perhaps her heart was two sizes too small

Every one, it's assumed, likes Christmas a lot
But Steph, who felt scroogey, most certainly did not.
Oh, she loved all the sharing and wee balls of rum
And songs about drummers who rum-pa-pum-pum,

But she hated the shopping and wrapping and glitter
And taking the tree down alone made her bitter

It could be perhaps that her socks were too pinchy
Or the stuff in the utility room made her grinchy.
But whatever the reason, the socks or the junk,
She stood here in January, feeling the funk.
She snarled with a sneer, "I can take it no more -
This house is too full, the stuff has to go!"

Then she got an idea! An awful idea!

Why, Steph got a wonderful, awful idea!
She gathered some empty containers and sacks
And took down the lights and the ornament of Max.
She packed up the wrapping and shiny red balls
And rolled up the garland that decked out the halls.

"Now all I need are some boxes to fill.
I'll pack up my stuff, and I'll go to Goodwill"
She cleaned out the closets and shelves of the clutter
And emptied the fridge of the last Nutter Butter.
She boxed up a vase of coffee beans and a candle
And even got rid of the "R" on the mantle.

She slithered and slunk with a smile almost gruff
And cleared out the house of all excess stuff.
She got tired more than once, and thought she was through,
But she mustered the strength of ten women, plus two.
She kept working all day and into the night
When she heard a deep voice that gave her a fright.

She turned around fast and saw You-Know-Who
The little boy Kevin, who was no longer two.
He looked at his mom with gleaming blue eyes
And said, "Why are you cleaning and boxing up, WHY?"
And you know, that ol' Mom, was so tired and so sick,
Of working alone, that she schemed really quick.

"Get out the stepstool and climb really high,
Take down the tree topper, then be a good guy
And haul these to the dump and then when you can
Load the rest that's for charity, into the van."
Her jobs hushed the boy, then she patted his head

And said, "Thanks for helping!" and sent him to bed.

Now the chaos was vanishing from under her roof,
The odds and the ends were all going "POOF!"
She'd bah-humbugged throughout the whole holiday season
But please don't ask why, no one quite knows the reason.
It just could have been that her socks were too pinchy.
Or maybe her heart had become mean and grinchy.
But the most likely reason for holiday gloom
Was all of the stuff in the utility room.

a sequins of events

After unwinding the glittery amber fishnet ribbon off the Christmas tree earlier this week, the ribbon that sparkled in the glow of the white holiday lights . . . I have to agree with Dimitri Martin. Glitter IS the Herpes of craft supplies. It has spread all over this house, and no matter how hard I try, I can't get rid of it.

Speaking of sparkly things, ever noticed how ebay sellers always describe a sequined sweater as "having sequence". Makes me laugh.

Ninja Princess is awesome. There is a little boy in Africa who is a step closer to being with his family today because of her generosity. Thanks.

I'm teaching a class this quarter on discipline. Stephanie's Spiritual Discipline Class. Anybody else catch the oxy in this moron?

I am confessing that my tree is still up five days past the deadline. It IS undecorated at least. It stands here next to me as merely a light-giving presence, the warmth of which I am greatly enjoying, which is why I have violated my hard-and-fast New Year's Day rule, which I guess isn't so hard-and-fast after all. Although, if it isn't decorated, it's not really a CHRISTMAS tree, now is it? It's just a tree. A January tree. So maybe I haven't violated my rule after all. It could be a birthday tree for Kevin. I like it. I'll decorate it with Cinnamon Roll PopTarts and bottles of CheerWine and drape it with headphones and drizzle it with sarcastic comments. This is getting weird. Moving on.

You cannot lose weight by eating Panera's Macaroni and Cheese for lunch. Especially if you get the large. With the french bread. That's my health tip for today. Tomorrow I will let you know if that also holds true for dark chocolate cream cake.

I stopped by the grocery store on the way home tonight and bought milk, eggs and bread. How cliche' is that?

I filled an entire donation box with ornaments, votives, tabletoppers, and wall art. There are 30 things in that box, but I have decided to count it as one thing - a single box of Christmas STUFF. So far I have also gotten rid of two sweaters, a cordless telephone, and a partridge in a pair of jeans. Five items down, 360 to go. It's not even going to be a challenge.

I just poured a half a glass of milk to drink before I go to bed . . . there is glitter in it. I am SO not kidding.

steph's stuff . . . or "bring your own box, part deux"

If a home is where your heart is, then a house is where your stuff is. And all my stuff is neatly organized within 1630 square feet of house. (With the exception of socks. I just don't see the point in neatly organizing socks. I roll pairs together and throw them in a drawer - minus the 8 pairs in the floor on my side of the bed, but that's a different blog altogether.)

