ran back to me. She was overflowing with joy and pride as she hugged me and triumphantly reported, "I was really good and really brave, huh mom!" Yes, my little Bug was SO good and SO brave I nearly wept like my grandma right there and then. Luckily, something caught my eye and distracted me from a potentially embarrassing public display of blubbering. Ellie's Green Army Guy had run after her. He gently took her hand and led her back out to the street. (Ellie was MOST willing. She ADORED "her" Green Army Guy at this point!) One more little surprise lay in store for our jubilant Bug - a button specifically designed for and given to those kids who displayed enough chuztpah to dance in the parade. Apparently the Green Army Guy was almost as excited about Ellie's performance as we were and wanted to make sure she got one. (Bless his green plastic heart! I want to put him in for a medal!)

And so ended our unbelievably fabulous evening at Mickey's Trick or Treat Party. It was nothing short of awesome - something I truly did not expect. The girls had yet another ridiculously magical experience to add to their ever-growing list, and we (aka the adults of this motley crew) were reminded how much fun Halloween, Disneyland, and dancing in the street can be thanks to the enthusiasm of the under five set. As for Ellie, she wore her button like a badge of honor for days. Even now it has found a place of honor on the bulletin board in her bedroom. And every once in a while she reminds me that she got this most precious of all treasures because she was "so brave and was such a great dancer!" Who knew that a relatively minor character at a relatively ghetto park had the capacity to bring my girl - my buddy - out of her shell and allowed her to shine in front of Mickey, Minnie, their friends, and hundreds of strangers? And who knew I would be forever grateful for a guy dressed in green plastic and covered in green makeup? You just have to hand it to that proverbial Disney magic. It makes heroes of the most unexpected characters. And makes great brave dancers out of the most unsuspecting little girls.

And on the Second Day, the Girls Said "Let There Be Princesses!!!"

2008-11-02T20:34:00.001-07:00

As the morning dawned on our second day at Disneyland, we were in full princess mode. Way back in August, on the first day we could possibly make reservations to have lunch with the princesses at Ariel's Grotto, we made reservations to have lunch with the princesses at Ariel's Grotto. This was a moment not to be delayed. Two years ago, we stumbled into this most royal of character dining experiences completely by chance. We had no idea what it was, only that there was a princess-themed restaurant sheltered from what had been a rather cold and rainy day. This search for a happy respite led to one-on-one encounters for Ellie with elite of the princess universe - Cinderella, Belle, Aurora, Snow White, and of course, Ariel. With this experience under our proverbial belts, we were sure that we would be able to cross all of the required ladies off of our list of characters to see, and thus be free to enjoy the remainder of the week unencumbered by the plaguing need to find an elusive princess. Or so we thought. It seems even in the ideal world of Disney, life doesn't always come out just right.

As I've previously mentioned, our bear donned her sister's Snow White dress DAILY for over two months leading up to our trip. For reasons I have yet to determine, Ginny adores Snow White. She worships Snow White. She wants to BE Snow White. (In fact, some days she makes me call her Snow White.) So imagine our chagrin when, as we waited to be seated at our table in the hallowed halls of the aforementioned Grotto, we were informed that Belle and, gasp!, Snow White would not be in attendance at our meal. I think he said something about Mary Poppins and Jasmine making a special appearance, but I can't be sure. My mind was racing through how I would explain to Ginny that she would, in fact, NOT be dining with her beloved idol.

Now this is not to say that the meal was a disappointment. Far from it. The girls had a wonderful time NOT eating and chatting endlessly with the princesses (and nanny!) who were there. Ellie enjoyed some serious face time with her Princess Aurora (the bug's current favorite and her choice for Halloween persona this year) and both of the girls were able to chat with Jasmine who they had not met in our previous visit. (Ginny was over the moon about Jasmine's jewelry, but that's another story for another day.) By the end of the meal, the girls were thrilled and looked in wonder at their autographs books and photograph with Ariel. And then it happened. Ginny's little head popped up and she asked the words I had dreaded. "Where Snow Whitie?" This question came up repeatedly throughout the rest of the afternoon. Did I mention Ginny LOVES Snow White? And this little girl was not to be denied.

For any of you who have been through the gauntlet of searching for a specific character in Disney parks, you know. It is NOT as easy as it sounds. This is particularly true of the princesses. Yes, Disneyland has a Princess Fantasy Faire - a mecca for all things princess where at any moment throughout the day three princesses lie in wait to greet their devotees. But here's the rub: you NEVER know which princesses you are going to get. Between coronation ceremonies, storytelling, and run-of-the-mill breaks, the princesses rotate around the Faire all day. It is virtually impossible to nail down a time and place for any of the royal clique. Impossible, that is, unless you are vacationing with the all-powerful Gramma and Poppy who just happen to have a few connection at the park. Through their network of reliable sources, Marv and Marg found out that Snow White was to be at the Faire first thing Wednesday morning. It was mission impossible. And we were ready.

After a lovely breakfast with some woodland creatures we barely recognized (okay, so Ginny fell in love with a raccoon named Meeko) we lined up at the front gates at the park.......an HOUR before the park opened. We had a princess to find and we took our charge seriously. We lined up like lemmings at the top of Main Street ready to sprint to the back of the park the moment the rope dropped. We mapped out the most effective way to get to our destination and kept our eyes on the prize. At precisely 10:00 am we raced across Fantasyland and up to the queue.

There we were, fourth in line to meet our royal trifecta. And then the worry set in. What if Snow White was not among the first shift of princesses. How many times would we need to do this in order to find her? As the Faire opened (finally!) and we made our way to the front of the line, I looked at Ginny bedecked in her Snow White garb and began to feel a bit of sheer panic. What would I tell my little two-year-old if her beloved Snow was not there? And then we turned the corner.

I've heard of dreams coming true. I've heard of people having that perfect moment when their wish becomes their reality. On this day, I saw it happen on a hot morning in October in the middle of Disneyland. As we walked around a wall made up of fake stones, my daughter's face erupted into what can only be described as absolute happiness. Snow White was there. And Ginny ran....right into the arms of her idol. She kept touching Snow White's arm, her dress, her hair, as if to confirm that she did, in fact, exist and she was, in fact, there. And she wouldn't let Snow White out or her sight. When Snow signed the girls' autograph books, Ginny sat beside her. When Snow White talked to a very excited Ellie, Ginny attached herself to her side. As her visit ended and Ginny walked away, she walked backwards waving and blowing kisses only to have Snow White ask for one more hug. Ginny soaked up every perfect moment with her girl.

It sounds a bit silly now thinking about the entire experience from a slightly more rational perspective (and sitting in my very rational basement - quite the contrast to being in the shadow Sleeping Beauty's castle), but we felt as though we had just experienced an almost transcendent moment. The fact that we as mere mortals had anything to do with our girl getting her perfect moment was indescirbably satisfying. Not to mention the weight of expectation that was lifted the moment we could cross this most important of meetings off of our proverbial list. And what made this moment even more satisfying in everything that led up to and followed it.

