Thirteen Things I Did Today

...that I don't usually do.

Thirteen Things about Jamie 1. Toured a newspaper. 2. Met with MY EDITOR! 3. Had my photo taken for THE PAPER! 4. Drove downtown BY MYSELF. 5. Had lunch with my husband. 6. At a restaurant called McCoy's 7. Went shopping BY MYSELF 8. Bought a "skinny" undergarment. 9. Resisted buying something just because it was a good deal. (okay, I do that some, but today I resisted even trying the good deal on) 10. Walked in the rain 11. Put on mascara. Actually I put on quite a few things besides eyeliner. 12. Watched a movie. 13. Picked up a tux for my little son. Can you believe those puppies run $91.00!? And that is with the $20 "discount." You can tell my kids are with Grandma, can't you? Go visit: Tess

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The Cupcake Fiasco

Since Camy asked, drum roll please....

THE CUPCAKE FIASCO!!!!

I got up Thursday morning with much to do. Ice Skating Lessons. Dinner preparations for friends. Most importantly, to buy or make the cake of my child's choice for his birthday. Wednesday I'd asked him what kind of cake he wanted. Since the kids change their minds on a whim, I never plan ahead for this celebration. They can be certain that they want Mom's home made red velvet cake made into a rocket, be walking past the clearance cakes at Wal-mart, see day old Jimmy Neutron cupcakes and never look back.

So Wednesday evening (before my trip to the store for supplies) I asked him what he wanted.

"Chicken Little Cupcakes."

okay....not even a blip on the screen until this moment. I ran out to the store to see if they had anything Chicken Little to make into Chicken Little cupcakes. They did not. No problem, I think, ice skating lessons are near a Party City. If anyone has Chicken Little cupcake toppers, they will. They didn't. And while at Party City, son-of-mine changes his mind thirty-seven times about what kind of birthday theme he wants. He settled on Over the Hedge decor and "Cars" cupcakes (with the little sugar toppers). Financial out-go $12 something.

Back to Wal-mart to buy cake mix for cupcakes. I, silly me, decided to make Angel Food cupcakes. I've had them, I know it can be done, and I prefer angel food. On our way out, I notice that they do a Chicken Little cupcake/cake thing. I notice it is $17. I decide not to point this out to little son.

Home to make angel food cupcakes. The person who served them to me insists at my call that she's never made them despite my insistent memory that she told me "that's the way I always do it." Apparently I'm wrong. I butcher one whole pan. Not sure if it is the fact that the cupcake pan is not pampered chef stoneware, though the PC cupcakes look pretty decent. There is no way I'm serving my mother-in-law messed up cupcakes so on my trip to the store for potatoes, I give up and buy "cheap" 2 for $5 half dozen packs of frosted cupcakes.

Son is thrilled to put his "cars" sugar toppers on bought cupcakes with puffy frosting and sprinkles, mom wishes she's gone to Wal-Mart first thing Wednesday night and ordered the really cool Chicken Little cupcake/cake thing. But no, I wanted to obey the unwritten stay-at-home mom code of ethics and bake my son his birthday cake.

Pretty sure I would have saved money. I know I would have saved sanity.

I read this in less than a day! Time well spent.

My Son Thinks He's Black Part 2

In our continued saga of race at our house I feel inclined to give account of the birthday presents. A few weeks ago I found a garage sale that was so full of GI Joes (after my lament that you can't find them in stores around here) that I bought a bunch of stuff. Two Joes and enough gear for many more. One Joe is red-headed with a goatee, the other is very brown. Not that I bought one for one boy and the other for the other, but I had a hunch that they'd split them that way.

So, my little guy opens his gift (the box contained both Joes and their gear), pulls out the red-head and tells his brother, "This one for you!" He pulls out the brown one and says, "And this one for me!"

And while we are on the subject of color, my daughter was trying to describe one of our friends, but she couldn't remember his name. "The one who tries to eat my thumb." She is trying to overcome that nasty thumb-sucking habit. "You know Mom, the one that we see at church." I guessed, wrong. "The one that has curly hair." Wrong guess again. "He comes over because he needs his hair cut sometimes."

Oh......

What an adult would have said: That African-American fellow. You know, that gives announcements at church every Sunday and eats dinner with you?

At which point did we start shortcutting our way to discriptions by using color? I mean it seems logical. The Black-White ratio at our church is balanced heavily towards white. We'd skip to the obvious differences first. Kids? They don't even see it. Or they see it, but it doesn't occur to them to place any emphasis on it.

Unless, say, they are requesting a brown baby to come live with them. Then, don't try any sneaky "brown hair and eyes, but pink skin" on them. They aren't stupid, ya know.

Just finished and it was incredible (but definately secular so be prepared for that):

My Baby's 3 and the Robins Flew

My baby turned three today. Three years ago I was in transition. Today, as I stood in line for rollercoasters, I decided it could definitely be worse. :D

After the cupcake fiasco (which I won't even go in to tonight, but yesterday's vanity thing included a cupcake fiasco) we didn't even eat them. What kind of birthday doesn't include cake? The kind that includes ice cream, strawberry soda and cotton candy. I guess we'll have cupcakes tomorrow.