When I first started thinking about getting rid of "a thing a day" this year, I was a wee bit concerned I might not be able to come up with 365 items, especially since I cleaned out all my closets AND emptied the attic last spring, and, lest you forget, I am NOT a "stuff" person.

But for somebody who is not a stuff person, I have a lot of stuff.

A LOT of stuff. My eight rooms are full of stuff. My closets are full of stuff. My drawers are full of stuff. My kitchen cabinets are full of stuff. My bookshelves are full of stuff. My utility room is REALLY full of stuff. I have storage boxes and Rubbermaid containers and canvas cubes to hold all my stuff. (In fact, I'm a little obsessed with storage boxes and Rubbermaid containers and canvas cubes, but that's a different blog altogether.)

Today I acquired 7 medium cardboard boxes to begin the 365 item collection, and I am downright excited about filling them with stuff, donating the stuff to Goodwill, and letting it all become somebody else's stuff. I don't want stuff. I don't want to clean the stuff. I don't want to store the stuff. And I sure don't want a bigger house to encompass the stuff. (I secretly dream of someday living in a 16' camper with very little stuff, but that's a different blog altogether.)

The stuff has got to go.

I don't need it.


". . . the only thing I need is *this*. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray . . . and this paddle game. The ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need . . . and this remote control. - The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need . . . and these matches. The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control, and the paddle ball . . . and this lamp. That's all I need. And that's ALL I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one . . . oh, I need this . . . and that's all I need." - Steve Martin as "The Jerk"

don't think about the morrow . . . it's always a day away

My maiden name being "Morrow", my granddaddy used to quote this King James verse from Matthew 6 as a way to playfully tell my boyfriend to stop thinking about me so much: "Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself." And though it became a running joke with the three of us, I don't think he quite hit at the heart of the meaning: "I tell you, don't worry about your life. Can you add even one hour to your life by worrying? . . . Your Father knows every little thing you need, so put Him first, and don't worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

Fine. Worry has never been a part of who I am anyway. When I was younger, I never dreamed life would not be all sunshine and roses. (What a blessing to have grown up in a family where I could feel that way.) As I got older, I trusted that my life, my relationships, my decisions - good and bad - were always in God's hands. But this last year, after He put me on my face, I became a worrier. Not about everything, but this nagging voice in my head keeps whispering, "What if God doesn't answer your prayers? What if the things you think you need aren't in His plan? What if you never feel happy EVER again?" Those of you who know me, KNOW I'm not a pessimist or a "poor pitiful me" kinda gal, and I know my life is not supposed to be about what makes ME happy, but let me tell you, when you are facedown on the floor, it's hard to keep that in perspective.

So, that's part of my goal for this year. Try to let it go. Stop listening to the scared little voice in my head. Leave it in His hands.

Oh, and just for the record, I have NO IDEA HOW I'm going to do this. I'm open to advice.

I don't plan to come out of the closet anytime soon

A couple of years ago as I was walking gracefully through a parking lot, I stepped on the hem of my apparently-too-long pants, tripped and fell flat on my hands and knees. Hard. I rolled over and sat there, nearly in tears, rubbing my skinned palms and wondering how in the world I could manage to bloody both knees and not even rip my pants, when Mike reached his hand down to help me up. "Aren't you glad I was here?" he asked. "NO!!!" I reacted. "I would much rather sit here alone on the ground in pain than have you see me clumsy and humiliated!"

God used 2010 to get my attention in much the same way. He didn't whisper in the wind or sing over me in my sleep. No, He tucked the hem of my pants under my very comfortable Clark loafers (metaphorically, of course), and let me trip and fall flat on my face. And, unable to pull myself up, I am sitting here still. The worst part of being flat on your face is that it hurts, and you can't see what's in front of you except the floor, and I don't like not knowing what's in front of me. I mean I REALLY don't like not knowing what's in front of me. But He is letting me see my life from a different perspective and He is giving me the prospect of renewed hope . . . maybe not now, but Someday.

When you are facedown on the floor there is no pretending you've got it all together. Being on your face is humbling . . . and incredibly lonely . . . and frankly, there's not much to do down here but be patient and pray. A lot. I think that has been the point. He is causing me to wait on Him (even when all I can see is the floor) and to TRUST that He will provide what I need in His time.

My Matthew 6 verses for today:
"When you pray, go into your closet and close the door . . . don't do it for show. Don't be like those who only pretend to be holy. Your Father knows what you need even before you ask him."

I have a lengthy prayer list I have been praying through every day for two months already, but I'm committed to continue praying for the entire list every day through 2011. Last year I would have found this tedious . . . this year it feels like a privilege. But don't expect to see me praying . . . I'll be doing so in my closet.

where my heart is

Instead of a resolution for 2011, I've decided to claim Matthew 6 as my chapter for the year. Why? Because I think it encompasses most of my spiritual strengths. And, as many of us know, our greatest strengths are almost always our greatest weaknesses as well.