That morning Ellie had been able to dance with Winnie the Pooh. I kid you not. She DANCED with Pooh bear. Usually the line to see this silly old bear would take you at least 45 minutes. Yet somehow, he was there. And Ellie found her way to him. And they danced. (We have the video to prove it!) But the fortuosity didn't end there. That evening we were able to attend Mickey's Halloween Treat in the California Adventure Park. It was here, in a most unexpected place, that Ellie danced once again - this time with an awfully cute witch and a green army guy from Toy Story. But that's a story for another post, on another day. As for this entry, I think it's safe to say that the folks at Disneyland aren't blowing smoke when they say it's the place where dreams come true. At the risk of sounding profoundly sentimental, every once in a while - in the right place, at the right time - they really do. Just ask Ginny. I mean Snow Whitie.

Author's Note: The spelling of "Snow Whitie" is not a typo. That is actually what Ginny calls her most beloved of all princesses. And I'm not about to correct her!

It All Started With A Mouse....

2008-10-31T14:26:00.000-06:00

No really. It did. After two days in Saint George during which Ellie expressed her doubts that we were really going to Disneyland (she wondered if this was just another "Saint George house trip") and a long drive through the foreboding deserts of southeastern California we finally pulled onto Magic Way and found ourselves staring at a statue of Mickey himself. From that point forward, it was all Disney all the time for the entire week! And it began with a bang. After taking a desperate (but cute!) four-year-old on a potty break immediately upon arrival, we walked out of the restroom to the sounds of a shrieking bear. Goofy was in the lobby. I never knew my girls were such accomplished sprinters. But the speed with which they traversed the span of the lobby to reach their favorite member of the original fab five inspired the theme to Chariots of Fire to echo through my head. (Or was that the headache after many hours with excited girls in the car?) The girls got some serious Goofy love, and we were off and running on our ridiculously idyllic week. And it only got better! (How could the week be anything but idyllic with a picture-perfect view of Space Mountain and the Matterhorn outside our hotel room window?!?!)

As you all know, our girls endured ten months of devotedly counting down to this vacation. During that time, they gave most careful and deliberate consideration to our game plan. What would we do once we finally walked through the front gates and into the park of parks? We had our marching orders. And after the aforementioned excruciating wait, they were set. Dumbo. Peter Pan. The Teacups. Snow White. After that, anything was fair game. And so we proceeded accordingly. And we had a blast. Ginny's face was priceless as she waited for her turn to ride Dumbo for the first time. And Ellie flew the titular elephant with pure joy - as evidenced by her desire to make that darn creature move up and down as quickly and dramatically as possible. (Who knew gentle Dumbo was not for the faint of heart, or stomach!) Peter Pan was a hit! And between the girls, Gramma, and me, we made some impressive spinning on the Teacups worthy of a Mad Hatter's tea party! And then there was Snow White. Ginny was psyched. After a minute in line, Ellie was not. Dark rides are not her thing, and the visage of the evil queen did not help. So my bug and I meandered around a shop instead. She felt terrible...until we were told to go out of the shop and around the corner. You see, Disneyland is celebrating "A Year of a Million Dreams." Part of this celebration is a "Dream Fast Pass" which allows the bearer to skip most or all of a line for the most popular rides in the park. These passes are distributed completely at random. And we all got one - even the stalwart souls who braved the scary journey of Ginny's favorite princess. For someone who never won ANYTHING this was way cool! (okay, I was voted to be an officer in National Honor Society in high school, but can you really call it a "win" when your status as supreme geek was confirmed by vote at the age of seventeen?) And Ellie felt a little better for skipping a ride and becoming the benefactor of our good fortune!

By the time evening fell, the girls had their new princess dresses in their possession (the necessary uniform for our lunch at Ariel's Grotto the following afternoon) and we eagerly awaited the Parade of Dreams (their title, not mine). The girls had watched this parade ad nausium on YouTube during the months leading up to our trip, but they were not prepared for just how big this parade would be. (Or how big the float of the Little Mermaid's nemesis Ursula would be. If Ginny could have crawled INSIDE of my jacket, she would have!) This parade boasted every big name in the Disney pantheon. The girls were crazy excited. They waved. They cheered. They danced. And while the parade was beyond lovely, my girls were what really made the night for me.

First, Ginny finally saw HER Snow White. Now, for those of you who do not get the hang out with the bear on a daily basis, you might not know just how big this was. Ginny has worn her sister's old Snow White dress EVERY day. For months. If you were to ask her who she would see in Disneyland, she would always start - and often end - with the fairest one of all. Snow White is the living end for little Ginny. So when Snow White made her appearance on the last float of the parade, I expected Ginny to put her shrieks over Goofy to shame. But the most remarkable thing happened. Ginny stood still. She was silent. She was in absolute and complete awe that HER Snow White was there. For real. (It reminded me of when I finally saw David McCullough last year!) And Ginny was stunned.

As for our Ellie, her highlight had little to do with the parade. Due to the popularity of parades at Disneyland, one much secure a spot nearly two hours ahead of zero hour. This left a LOT of time for two little girls to sit. So Ellie made a new friend. She does this often and at random. For our bug, any stranger under five feet tall is just a friend she hasn't met yet. And this night, she met Lottie from Australia. Lottie sat with Ellie while her mom stood behind us. Ellie shared her treats and new light spinner with Lottie. When the parade was over, Ellie gave Lottie a big hug and told her she would miss her for a really long time. And this was a trend that would continue throughout the week. Ellie met a little Cinderella while waiting for out table at the princess lunch the next day and proceeded to walk back and forth to her table over the course of the lunch to visit her princess pal. Ellie ran into her Cinderella friend later that evening at Haagen Daas in Downtown Disney. She squealed and ran to embrace her long lost buddy. A Snow White in glasses became her friend two days later while waiting in line at the Princess Fantasy Faire. Ellie is a buddy to the core; just waiting to bestow her friendship on anyone!

So at the end of a perfect first day, it hit me. Disneyland is incredible. I've loved it since I was little. (And I am talking crazy love here!) But sharing Disneyland with my girls? Forget about it! That's where the magic is! Pure, unmitigated magic.

The Best Week Ever!!!