I'm starting today with the part that reads,
"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

I already know where my heart is. My heart is in the same place it has been for as long as I can remember. But sometimes the "treasure" part gets out of whack.

Today I asked my five best girlfriends what they saw as my greatest gift. Not surprising to me, four of the five listed generosity in some form. I say "not surprising" because I like to bless others with what God has given me. It makes me feel good. The weakness to this is that sometimes I think I deserve my treasure too . . . I think I deserve to be blessed with what I want. (And I do believe with all my heart that He wants to bless me with the things that are good for me . . . but I HAVE to learn patience and wait for His timing.)

That being said, as part of the "waiting" process, I have decided to clear out the clutter in my life. For one, I have WAY more stuff than I need. And I am not a "stuff" person. So beginning today, I plan to give away one thing every day. And, since it's not a leap year, that means by December 31, my house will have 365 fewer items in it than it has now.

I plan to blog about Matthew 6 for the next few days, so if you're looking for a chuckle, you probably won't find it here. However, if you're looking for free stuff, you might. :)

And just so you know, it's BYOB . . . Bring Your Own Box.

movie meme

1. Name a movie that you have seen more than 5 times.
You've Got Mail
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
The Lion King
Shawshank Redemption
Toy Story
Jurassic Park
The Sound of Music
Men in Black
Hitch
Jaws
Psycho
Rear Window

2. Name a movie that you’ve seen multiple times in the theater.
(3 times each)
The Lion King
Chicago
Red

3. Name an actor/actress that would make you more inclined to see a movie.
Tommy Lee Jones
Will Smith
Morgan Freeman
Bruce Willis
Dustin Hoffman
Jeff Bridges
Alfred Hitchcock

4. Name an actor/actress that would make you less likely to see a movie.
Will Ferrell (excepting "Stranger Than Fiction")
Rob Schneider
Keanu Reeves
Woody Harrelson
Toni Collette

5. Name a movie that you can and do quote from.
(These are more quotes that I use in real life on a regular basis.)
America's Sweethearts ("She's on Prozac?! " "If ONLY . . . the dog.")
Airplane ("I am serious . . . and don't call me Shirley"!)
Lion King ("You have NO idea.")
Princess Bride (“Inconceivable!”)
Twister (“I gotta go Julia! WE GOT COWS!!!”)
Monty Python & the Holy Grail (“It's only a flesh wound")
Ferris Bueller's Day Off ("Anyone? Anyone?)
Men In Black ("A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals, and you know it.)
Apollo 13 ("Houston, we have a problem.")
Psycho ("Mother . . . isn't quite herself today.")
Goodbye Girl ("I AM decent. I also happen to be naked.")
Kindergarten Cop ("It's not a TUMAH")
Pirates of the Caribbean ("Where's the RUM???")
When Harry Met Sally ("I'll have what SHE'S having.")

6. Name a movie musical that you know all of the lyrics to all of the songs
The Lion King
The Sound of Music
The Little Mermaid
Chicago
Annie
Newsies

7. Name a movie that you have been known to sing along with
Raiders of the Lost Ark - "dun da dun daaaa, dun da daaaaa, dun da dun daaaa, dun da da da da" Sing with me!!!

8. Name a movie that you would recommend everyone see.
To inspire or change you:
Crash
The Blind Side
Martian Child
Les Miserables
Seven Pounds

Fairly recent fun movies:
Red
The A-Team
Despicable Me
Star Trek
Avatar

9. Name a movie that you own.
Any movie previously mentioned and available on dvd . . . plus a myriad of chick flicks, most Harrison Ford movies (Indiana Jones, Jack Ryan, Star Wars, etc.), King Kong, the library of Pixar & Disney, some Stephen King, some John Grisham, some M. Night Shyamalan, some Coen Brothers, some Alfred Hitchcock, and pretty much any disaster movie threatening the end of the world as we know it. Oh, and about 10 dozen others.

10. Name an actor that launched his/her entertainment career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops.
Will Smith. No contest.

11. Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven’t yet gotten around to.
Schindler's List.

12. Ever walked out of a movie?
So far, all of them.

13. Name a movie that made you cry in the theater.
See #12.

14. Popcorn?
Rarely. I LOVE it, but I can't justify paying $6 for something I can pop at home for 75c. And, NO butter.

15. How often do you go to the movies?
Average: once every 6 weeks.

16. What’s the last movie you saw in the theater?
True Grit. Love those Coen Boys.

17. What’s your favorite/preferred genre of movie?
I gave this a bit of thought. I don't think I have one. A good movie is a good movie. For me, it MUST have, and I cannot emphasize the importance of this enough, it MUST have great dialogue.

18. What’s the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?
The Jungle Book, though it was actually at the drive-in

19. What movie do you wish you had never seen?
Hmmmm . . . if I had to pick just one movie, I would say, "The Hours." I wish I had "the hours" back that I spent watching it. Dreadful.

20. What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed?
I tried to enjoy "Inglorious Basterds", I really did. I wanted to. But I just couldn't make it past the gore to appreciate the humor. So . . . weirdest movie I've enjoyed? Fargo. Or Supergator. They're both so similar . . . :)

21. What is the scariest movie you’ve seen?
The Shining. Silence of the Lambs. The Ring. None so scary now.

22. What is the funniest movie you’ve seen?
I rarely like comedies that are JUST comedies . . . i.e., most anything starring a Saturday Night Live alum. I like movies with action or a story that also happen to BE funny. BUT, for strictly giggles, the movie that makes me laugh hysterically no matter how many times I see it . . . Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Hands down.

23. Great books that were also great movies?
For me . . . Hamlet, Little Women, and several John Grisham's.

24. Great books that were not-so-great movies?
Most of the movies based on Stephen King stories seriously do NOT do him justice. (There are a FEW exceptions.)

give peach a chance

She was two, and OH SO cute. She had definitely NOT earned the "terrible" nickname that particular age brings to so many toddlers. She was good-natured and imaginative and verbal.

But on this particular day, she was quiet. Really quiet. And at first you, as a parent, don't notice 'quiet'. It's peaceful. That's why they call it "peace and quiet". But then suddenly 'quiet' screams at you like an airhorn: SHE IS TOO QUIET. WHAT IS SHE DOING? IS SHE BREATHING? HAS SHE FALLEN INTO THE TOILET HEAD FIRST? Of course, all these thoughts go through your head in less time than it takes you to gasp.

On my way up the stairs, I called out frantically, "Kacey?"
"Wha mommy?"
(Sigh of relief. Panic subsided. Heart rate returned to normal.)
"What are you doing?"
"I play wif da soap."

Whew. Play with the soap. Good. Wait. Play with the soap? What soap? The only soap upstairs is in the bathtub, and she can't reach it. Investigation became urgent.

At the door of my room I found her sitting in the middle of the bed. It took a second or two to assess what I was seeing. In the middle of my very 1980's peach comforter was a reddish stain the size of a large Rorschach ink blot. Was it blood? No, too purple. Finger paint? No, there's no finger paint upstairs . . . OHHHH, but there IS paint for FINGERS upstairs.

Kacey, wearing nothing but her big girl panties, swiveled around to reveal a bottle of nail polish in one hand, a very decorated Winnie-the-Pooh in the other hand, and a tummy covered with "soap".

It was clear (unfortunately the nail polish was not), that the comforter was ruined. As was Pooh Bear, her favorite "baby". But how could I be upset at something that stinkin' cute? I couldn't. I said, "Honey, don't move. Mommy will be right back!" And I ran to get the camera.

The comforter became history. Kacey's tummy stayed "pretty" for several days until the polish wore off in the bath, 'cause there was no way I was rubbing my baby down with acetone. And the mauve-painted Pooh was discreetly replaced by a new, clean Pooh.

I just realized it's not often you get to say "new clean Pooh" in a blog. Or in real life, for that matter.

2023: A Displaced Odyssey

Walking uphill, alone on a cracked sidewalk, I was just past the outskirts of an old town. Walking toward me in the street was a guy I recognized, I think from high school. He still looked the same as when I knew him, but as we got closer it was apparent he was drunk, and had an empty brown bottle in his hand. He smiled and I smiled back. After he had passed by, I looked over my shoulder. He had stopped behind a telephone pole. When he saw me look back, he threw the bottle at me, which shattered on the sidewalk in front of me. I said, “That wasn’t very nice. I’m barefoot.” As I maneuvered around the broken glass, he continued to throw things at me - rocks, trash, cans. But he was so drunk, both his strength and his aim were greatly affected, so I walked on unthreatened. It was all very Stanley Kubrick, in “A Clockwork Orange” kind of way.

I arrived to a rundown diner, now accompanied by someone else. I asked my boss - a petite, 60ish woman - if my friend could join us. The friend also asked if she was welcome, and the boss replied, “You will always be welcome, as long as you have not had any contact with live, warm animals.”