2008-10-30T17:09:00.000-06:00

This kind of thing doesn't happen often. For some people it happens not at all. Yet somehow, it happened to us. At the perfect time. We had the perfect week. Our long-long-long-awaited trip to Disneyland has come and gone. And while I didn't think it was possible, our trip exceded our expectations. Perhaps it helped that the weeks leading up to the trip (expecially the week immediately preceding the trip) were chaotic at best. Dave had an exam and a LOT of projects to finish up at work. I had to submit yet another appeal for an extension with CU and get a revised chapter off to my new advisor. And of course, the girls got sick. I almost gave up on the entire process. Everything seemed to go wrong. Complications sprung up like the weeds in my front garden. Even the trip down to St. George where we were to unwind for a couple of days before heading off to the happiest place on earth was fraught with unbelievably heavy traffic. Dave and I feared nature, kharma, providence, or some other unseen power was trying to tell us something. We weren't sure the trip was such a good idea after all. And then the most remarkable thing happened. Everything went right. From the moment we arrived at the Disneyland Hotel life was good. Life was happy. Life was so darn fun. We had the best week ever!

Maybe our trip was perfect because we were so afraid to build it up too much in fear it could never live up to expectations. Maybe the long wait made us appreciate just how precious each second was and how quickly they would fly away. Regardless, we soaked in and embraced every moment - even the cranky outbursts (the girls are still two and four no matter where we are.....so what was my excuse?), the ill-timed potty breaks (how do kids know when you are at the furthest possible point from a restroom?), and the general exhaustion of a week of Disney fun. And the fact we were able to share the experience with Gramma and Poppy - the ridiculously generous benefactors of our dream vacation - made it all the better. The girls and their long-distance grandparents really got to know each other. And the grandparents got to be around for a few significant life moments for the girls.

I realize that it's much easier to have a truly joyful experience when one is able to escape the stresses of everyday life, the pressures of school, the never-ending tasks around the house, and the too often discouraging news coverage of financial crises and political strife (although I must confess to missing my daily David Gergen fix on CNN). In point of fact, it probably was that realization that helped us completely absorb and enjoy every minute we had in our character-saturated Shangri-La. Regardless, our trip couldn't have been better. And we can't wait to go back. In the meantime, I fully intend to bore any and all willing (and not-so-willing) victims, eh, readers of my humble blog to a trip log of sorts. Over the next few days I will post some of the daily highlights from what can only be described as the best week ever! While you all wait for these posts - with baited breath I'm certain! - head over to Grandma and Poppy's blog. You'll find the link on the right. There you will discover a fabulous slide show of trip courtesy of the Poppy himself!

a bear's world

2008-09-23T16:16:00.000-06:00

The Scene: Firmly ensconced in hour ten of what should have been a mere eightish hour car drive home from a weekend at Gramma and Poppy's. We've hit it all - a massive traffic jam (the result of a huge accident earlier in the morning), a lengthy downpour, RVs going 30 mph (if that!) through construction zone after construction zone, you name it. The girls have endured it all with tremendous charm and humor. That is until we hit "the wall." Anyone who has children and anyone who is acquainted with children knows this phenomenon well. It is that dreaded moment when enough is enough. As our Bear hits this impenetrable emotional barrier, she offers the one happy solution her two-year-old brain could muster.

The Dialogue:
Dave: "Hang in there, girls. We're almost home!"
Bear: "I drive now! I drive now! Daddy, peas? Oh peas? I drive now?"
Me: "But sweetheart, you're too short."
Bear (letting her chin fall to her chest in utter defeat): "Oh."

The End.

Post Script: We did make it home - eventually - and the Bear taught me a much-needed lesson in optimism. Needless to say, I owe my little family a ton for weathering the lethal combo of long drive and quick turnaround so I could meet with my new advisor!

a bug's life

2008-09-23T14:45:00.000-06:00

The Scene: "One of those mornings": everyone is moving so slowly its barely perceptible, nothing seems to be where it should be, no one is eating breakfast, every sock and shoe has lost its mate, and we were supposed to be on our way to visit my 88-year-old grandma 45 minutes ago. And did I mention my grandma will NOT hesitate to call the Highway Patrol if she thinks we've taken too long because she's sure that will mean we've been in a horrific accident and are too injured to use my cell phone?

The Dialogue:
Me: "I give up! This is one bad day!"
Bug: "That's okay, mom. It's a good kids' day. You can borrow from us."

The End.

Post Script: We successfully avoided the 911 call, I gained invaluable perspective, and we all lived happily ever after.

Ode to a Creaky Home....

2008-09-15T15:43:00.000-06:00

As we are approaching the one year anniversary of our official move into our first house, I thought I appropriate to pontificate on the complete and absolute love I harbor for this home. We actually received the keys over Labor Day weekend last year, but spent most of the month fixing, cleaning, and painting. Oh! The painting! Even though my wrist still cringes at the sight of a paintbrush, it's difficult to believe we've only been here a year. It feels like we never lived anywhere else! So without further delay, I offer just a few reasons I love our home.

I love that the girls rooms are PAINTED in pretty colors they picked out - "precious purple" for Bug (fancy words for lavender), "pretty yellow" for Bear.

I love that the girls have space to run, swing (at last!) and dig in the garden. After years upon years of apartment dwelling, it still brings tears to my eyes to look out over our quarter-acre yard. (Now if I could only get the hang of gardening and yard maintenance!)

I love that I still do a double take whenever I leave home - just to see my cute house one more time.

I love that I fell in love with my house years ago when I walked an old boyfriend out to his car following my sister's wedding reception. ("Wouldn't it be wonderful to live in such a lovely little brick home across the street from such a beautiful reception center?" Me, July 1999.)

I love that I can wash and DRY our clothes within the confines of our home. This doesn't mean that I manage to stay on top of the laundry, but it is a sheer joy to have the freedom to do as much or as little laundry as I need to, whenever I need to. Over ten years of laundromat fun have taught me gratitude for even the most mundane blessings.

I love that our home has a history. The hardwood floors were walked on over sixty years ago! And the creaks and squeaks that have ensued over time were earned!

I love our gigantic twelve-paned window in the living room. Yes, at times it can feel as though we live in a fish bowl, but to have a wall almost entirely made up of a window? And not just any window, but a window that looks out over our enormous sycamore trees? It's heaven.

I love that we have TWO full bathrooms. Need I say more?

I love our cozy family room in the basement. Due to a lack of remodeling prowess by former owners, this room has neither window nor heating vent. Yet somehow it is the most perfect, coziest spot to curl up and read, watch a movie, or just hang out. It's our little bunker that is completely sheltered from the outside world.

I could go on and on and on..... But I will spare you, for now. In closing I would like to include just one more thought.

More than anything, I love that the perfect circumstances converged to allow Dave and me to give our girls a home of their own. A home that will be theirs for the foreseeable future. This is where we will nurse injuries - of both body and soul. This is where we will hold holiday dinners. This is where we will enjoy Cinnamon Roll Saturday for many Saturdays hence. This is where the four of us can always retreat for love, joy, and security. This is OUR home.

Here We Go a Wallowing.....

2008-09-11T15:55:00.000-06:00

I'm not proud. I admit it. I have been deeply ensconced in a good wallow this past month. And over nothing of monumental importance in the grand scheme of things. My girls are amazing, healthy, and happy. My husband is patient, funny, and wicked smart. My home is lovely. Summer's oppressive heat at last has broken and the leaves are beginning to turn. So what if my major advisor has decided to ride off into semi-full retirement and will be handing me off to the professor in early modern England who my department just hired? And really, does it matter that I received this news out of the proverbial blue right after I finally finished my first chapter draft and felt like I might be able to do this thesis thing after all? Yes, I will be working hundreds of miles away from an advisor I will meet for the first time in about a week. True, I will never have a class, seminar, or even TA-ship to build a relationship with said professor. And for those of you keeping score at home, my soon-to-be-former advisor was indeed the last professor remaining in the history department who served on my comps committee and original thesis committee. Is that really such a big deal? Apparently, it was. A big enough deal to render me completely numb and utterly useless for a few days. Old movies were watched. Favorite books were read. I think a milkshake was involved at one point. Yet, every day something amazing happened. The sun still came up. Ellie's school year commenced. Ginny learned about a hundred new words. Dave started this round of classes at the U. Dear friends discovered new pregnancies or continued counting down the days of pregnancies long-endured. Life went on. Imagine that. And so I shall plow forth - slightly daunted about writing a thesis for a relative stranger, tepidly abashed for my rather pathetic behavior, and vaguely intrigued by what lies ahead. You never know. This new advisor could be the driving force that will propel me toward the Pulitzer Prize in History. (The Pulitzer. For a book about river engineering projects in early modern England. Then again, maybe not.....)

Does Anyone Have a Cure for a Reading Hangover?

2008-08-04T18:30:00.000-06:00

I always do this. It's instinctual with me. I anticipate holding my latest conquest in my hands. I intend to imbibe slowly, savoring every moment. I look forward to days of enjoyment. And then the book comes out and reality sets in. Who in the world am I trying to kid? The second I open the cover I read and read and read. Before I know it, I have finished the accursed tome less than thirty-six hours later and I'm left to ponder what on earth just happened; usually with a raging headache.

I wish I could resist the pull of a good story. I wish I could relish every word. But when it comes right down to it, I am a six-year-old on Christmas morning. Pacing means nothing. The pile of presents awaits and I will not know peace until I have ripped open every one in ninety seconds or less. In the case of my bibliophilic tendencies, I have to know what comes next. Now. Even if it is three in the morning and I can barely see. The desire to read overcomes every other need. I even get cranky when it comes time to eat. Who on earth needs food when an epic battle is about to commence?!?!

This visceral reaction is fairly palatable when it directs itself toward great writing. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, The Poisonwood Bible, anything by Jane Austen – I can almost understand my drive to reach the final page; to know how the story’s arch completes itself. Even the Harry Potter series was a worthy object for my lust for words. But Breaking Dawn? The story about a teenage girl and her vampire boyfriend that EVERYONE is reading? You must be kidding. I read The DaVinci Code hiding in my parents bedroom during a trip from Colorado because I could not stomach reading the ubiquitous novel-of-the-day in a public venue. I could not bear being one of those readers – the ones who proudly engage in the latest pop-lit sensation like it is the literary equivalent of the Crocs fad. Yet there I was. First thing Saturday morning anxiously purchasing my copy of the vampire-werewolf-human love triangle. (I would not, could not bring myself to attend a midnight release party. That madness I reserve entirely for the likes of the boy who lived!)

What makes the entire scenario worse is the fact that I detest romance novels. (Jane Austen forever and always will stand as the one exception to this rule, although I’m not sure she counts. I would argue that she incorporates exceptional depth to her novels with her satire and social commentary so as to transcend the label!) I had only come across one other vampire novel that I enjoyed before last summer. (I threw away an Anne Rice novel for crying out loud! When I was only half-way through it! And I WORSHIP books!) How on earth did I get sucked into this trend? And why oh why did I enjoy it so much? Seriously. I thoroughly loved the ride! And I am only mildly abashed to admit it!

And so here I sit, having traversed insanity. I made it through the tunnel of fanatical reading that commandeered my weekend and found life on the other side. Now that my unyielding desire to read is in remission (for now!), my focus on the outside world is returning to normal; however sluggish that return might be. And I will spend time with the three-dimensional people once more. Unless someone knows of another great read worthy of a relapse into my compulsive ways, that is. Then again, perhaps I should look into the existence of Obsessive Readers Anonymous instead.

A Moose, a River, a Mountian...Our Trip to Idaho

2008-07-27T23:05:00.000-06:00

As Emily (A.K.A. Boo Radley) is catching up with all of the messes I’ve made, I decided I should start working on the Blogg.

It all started earlier this year when my brother, Jeff, called and invited my family to the Ripplinger family cabin in Driggs, Idaho. At the time, all I knew was Driggs is located somewhere in Idaho (I thought it was near Boise). When I found out it was near Rexburg, home of the infamous BYU Idaho (gasp! that’s a swear in our house hold).
This discovery caused a slight tear in my space-time continuum. When I thought cats and dogs would be living together, my wise and intelligent wife informed me that Driggs was closer to the Teton Mountain Range than Rexburg…oh happy day!!! All was well in the world, cats and dogs will still hate each other. This gave me so much joy I nearly cried.
When D-Day came, on the heels of the girls birthdays, I was so excited to go fishing, hiking, and lounging with my girls…and family too. When we arrived at the cabin Ellie saw the large Moose head above the entrance and had a slight freak-out. After I was able to pry her finder nails from my neck Jeff and I were able to convince her that the Moose was just a “toy,” named Mortimer. A slight stretch of the truth, but we convinced Ellie that the Moose was a friend. Ginny on the other hand, wanted to play with the Moose. I sometimes caught her trying to climb up to the Moose to play.