Looking around the kitchen, there were about 15 people. I assumed we were about to start serving food in the diner, when my boss said, “Stephanie, you’re first.” So I got a metal tray, like from a prison cafeteria, took it over to her, and she sprinkled an assortment of food onto it - pieces of a fried egg, what looked to be chunks of chicken-fried steak, and some green vegetables. They were just scattered across the tray and not compartmentalized into groups. The boss lady then said, “Go to your pod and eat.” I realized then that the food was being rationed and this was my portion. I walked out to the parking lot to find my car. The parking lot was grown up with weeds. Boxes and piles of junk were littered throughout, almost like an old salvage yard. I walked back to my car, the 1983 white Chevy S-10 blazer I had years ago, intending to get inside to sit down. When reaching the car, however, I realized the floorboards had been filled with soil, and we were growing vegetables inside. I remember thinking this was 2023.

Then my cell phone alarm went off and I woke up. I fully intended to blog about socks today, but this takes precedence because I don’t want it to slip away as dreams often do.

I’m usually good with interpretation, but this SyFy weirdness has me stumped.
Anyone? Anyone?

it's worth repeating

"Nursing on Peppermint Sticks"

I did not feed my children sugar until they were 2. Even then, they were more likely to get it from other sources than from me. My theory: why give it to them when they don't even know what they're missing? Anyway, the Christmas when Kevin was 11 months old, Kacey (7) wanted to decorate the tree with a whole red and white candy-cane motif. We hung shrink-wrapped candy canes, strung peppermint garland and made a huge bow for the top from red & white striped ribbon. It turned out really cute!

Kevin, (having never had a nursery, nor a crib because we're "family bed" people) was, what I call, a "wandering baby". You never knew where he was going to be when you woke up. One particular morning during the holiday season (I believe it was "8 Maids a-Milking" day), I woke to funny little noises coming from the living room. Upon further inspection, those funny little noises turned out to be my barely-steady-on-his-feet baby boy, standing as high on tiptoes as his footie pajamas would allow, neck outstretched like a Serengeti giraffe, nursing the end of a peppermint stick. Apparently he had sucked the plastic wrap off the end, then continued to lick and slurp it to a sharp point. The funny little noises were his grunts and groans as he neared the end of his height range in relation to the dwindling candy cane. The look on his little face told me what his lack of verbal communication could not: "Me like sugar."

As a wandering baby he did many other funny little things like sleepwalk, pee on his sister (well, almost!), and sleep in the kitchen cabinet. Oh, other stories for other days!

25 Christmassy Things

1. Favorite Holiday Memory - Kevin licking the candy canes off the Chritmas tree when he was barely old enough to stand up.
2. Favorite Holiday Song - “O Holy Night” - 'Fall on your knees' gives me cold chills every single time I hear it. Although Harry Connick Jr.’s “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” works for me too. :o) (**I also highly enjoy my Charlie Brown Christmas cd that Kacey bought me, and Mikey’s “Candlelight Processional Disney Massed Choir” cd he recorded when he was in high school.)
3. Favorite Holiday Cartoon - How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the animated version!)
4. Favorite Holiday Movie - Die Hard! But I’m also a sucker for “It’s a Wonderful Life”.
5. Wrapping Paper or Gift bags? Both. I like the looks of wrapping paper better, and I LOVE big bows, but I hate the thought of 3 trees in Oregon giving their lives just so we can rip it up and throw it away . . . so gift bags or gift boxes would be more honest.
6. Real tree or artificial? Fake, baby! Although I LOVE the smell of pine, I again hate the thought of a tree withering away in my den when it could be thriving outdoors. Besides, the last time we cut a real tree, some critter hatched out in the house and we were bug-infested the entire season. Ick!
7. When do you put up the tree? Thanksgiving weekend. Usually. This year was later because when I went to get the tree out of the utility room, there was no tree. Apparently I got rid of it last year when I was feeling scroogey, so I had to go buy another tree.
8. More importantly, when do you take down the tree? New Year’s Day. I’m firm on this one. When the season is over, doggone it, turn off your giant inflatable penguins and take down the garland. I will give you about a one-week grace period on this one, and then I will be yelling at your house from my car, “CHRISTMAS IS OVER!!!! TURN OFF THE LIGHTS!!!”
9. Favorite Gift? Hmmmm . . . the funniest one was a GIGANTIC can of ravioli my parents thought would be good for a laugh. It was. The most creative was from my boyfriend who did a “12 days of Christmas” thing that included a lot of sweet and fun things like matchbox cars and fur coat charms and a diamond necklace. I’ll have to blog about that sometime . . .
10. Hardest person to buy for? Dad. What to get dad? I never do know.
11. Easiest person to buy for? I used to say Kacey or mom, because they both like what I like! But really, it's the cowboy. He writes out a VERY detailed Christmas list about a mile long containing several thousand dollars worth of items he can't live without. I take the list to the nearest Saddle Boy store, ask them what I can get off this list of x-amount of dollars, have them put it in a burlap feed sack with a green bow and call it good.
12. Greeting cards? Nope. Sorry, just don’t do them. Again, I don't see sacrificing trees just to say "Merry Christmas", but I’m happy to open yours as long as you don't include one of those "this is how wonderful my family is" newsletters!
13. Nativity Scene? Uh uh . . . I don’t even have family pictures displayed in my house, so this is not a big surprise. Jesus is in my heart, but not on top of my entertainment center. Sorry to disappoint.
14. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? SUSHI!!! HaHa. Okay, truthfully it's grandmama’s oyster dressing. Yum!
15. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer? Yeah, Grumpy, Sleepy, Dopey and Fred.
16. Angel on top of the tree? Sticks and twigs and berrys and spirally things that stick out everywhere. Love it. When the kids were little we usually topped the tree with a Santa hat.
17. Open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning? One present only on Christmas eve, the rest on Christmas morning, or whenever daughter-face and son-in-law and baby girl come in.
18. Best part of the holidays? Playing games. Especially ones that I win. Like Boggle. Or Trivial Pursuit. Or Scrabble. I will seriously kick your tail at Scrabble.
19. Worst part of Christmas? Missing people who should be sharing the holiday with me. That, and taking down the tree and getting used to seeing the house look “naked” again.
20. Weirdest Christmas memory? Asking for a doll that looked like me, and getting a Raggedy Ann doll. Not a great self-esteem booster, though now that I see her again . . . round face, pale skin, thick ankles, unruly red hair . . .
21. Colored lights or white? White, LOTS OF THEM, but NO BLINKING!
22. Ever been Christmas caroling? Yes, but it's been a LONG while! Mostly I just Christmas Carol to myself in the car . . .
23. Ever been ice skating? Once, in Alaska, while pushing Kacey in a stroller. Cold, but FUN!
24. Candy Canes or Gingerbread? Gingerbread, but star-shaped sugar cookies with colored sugar sprinkles are even better!
25. Christmas quirk? When the kids were little, I wouldn't let them see the presents under the tree or open their stockings until everybody was awake and their hair was brushed. (It's a photographer thing. Or a control-freak thing. Who, me?) :o)

NAME THAT HOLIDAY MOVIE:

1. A tiny little boy is separated from his family.
2. When his mother finds him, he is thousands of miles from her.
3. His 5-year-old sister saves her coins, one at a time, to help save her little brother.
4. Legal red tape keeps them apart for months upon months.
5. His parents scrimp and save and pray every day for their son who, halfway around the world, doesn't even know they miss him.
6. After a long, long time, the precious little boy hears that his family has found him and is coming to get him as soon as they possibly can.
7. You buy a t-shirt.

What?

Okay, so it's not a movie. At least not yet. It's the story of my amazing friends, Philip & Sara, who are adopting a little boy with special needs from an orphanage in west Africa. The legal work is nearly finished, their son DOES know they are coming to bring him home, and you CAN help write the end.

They need to raise $15,000 dollars to finish this journey.
Sound like a lot of money?
How much are your children worth?

Go. Seek. Love.

Seriously, go seek love. As in
http://www.goseeklove.com/ and buy a t-shirt. Or buy 2 t-shirts. Or buy t-shirts for your whole family. If you do it before December 13, this sweet family gets the proceeds donated to their adoption fund.

You are likely to spend hundreds, even thousands of dollars this season to spoil your children, indulge your appetite, take a vacation, and deck your halls with boughs of Hallmark . . . while this little boy waits in an orphanage for his dad and mom and sister and brother, who are already crazy-in-love with him, to come get him and bring him home.

Come on, if that doesn't tug at your heartstrings, your name must be Ebeneezer.

"God bless us, one and all." Now buy a t-shirt. Please.

(If you would simply like to make a tax-deductible donation, please email me - stephanie@reidland.org and I would be privileged to help you do so. Also, you can click HERE to read about their adoption journey. Merry Christmas to you all.)

when harry met sushi

Harry: There are two kinds of people: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally: Which one am I?
Harry: You're the worst kind; you're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance.
Sally: I don't see that.
Harry: You don't see that? "Waiter, I'll begin with a house salad, but I don't want the regular dressing. I'll have the balsamic vinegar and oil, but on the side. And then the salmon with the mustard sauce, but I want the mustard sauce on the side."
"On the side" is a very big thing for you.
Sally: Well, I just want it the way I want it.
Harry: I know; high maintenance.

The last time the kids and I went for sushi, we ordered several of our favorite rolls loaded with things like raw tuna, tobiko (flying fish roe), wasabi, seaweed and the likes. Besides Kevin's aversion to all things avacado, we love every oversized bite, and are happy to eat it exactly as the chef creates it. Low maintenance, right?

Maybe not.