The next day was a day never to be forgotten…unfortunately, I had an incident with a microwave and the metal plate in my head. When the microwave was turned on, I wet myself and forgot who I was for an hour (or I just spent an intense day going all over the place, travelling not my strong suit). As part of the fallout from that incident, I’ve lost my memory of most of that day. All I can recall is there was something involving an old time family portrait, a Chuck Wagon dinner, pictures of the east face of the Tetons, and a place called Jackson, Wyoming.
With Jackson out of the way I was able to start fulfilling my Griswold family vacation aspirations (see National Lampoon’s Vacation movies for further insight) and take Ellie fishing for the first time on the Teton River the next morning. As the good and humble parent I am, I didn’t prepare Ellie for this fishing trip at all, thinking that she could handle anything I throw at her…including a capsized canoe. The fishing trip started out according to plan with me, Ellie, and Mike (my brother-in-law) all in the canoe, with Ellie between Mike and I. In my over-zealous state of mind we charged down the river without thinking of the others in the larger, less capsizeable, fishing boat.
As we rounded a bend in the river I looked back to see if the other boat was coming…it wasn’t. That was unexpected, but no worries…me David, me outdoorsman, me can handle anything on river. Well, not really.
While looking back for the other boat I felt the canoe violently tip to one side. As a seasoned Boy Scout with two (I think) merit badges on my sash, I knew instantly I was going into the water. With the panic that any parent worth their salt would have, I struggled to get into a position to get Ellie. By the time I actually had my head above water Mike had the canoe upright and was at Ellie’s side.
As Mike swam down river to get the equipment which went overboard, I pushed the canoe to the shore, muttering words that would make a sailor blush (I’m still surprised Ellie hasn’t told Mommy what Daddy said on the river). As I was worrying about Ellie and the cold, I saw the other boat come around the bend. A sharp, but brief, exchange occurred between Jeff and me about the recent events and how he couldn’t get the motor started on the bigger boat. Around that time my inner monolog told me, Emily should know about this so we can get help. I reached for my cell phone and it was gone.
In retrospect, I was an idiot for taking my cell with me on the canoe, especially without any water proofing, but prior to setting out on this little adventure I was assured “you can’t tip the canoe, it’s too hard, you’ll be fine Dave.” Taking that advice to heart, I thought everything would be OK, and my cell would be safe, but alas, it is now sleeping with the fishes, literally (If anyone reading this finds a Black Jack II at the bottom of the Teton River near Driggs, call me, just not on my cell phone!).
When the larger boat finally made it to me my temper had abated and I just wanted to get Ellie out of there. My mom took Ellie and “loved her” by wrapping Bug in her jacket for the remainder of the float down the river. Being only a quarter mile from the boat launch I volunteered to paddle up river, get a car, and meet everyone at the next landing (about 3 miles downriver). As mister outdoorsman I took to the river with authority. Paddling left then right and right then left, until I couldn’t feel my muscles, about ten minutes later. After an ordeal lasting 3 hours I was nothing more than a heap of sore muscle and joint tissue. While floating down the river I have often wondered what some of the locals thought as they saw this moron city slicker struggling to make it up river…the looks I got were priceless.
When I finally made it to the launch I was soaked and tired, but with a mission still to complete I forged ahead. Getting into my Parent’s 2008 GMC Acadia I sped down the road to the landing. When I hit about a 100 mph I noticed my car coming the other way. I slammed on the brakes and in a cloud of burnt rubber I was face to face with Lindsay, who stayed at the cabin and received a call from Jeff on the river. With a slight tear in my eye I traded Lindsay vehicles and took my car back to the cabin. I honestly can’t remember much about the rest of the day other than playing Phase Ten with my siblings and hanging my mother’s bra on the Mortimer the Moose, a perfect way to end a crazy day.
All in all, the trip was a blast. We have fallen in love with the Driggs area. Hopefully we will hit the lottery jackpot and will purchase a cabin in the area…someday, if I could cheat on the lottery (hum…). I was privy to seeing one of the most beautiful places on earth. I can’t wait until we can make it there again. Maybe I’ll find my cell phone. We do have pictures and we’ll be posting them when we get the chance.

-Dave

P.S. Seriously, if there is anyone that finds my phone at the bottom of the Teton River near Driggs call me.

Coming Soon to a Blog Near You...

2008-07-25T13:08:00.000-06:00

No, Boo Radley syndrome has not taken hold again. (At least not to any significant degree, anyway!) I have just survived (and at times relished, lest my tone seem too negative) a powerful cocktail of birthday week (for the girls) and a Shaw family reunion (in the Tetons). (For those of you who don't know, when the ability to multi-task was handed out, I was reading in a corner, too distracted to line up! Ergo, blogging while experiencing the aforementioned activities was out of the question.) The past couple of weeks were intense to say the least, and fraught with juicy tidbits I hope to share over the coming days. At the moment, however, I am playing a mad game of catch up as I return to my regularly-scheduled life. In fact, I am taking a break from some desperately needed writing time to provide this scant - if charming - teaser. Newsy updates and photos of a July that will live in infamy (well, not really, except for the capsizing canoe....) are forthcoming! I'm sure at least two of you will be thrilled (or at least tepidly cheerful) with this news! As for now, it's back to the Anglo-Dutch wars! (Good times will be had by all!) Cheers!

P.S. Kari, if you are out there, congratulations on getting into the new home! FINALLY!

Family of Nerds

2008-07-07T22:17:00.000-06:00

This evening I convinced Em to allow me to add to this Blog...after secretly determining her password (1234...what kind of password is that??) I was able to hack into the secure mainframe of Blogspot!
Truth be told, she has wanted me to add an entry for many moons. Feeling the pressure, I needed to think of something that I could discuss on the Blog (unfortunately, my job in the rocket business is uninteresting to most, except those pyros out there...I'm talking to you Ben!). So I've come up with a master plan...I'll shout to the world that I'm a nerd...oh yes a nerd to the extreme. Well, according to the professionals at oneplusyou.com.
I am a true master, maxing out at 87%...ouch (kind of stings, truth can really hurt)! I admit, I carry a pocket protector with color coordinated pens, but I never expected this...maybe I should've. Trying to not make myself too depressed, I convinced Emily to take the quiz. She earned a respectable 50%, not bad for a Historian.
This only tells me we are as nerdy as any one family can be (although I wonder about some people at work...I'm talking to you, man with the horn-rim glasses I've only seen in Apollo 13). God bless our kids, they don't have a chance at a normal life...please keep them in your prayers...

ME:
87% Geek

EM:
50% Geek

-Dave

P.S. If anyone knows where I can get some 1960's era horn-rim glasses let me know!

Strike a Pose, There's Nothing to it!

2008-07-05T22:43:00.001-06:00

Over the past several weeks, I have received many inquiries regarding if and/or when I might get around to putting some pictures up on my blog. I can only say that any and all reluctance on my part has been the direct result of my abiding inability to work with all things technological ( I can barely type the word for crying out loud) and my general suspicion of those who are more adept at it then I (which is just about everyone on the planet). Nevertheless, at the urging of Dave I hereby acquiesce. But first, a word of explanation. These girls are ying and yang, John and Paul, Simon and Garfunkel, Mac and Cheese; two very different chickadees who often bicker but who adore each other utterly and completely. One would be lost without the other. When Gramma and Poppy sent two highly coveted nightgowns depicting Snow White and Sleeping Beauty respectively, a high-end fashion show naturally ensued with absolute coordination. Paris? Milan? They tremble and pale by comparison. And so I offer a glimpse into the world of the fabulous Bug and Bear!

And on the Eighth Day God Created Ikea....

2008-07-05T16:33:00.000-06:00

Okay, so this suggestion may border on sacrilegious. But have you seen this place?!?! With birthday week rapidly approaching, Dave and I find ourselves immersed in our annual rush to finish birthday shopping in spite of our sincerest intentions to do so a minimum of a month in advance. (And I wonder why I don't meet my deadlines. Has ANY parent EVER finished ANYTHING early? If you are reading this thinking "I do all of the time", please stop reading now. I cannot relate to you.) So this year, our rush toward completion involves one final gift: Ellie's big girl bed. Yes, our bug is moving up in the world and within the week will call a full sized bed her own. For the record, our initial intention was to use an antique brass bed that once belonged to one of Ellie's namesakes. Upon extricating said bed out of storage, however, we were met with rusted metal, bent rails, and exposed screws. Not exactly ideal for the preschool set. (Sorry Grammy!) This left us with plan B - go out and find a new bed to purchase for our girl with less than two weeks to go before her birthday. Good times.
Our first stop on our great, if slightly frantic, quest was a local furniture institution which shall remain nameless but has until very recently maintained a stranglehold on the home furnishings market in our area. (We discovered that a Furniture Row - FURNITURE ROW!!! - is under construction next door to Ikea, but its opening date has yet to be determined. Sigh. That remains a dream for another day. And for those of you who haven't lived along the front range, patience. Soon you too will understand.) We attempted to stifle our potentially uproarious laughter as we looked at price tag after price tag for beds priced upwards of $700. The Hannah Montana and Disney Princess decor surrounding said beds did nothing to temper the sticker shock involved, or justify the prices themselves. (Although the decorations did elicit repeated requests - one might say desperate pleadings - for a "princess bed" that bordered on obsessive and which were, I am certain, their primary objective.) Needless to say, we promptly abandoned the hallowed halls of traditional furniture monopoly and found ourselves needing to regroup.
Since no shift in strategy can possibly take place with starving children who threaten to shrivel up if they are not fed, we spontaneously (?) selected a tried-and-true restaurant as our home base for future operations. As luck would have it, said tried-and-true restaurant was no more than a few miles from a place we have meant to visit since it opened to much hoopla and even more meatballs a few months ago - IKEA. So, in the immortal words of our countless forefathers who have lived in the shadows of the everlasting hills, we decided "what the heck?!?!"
Heavenly choirs of angels proffered their idyllic strains as we crossed the threshold.... Okay, so it wasn't quite that dramatic, but this place truly is transcendent. Even the girls were utterly enthralled by the sundry vignettes, brights colors, and seemingly never ending selections of, well, everything one could imagine. Dave and I even got a workout in the bargain as we were forced to chase our girls everywhere. (The chasing of the girls was followed by the enforced carrying of the would-be runaways for the remainder of our visit.) While we were unable to tarry quite as long as we would have liked (has anyone actually been able to carry a nearly four-year-old around Ikea, or anywhere for that matter, for longer than thirty minutes?), it was enough time to stumble upon nirvana. The elusive find. The un-gettable get. We found THE bed. And the "most beautiful fancy mirror Ellie has ever seen!" So as the upcoming birthday dawns, Dave and I will be prepared with the promised nocturnal trappings, and all will be right with the world. After all, the world is inhabited by Ikea.

Random Snapshots from a Cluttered Brain...

2008-06-20T06:43:00.000-06:00

I love my house. It's almost 70 years old, has creaky floors, drafty windows, and is ridiculously fabulous. I waited so long to finally have four walls to call my own. (And a yard! Did I mention the yard?!?!) For a This Old House junky (it's on my DVR list - seriously - Norm, Tommy, Richard, and Roger forever!) who has carefully maintained a box full of sundry architectural and decorating "ideas" since 1990 for if and when I finally owned a home, the wait was excruciating. And worth it. My house is perfect (even before the planned renovations) and I never want to move!

Ellie has decided to add Kung Fu master to her list of things she wants to be when she grows up - along with astronaut, princess, and occasionally ballet fairy. (Incidentally, she needs to "drive" the space shuttle. She doesn't trust anyone else to do it for her.) Did I mention Ellie went to see Kung Fu Panda this week with Dave and LOVED it?

Ginny possesses the verbosity of an Aaron Sorkin character and/or a Gilmore girl. Who knew? Our quiet little angel face suddenly decided to start speaking after nearly two years of relative quiet. (Relative to her sister that is!) And in full sentences. (For a caveman anyway.) While she fearlessly whips out polysyllabic words with remarkable alacrity (my observations are completely unbiased) my favorite remains "whoopsidaisy." I've got to get video on that one!

Boys will be boys....even when they "grow up", have family "responsibilities", and "mature." I realize I am reifying men here and I officially apologize to any and all gender theorists I have encountered over the years. The work of said theorists notwithstanding, there are some things that never change. (Not only have I offended an entire scholarly community, I am doing so with an exaggerated cliche. Nice.) In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that Dave and Dave alone is my focus group for this study. He took a trip to China Lake to witness the test fire of one of the rockets on which he works, and has yet to come down from the general exhilaration of the experience. Yes, no matter how educated and refined man [read: Dave] becomes, he forever will harbor the desire to see things go boom.

Boys are also fun. We had the incomparable Ben, Mason, and Aidan over for dinner and the annual car show last weekend and the girls loved them! (For further reference, see The Three Bachelors link.) They ran around, but not too fast. They laughed and yelled, but not too loud. They played in the sandbox, but not too rough. It was like Goldilocks had been set up with her ideal playdate on Match.com. The Shaw girls are enamored with the Frank boys and they are welcome back anytime!

Resistance is futile. No matter how long one avoids the uniform of summer otherwise known as shorts, submission is inevitable. After nearly a decade of said avoidance, I recently purchased a couple of pairs. If I am going to spend the requisite hours in our yard with the girls this summer, shorts are necessary. I still have the lovely pasty white skin so prevalent in the Allen clan. At least now that I'm over 30 and the veteran of two pregnancies, I have spider veins to temper the glare.

The Lollipop League (otherwise known as Ellie and Ginny) has notified me that our family needs three puppies. And we are going to name them Underdog, Polly Purebred, and Clarence. Why Clarence? I asked the same question. And the following conversation ensued:
Me: "Why Clarence?"
Ellie: "Because if we named him Shoeshine, Underdog might get confused."
Why didn't I think of that?

And finally, a random confession. My thesis frightens me. This wretched project terrifies me in a very real way. After years of research, note taking, outlining and re-outlining, imagining and re-imagining, and reconfiguring the entire thing about twenty times, I am finally ready to write. A 300-page book. In the next year and a half. Oh to have the writing prowess of David McCullough. I think I need to find my talent....and fast!