Server: "What can I get you to drink?"
Kevin: "Ice water please."
Server: "Lemon?"
Kevin: "No thanks."
Kacey: "I'll have a water too."
Server: "Lemon for you?"
Kacey: "Yes, and can I also have the lemon my brother didn't want?"
Me: "I'd like a water too, please, but can I have it without ice?"
Server: "You don't want ice in your ice water?"
Me: "Right. I don't want ice water, I just want water."
Server: "Lemon?"
Me: "Yes, but on the side."
Server: "So three waters. One with no lemon. One with lemon and an extra lemon. And one with no ice and a lemon on the side."

"Exactly. And can we have forks as well as chopsticks, three additional small plates, and instead of the regular soy sauce, will you bring us the low-sodium soy sauce? Oh, yeah, and a little spicy mango sauce . . . on the side?"

High maintenance? Nah. I just want it the way I want it.

I leave a great tip. I promise.

no shave november

My 17-year-old son has decided to take "No Shave November" literally. Fine. I don't really care, after all, it IS HIS face. If he wants to walk around for a month looking like a germinating Chia Pet, so be it. And while his beard is not entirely wimpy, he IS a Ginger*, so the stubble he has accrued to this point isn't really visible unless you are invading his personal space.

The other night, one of his friends commented that with his unkempt red hair and bristly little chin whiskers, he looks decidedly like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo.

"Cool," he replied, "I LOVE Scooby-Doo!"

Now, I may not care so much about his appearance, but his entertainment viewing is whole 'nuther ballgame. After all, I raised him and I have a reputation to uphold.

"How can you love Scooby-Doo?" I questioned. "I mean, I get watching it once or twice, but after that it's the same identical plot every single episode!"

My son, as witty as he is scruffy, simply replied,
"You watch 'House', don't you?"

Touché.


*Ginger: According to South Park, Gingers are children with red hair, light skin, and freckles. All Gingers are born with a disease called "Gingervitus", which occurs because Gingers "have no souls." Due to their light skin, Ginger Kids must avoid the sun -- not unlike vampires.

P.S. - For you brainiacs who also happen to love Scooby-Doo, enjoy this little quiz from "Mental Floss": http://www.mentalfloss.com/quiz/quiz.php?q=94

"It's Not that Easy Bein' Green" or You Bet Your Asperillus

Monday was "National Clean Out Your Refrigerator" day. Seriously. I don't make this stuff up. And I fully intended to celebrate the holiday in style with red glitter and possibly a Jell-0 salad, and I had planned to wear an old t-shirt from my breastfeeding days that reads, "Got Milk? I do!". But I got distracted by a Jim Gaffigan special on Netflix, getting my tush kicked by Jessica in an iPod Scrabble game, a ninja war with a small but defiant rodent, and the resurgence of the McRib, and I forgot.

Better late than never, right? After all, if I weren't a procrastinator, my fridge would be all Fly Lady sparkly and organized and I wouldn't have found myself donning the yellow rubber gloves to tackle this job, would I?

I began with the top shelf, a shelf useful only for items under five inches tall. Hummus, sour cream, cottage cheese, jams & jellies, and yogurt, because as much as I hate yogurt, I seem to be unable to stop buying it. So, I checked the printed expiration date on the sides of each one, because yogurt tastes exactly the same before, after, and even WAY after it has "gone bad". The top shelf also contained seven - SEVEN jars of jalapenos. Why? Apparently to keep the 8 jars of salsa from getting lonely. I must have been planning a Cinco de Mayo party back in June when I discovered my mistake. Anyway . . . I combined the half-empty jars, the mostly empty jars, and the one that seemed to have been saved for the juice alone, reducing the jalapeno count to three, but all of the salsas had crusty residue under the lids, so they had to go.

I discovered something on the middle shelf that required a Haz-Mat Team. I'm pretty certain, at one time, that toxic Tupperware actually contained a half-eaten block of sweetened Philadelphia Cream Cheese surrounded by blackberries. Today, all covered in enough fuzz to be president of the Hair Club for Men, it looked more like Dead Possum in a Snap-n-Seal.

At some point, an Olive Garden take-home box dripping with butter had been shoved onto the bottom shelf, and had collided with an 18-count carton of brown eggs, cracking one of the eggs, and overturning some heavy cream and a not-quite-closed jar of grated parmesan. The result was a petrified Alfredo Sauce strong enough to cement styrofoam containers to plexiglass.

Finally, in the crisper drawers, I saw my first UFO (Unidentified Fermenting Object), which appeared to be both a solid and a liquid in one gelatinous blob, and something that could, quite possibly, be a shrunken head from the Huambisa tribe in the Amazon Basin. Or an old plum. Hard to tell.

After utilizing an entire bottle of vinegar (because I'm trying to be "green"), an entire roll of paper towel (because I'm not THAT "green"), the shop-vac and the air compressor, the job was complete.