I am the Very Model of Modern Productivity

2008-06-09T09:24:00.000-06:00

This morning I needed to call the Office of Financial Aid at CU and discuss a mix up with my application. Yes, I am still on the "take" as it were to fund my education. (Not for long, however. May 2010 I am DONE. Mark your calendars!) Being the responsible human being that I am, and realizing that the "to-do" list for today won't allow for such frippery as phone calls securing my educational funding, I was on the phone when the office opened at 9:00.
Things were going swimmingly. I didn't have to wait too long to speak to an advisor (relatively speaking - 10 minutes is nothing!) and we were off and on our way. That is until the mom thing imposed itself over the student thing. First Ellie needed some help in the bathroom. (I shall spare you the details.) Then Ginny began to wail when she couldn't find her Bink or her stuffed monkey named Bubbles. (The name has nothing to do with Michael Jackson and the monkey has everything to do with the fact that her sister has one.) In the midst of potty issues, finding various pieces of clothing, locating said monkey and Binky, and trying to keep the general din to a minimum, I lost the call.
I am ashamed to admit a momentary lapse of composure ensued (yes, I shouted at my children to be quiet) while I tried to reconnect with said Office of Financial Aid. This time around, however, the wait had inexplicably doubled. Those extra minutes were put to good use as I needed to offer a contrite mea culpa to my girls for the aforementioned outburst, replace a piece of toast usurped by a younger sister, find a comfy pair of panties (not for me, incidentally), and remove an "icky bogey" from Ginny's nose. (We started calling them bogeys because we thought it would be a more charming and therefore less disgusting way to refer to them. I'm not sure why we thought that.) All the while I carefully cradled my phone as if it were the Holy Grail itself. I was NOT losing the call again.
After the better part of a half hour, we finally achieved success. I managed to reconnect with the necessary people regarding my financial aid, we straightened out the problem and I was able to turn my attention to my veritable novel of a to-do list. Let it not be said that life isn't interesting at the very least. And now if you'll excuse me, I have yet to find the Dora panties without the "creepy monkey."

Two Weddings, a Picnic, and a Bee Sting...or Ten Epiphanies from a Crazy Weekend

2008-06-04T10:42:00.000-06:00

What a weekend it was! Ellie finished her first year of preschool (a surprisingly emotional moment), Gramma and Poppy were in town and staying with us, and we had many a family function to attend. To say it was a whirlwind would be cliche but true. Now that the dust has settled and we are starting to dig out from a weekend spent ignoring the usual routine of house cleaning, yard maintenance, and general organization I have the chance to reflect on the life lessons we learned. So without further ado, I offer the following ten epiphanies from a crazy weekend!

1.) Never underestimate the power of a dollar store stuffed monkey. No kidding. Ellie's teacher gave each of her students a little monkey with arms that Velcro together, allowing the monkey to hang from the child's neck. (Let's just ignore the choking concerns for now, shall we?) These monkeys became quite the status symbol. Every kid at the end of year picnic wore one with transcendent pride. They were the monkey people. And nothing - not food, not playground equipment, not a near by hill ideal for haphazard rolling - nothing could detract their attention from the coveted monkeys. That is until the cookies were unveiled. At that point, forget monkey solidarity. It was every man for himself.

2.) Princess pajamas and a Snow White dress constitute perfectly acceptable attire for a school picnic. Considering Ginny insists on wearing this combo nearly every day, I'm not sure this counts as a true epiphany. Nevertheless, the fact that she will not consider any alternatives even for a public engagement warrants mention. Besides, I can think of few sights more adorable than a mini Snow White running around a playground while delicately lifting up her skirts like a proper princess. All together now...aaaahhhhhh!!!!!

3.) A little civil disobedience now and then can be healthy - even for a three-year-old. After nine months of faithfully wearing her proscribed uniform to preschool every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Ellie decided to assert her individuality on the last day of school. On Friday morning, with tremendous excitement she announced that on this, her final day at her current school (she will be attending a different preschool next year) she was going to wear pink. Considering her general willingness to don her uniform all year, and her giddy excitement over the very idea of spending her last day awash in a rosy hue, how could I refuse?

4.) According to pre-K set, weddings are really an opportunity for their own floor show. Never mind the bride, the groom, or the fancy decorations for that matter. Weddings mean people. And for my girls, an audience for whom they can exhibit their dancing prowess. Yes, much to our chagrin, Ellie and Ginny spent all of their time at the reception of Dave's cousin twirling, curtsying, and generally entertaining the masses. (To be honest, it was hilarious and ridiculously adorable!)

5.) Belle (i.e. the princess from Disney's Beauty and the Beast) is alive and well, and is a member of our extended family. If only I had my camera when Ginny laid eyes on Dave's cousin Rebecca in full wedding garb. Rebecca's hair was spot on for Belle's during the iconic ballroom scene - complete with a pearl tiara. Between the hair (which was even the correct shade) and the "poofy" dress (Ellie's apt description), Rebecca embodied the aforementioned princess. And Ginny was mesmerized. Every few minutes, my little girl would run up to Rebecca, say "Belle" in hushed and reverent tones, and dance away in sheer delight. (Incidentally, Belle is far and away Ginny's favorite princess!)

6.) Bee stings hurt, but constitute an unparalleled PR opportunity. Poor Ellie experience her first bee sting at Dave's uncle's wedding party on Sunday. She was innocently enjoying a beautiful spring afternoon when the cursed creature imposed his will - and stinger - on our girl. After the initial pain of it all, Ellie quickly learned that bee stings garner tremendous sympathy from anyone within earshot of her shrieks and cries. All the way home, all she could talk about was the fact that so many people love her and are worried about her. Ellie still cannot fathom how the bee mistook her for a flower - "I don't even have petals!" - but she is very relieved she survived.

7.) Walgreen's sunglasses are the height of summer chic. In the wake of the chaos inherent in getting two grandparents, two parents, and two little girls dressed, fed, and ready to attend a wedding, Dave forgot his sunglasses for the trek down south. Once we arrived at the wedding site, Dave ran into a neighboring Walgreen's to pick up a replacement pair of shades. He walked out in the grooviest pair of aviator sunglasses - with fabulous reflective lenses. I haven't seen glasses like these since the early days of Beverly Hills Cop. They were cool. Various relatives remarked that Dave could pull them off. We are still unsure if that is a fabulous compliment or a profound insult. We shall ponder on while we bask in the electronic stylings of Axel F...

8.) Uncle Matty rocks! On the way home from Rebecca's wedding on Saturday, we stopped by my brother Matt's restaurant for dinner. Now, Uncle Matty is a bit of a celebrity in our home. He was on a local news program last summer doing a cooking segment on barbecue ribs and Ellie couldn't get enough. We watched the tape ad nausium. To see him in person, in action, at his restaurant was beyond words. Not only did he comp our dinners (I'm still arguing that the preemptive refusal was not necessary in this case!), he took Ellie back to the kitchen to see the cooks at work. Ever since Ratatouille, Ellie has been nuts for cooking. To see a real professional kitchen was a mind blowing experience. Upon her return to the table, she was ecstatic. She clapped her hands and enthusiastically proclaimed "Uncle Matty believes in me! He made all my dreams come true!" Not bad for a Saturday evening at Famous Dave's Barbecue.

9.) October cannot come fast enough. Our cute and very generous Gramma and Poppy are taking our family to Disneyland this fall. For five days! And we are staying in the Disneyland Hotel. The girls can hardly wait for Peter Pan, the various princesses, and, of course, ride Dumbo until they cannot see straight. It's the subject of daily conversation and has been since the trip was scheduled in January. As a self-admitted Disneyland fanatic, I must admit to sharing in their excitement. (To this day, I harbor a not-so-secret desire to live in an apartment above Fantasyland!) While Gramma and Poppy were among us, the girls talked non-stop about the trip, and even made the family watch our Disneyland souvenir video so we could see what we are going to do. If they are this enthusiastic in June, I shudder to think what they will be like when September comes to a close. No kidding. October cannot come fast enough!

10.) I am no Donna Reed. Like Ginny's obsessive wearing of her Snow White dress, this doesn't qualify as an epiphany per se, but it was reiterated again and again this weekend. I am perfectly capable of having a clean house, a well-kept yard, and clean laundry - just not all at the same time. At least not if I want to see the light of day, play with my girls, or attend any kind of social function, not to mention getting any work done on my thesis. In spite of my best efforts, the upstairs bathroom was not clean upon the arrival of my in laws (for the record, it was spotless within a few hours), I still have overflowing baskets of clean clothes (at least they were clean!) in my laundry room, and I didn't manage to finish mowing the lawns until Monday afternoon. I never did wash the girls bathmat. Nevertheless, we had a fabulous, if exhausting weekend. This experience leads me to wonder if staying on top of my myriad domestic responsibilities truly is necessary for my sense of well-being and happiness. I'll have to think on that one. In the meantime, I'm off to fold some clothes. The laundry situation has been out of control for long enough and it's driving me insane!

Bonding with Miss Austen

2008-05-23T17:57:00.000-06:00

I just saw this quiz on the blog of the lovely and talented Disco Mom and felt compelled to take it...and post the link. Thank you, Kari, for the fabulous diversion! Incidentally, my apparent similarities with Anne could explain my abiding affinity for Persuasion. Well, that and Captain Wentworth's letter. Now only one question remains: Ciaran Hinds or Rupert Penry-Jones?

Take the Quiz here!

Life in Hyperbole

2008-05-23T10:41:00.000-06:00

Oh the trauma, drama, weeping, wailing, and otherwise gnashing of teeth that have occurred since last we met. Alright, so it wasn't all bad. Rather entertaining actually. One admission that must be made - life is never boring.
The adventure began Tuesday night (well, last Friday if we are going to be accurate.) Ginny, as she has the tendency to do, was overcome by yet another attack of croup. Foolish mortals that we are, Dave and I thought we had it under control by the end of the weekend and went merrily on our way. The prevailing Gods of health and medicine had other ideas, however. By Tuesday night Ginny was coughing incessantly, quite literally turning blue while gasping for air, and found herself in the emergency room....again. By early Wednesday morning, she was back home, and Dave and I were left pondering the eternal question - are the rocking chairs at the hospital really comfortable enough to warrant our copay? By Thursday night, we were armed with the requisite medication and nebulizer to avoid enjoying the amenities of the ER in the near future. Ginny once again donned her Snow White dress and danced about to the Enchanted soundtrack (interspersed with coughing fits of course). All was right with the world.
While Ginny recovered, Ellie had her own formidable challenges on the horizon in the form of the ubiquitous school program. This time around, she had her very own line to recite. For weeks we have labored over the assigned words. We have rehearsed, cajoled, and encouraged in preparation for this night of nights. On Wednesday evening, we were ready. Sleep deprived and weary from a day of holding the aforementioned croup victim, we nonetheless got our sorry selves to the school (I don't recall the drive to be honest) and waited for our girl's time to shine. Miss Christie introduced her class and the subject of their presentation - the state of Minnesota. The students lined up to offer their recitations. One by one the kids completed their parts moving Ellie closer and closer to the front. Before we knew it, the moment had arrived. Our little girl stood there with the poise of Grace Kelly and the stage presence of Bernadette Peters. She held up her picture, took hold of the microphone and uttered the words that would make any Shakespearean soliloquy pale by comparison..."the state insect is the monarch butterfly." And then she left the stage before singing a note of the songs she'd practiced, informing us that she was done. Oh, what a short but illustrious career.
Yes, it's been a crazy week. It seems the universe is bent on putting everything into perspective, however. This morning while cleaning out my dresser, I ran across my "Mom Bag" - a tote bag with a small illustration and list of contents courtesy of one our favorite authors, Sandra Boynton. And that's when it hit me. As nutty as things may get sometimes, at it's core my life is really no more complicated than a Boynton joke in hyperbole:

Mom Bag!
for toys, books, one sock, baby bottles, pliers, formerly-moist towelettes, PhD thesis, crumbs, pacifier, cell phone, lip gloss, keys, shopping lists, and assorted unidentifiable sticky objects, one of which might be your wallet.

Ah! Motherhood!

What's in a name?

2008-05-18T20:23:00.000-06:00

Ah the profundity of a guilt complex! For months I have relished the opportunity to reconnect with friends and family through their insightful and often pithy blog entries. In spite of my own complete failure to maintain contact with anyone with whom I do not share DNA, I have been able to remain abreast of the sundry goings on in others' lives. As of late, however, I decided this borders on a kind of veuyerism - watching others (through publicly accessible virtual spaces, mind you!) while maintaining my own relative anonymity. So in an act of contrition (and an uncomfortable one at that) I decided to attempt to start a blog of my own. It is a small - and terribly awkward - offering to the virtual world in hopes that what were once lopsided friendships will find greater equilibrium.
As for the blog itself, my husband informed me that I may need to provide some explanation for what apparently is a rather enigmatic title. In my previous life as a full-time grad student at the University of Colorado, I would occasionally indulge in what my fabulous friend Portia and I called Boo Radley Syndrome. (Please see Harper Lee's amazing book To Kill a Mockingbird for further clarification.) This condition manifested itself by the desire to disappear into one's home, often with comfort food and a great book, and hide from the general public for a time. Since moving away from CU and increasing our family size by 50%, I regret to admit that Boo Radley Syndrome seems to have become a way of life for me. What can I say? Trying to be mom, wife, housekeeper, and scholar is rather....distracting. Just trying to keep the jam off of my thesis notes could constitute a full time job! So with this blog, I hereby attempt to fend off my Boo Radley tendencies and take a few steps back into the outside world.