I'm so relieved "National Clean Out Your Refrigerator Day" only comes around once a year. I'd hate to have to do this every week.

my, uh, mayah

She is 9 weeks old and as beautiful as her mom. She has changed and grown so much since last month! The best thing is now she smiles at everything and even giggles a bit. I LOVE HER SO MUCH!!!

amendment a

Friday I was awakened by the cowboy's alarm clock at 4:15 a.m. (because he has four new calves to feed), so yesterday doesn't count. Today I am in Indy with the kids, sleeping on the futon. I woke up, checked my ipod (which was still on, because I fell asleep while watching "Arrested Development" on Netflix), and . . . 5:38.

We are, of course, on Eastern Time.

does it mean anything to you?

This is not really a blog, so much as it is making note of something.

5:38 a.m.

I have been waking every morning for a couple of weeks now at 5:38 a.m. No alarms, no reason, just waking and glancing at my cell phone to see the time. Sometimes I go back to sleep, sometimes not.

I don't always look to see the time, but when I do, for the last few weeks, it's always 5:38. I haven't checked since last week, but today, as soon as I woke, I glanced at my phone - 4:38.

FOUR-thirty-eight? Oh yeah, time change.

When I wake early, I always assume God is waking me so we can talk. So I pray, and listen. But why THAT specific time? Any ideas?

oreo speedwagon

I love my new little minivan. Mostly. See, I've had this Honda Odyssey for ten weeks now, two-and-a-half months, seventy days, and I CANNOT GET USED TO THE STUPID BUTTONS!!! Everything is backwards. Granted, I've been driving Ford products for the last two decades, but sheesh! The gear shift is on the dashboard, not on the right side of the steering column, so every time I try to put it in reverse, I wash the back window. The back wipers twist to turn on, the front wipers click up to turn on, though if you click up three times, the back wipers still come on. If you click down, the back wipers will squirt fluid and start to swish. The headlights are on the left of the steering column, where the wipers SHOULD be, so every time I try to turn on the headlights, you guessed it, I wash the back window. And who KNOWS where the blinkers are, as I have to search for them each and every time. The door buttons pull back to unlock the car, but push up to unroll the windows, so when I attempt to lock the doors, I roll down the windows instead. And the handle to pop the hood??? Let's just hope I don't have engine trouble any time soon. Though if I do, you can rest assured I will have the cleanest back window in the Honda service department.

a little nap moo-sic

If you're over the age of 24, you probably remember the "cow toy" or maybe even the "pig toy". Back in the late 80's you could see these toys displayed on tables in front of certain mall stores like Kirklands or KB Toys. These animals would waddle a couple of steps, make their appropriate animal noise and wag their tail or wiggle their nose or some such cuteness.

We were lucky enough to own both such farm critters.

When Kacey was a baby, we did the whole nursery thing: crib, rocking chair, changing table, toy chest, etc. After investing several hundred dollars in this set-up, I discovered I didn't like the changing table AND that we were "family bed" people, meaning the only time we got crib use was when I wanted to clean house during her nap time . . . like, say, once a month or so.

On one such day when Kacey was about 7 months old, she fell asleep and, feeling an inexplicable need to vacuum, I took her upstairs, put her in the crib with some of her "babies", covered her with a blanket, and pulled the nursery door closed, leaving her to snooze peacefully for a couple of hours. I would check on her from time to time, as Kacey was such a good-natured baby that she almost never cried. When she woke, she would just wait quietly, staring at her toes or making mouth bubbles or whatever else 7-month-old babies do. On this day, however, she woke SCREAMING. Not the "I'm hungry" cry, or the "Where are you, I'm all alone" whimper, not even the "I HAVE DIAPER RASH AND MY TUSHY BURNS!!!!" wail. This was a full-blown scream of terror.

I flew up the stairs (as all super-moms do), rushed into her room to find her flailing in one corner of her crib, blanket entagled around her feet as she frantically attempted to escape it. Poor kid. I picked her up, checked her out, and soothed her mini-freak-out. She was fine. Once I had her quieted down, I heard a tiny little recurring "mooooo" from under the blanket that had been twisted around her feet. I turned off the little cow she must have inadvertantly kicked on in her sleep, and we went off to play.

A few days later we were sitting in the floor of her room reading books and playing with blocks, when I set the cow between us and flipped him on. He started to waddle and before he could "moo", Kacey was in full-blown screaming freak-out mode.

Seems when she kicked on our little bovine friend, his electronic noises woke her, and not being able to escape from under the blanket that imprisoned them both, she experienced her first panic attack.

She never could play with the cow again.

Though, every now and again, for my own sadistic entertainment, I would flip it on in front of her and laugh. Seems Super-Mom has a dark side.