My robins flew today. Such a short, sweet time we get them. A nice reminder as my baby celebrates another year.

Vanity, Thy Name Ain't Mom

Yes, it was one of "those" days. I didn't get into the shower for hours. When I finally did, and got dressed, I promptly dumped coffee all over my clothes. Not having the time or energy to change clothes before I rushed off to my daughter's ice skating class, I blotted it off.

Hee-hee, I chortled to myself, I have to wear a jacket in the rink anyway, no one will know.

Except I forgot how much two year olds, without an external source of entertainment, really enjoy playing with zippers. Oh, and he got me on the up-zip. Read: large red welt on my neck.

I looked down during the class and there is a blob (not the dark coffee stain) of something on my jeans. I went to two, count them two, stores after ice skating class. Later, I changed into shorts that are much too big. I should be thankful, but big isn't always flattering. Sometimes it just says I'm too much of a slob to buy clothes that fit.

And then the pinnacle of my day. Not quite. I haven't mentioned that my hair air-dried and hasn't been combed since. Nor that I didn't get much on in the way of makeup. But no, I'm not done. When I began supper, not just for my family, but for another one as well (and they knew it was coming and at a certain time) I discovered my potatoes were rotten. When I should have been peeling potatoes I was strapping on my children's shoes and mine and boogying all of us to the van to get to the store. I slide into one black flip flop and look for the other. The only other flip flop in the room is navy. I was late and couldn't find another, in the room or in my closet. I wore the mis-matched shoes to the store. And to take my friends dinner. And around the house later.

But the insistent question in my mind is not why I did that tonight. Oh, no. It is for how many days have I been doing this without knowing? And where is the other mis-matched pair?

Thirteen Things I Love to Eat

....without mentioning ice cream novelties. Because how many times can you say Dove Unconditional Chocolate Ice Cream without looking like a whack-o?

1. Espinaca at Jose Peppers.
2. My mother's fried chicken
3. Colby-Jack cheese
4. Does Pepsi count?
4 again. Steak fajita quesidillas at El Toro
5. Oh, my, those truffles at Le Fou Frog
6. Fudge bars. Oh yeah, no ice cream novelties
6 again. Roasted turkey
7. Chilled soups. The sweet ones, not the spicy ones.
8. Crab legs
9. General Tso's Chicken
10. A perfectly ripe nectarine
11. Mezzaluna at Carabbas
12. Double chocolate shakes at Jimmy's diner (ahem)
12 AGAIN. Fajitas
13. Chocolate Angel Food Cake

Man I'm hungry.

Other T13ers:
Tess
Janice
Carol
Nancy

Validation!

You know how you can struggle, wondering whether you are worth anything at anything? Particularly a "gift" like writing. I never wanted to write. Writing a novel was never a dream of mine. My husband's yes. Which is a bummer for me. It is like I get to live his dream.

Anyway.

People told me I was a good writer. That it was something I should do. And I found myself thinking things, word crafting, finding the way I would say it, and eventually I started writing those things down. They were usually one liners. Then I would think of them as titles. Then articles. Finally I even got a book idea or two. And I began to write.

I made the mistake of telling some people what I was up to. They would give me pieces of information about contests. And then I finaled in a contest that had a thousand entries. Oh, and the comments were a bloody massacre. One day I think I'm hot stuff. "I Finaled!" Next, I'm blubbering on the floor because they just don't get it.

I was saying....

So I wrote an article. Got picked up right away. I'm thinking the odds are in my favor and I really must be "good." And then, dry spell. Favorite author calls me talented, agents like my voice, editors call my ideas "whacky, zany, and so apropos." But no one is buying. I began to question what on earth I was doing. Why would a sane person do this to themselves? Don't we have enough rejection in our everyday lives?

Don't even bother pointing out all the tense shifts that happened in that paragraph. I know.

But I tried out, or applied, or something for a columnists position for the local paper a couple weeks ago and the editor (I guess) called and offered the position (shared with five others, I believe). It makes me think...I must not totally stink.

I don't even know at this point if I get paid or if this is a vanity thing. Scary that I'm not even sure I care. Someone thinks I'm okay. Either that or no one else applied. Or they think my theology is just screwey enough that I will make Christianity look bad. Who knows? But for now, I'm going to believe that I just might have a little of that something that makes a writer good.

My Son Thinks He's Black--UPDATED

No, not the brown one, the pink one.

Last night I was reading How To Photograph Your Familywhen my littlest guy pointed to a photo and said, "That me!"

"No, son, it isn't you."

"Yeah, that me!"

After another round or two of that I gave up and said something like it-isn't-anyone-in-our-family-it-is-just-some-kid.

He never said "That brudder!" which would have been a logical conclusion. The child in the photo looked about the same age as his brother, with a similar hair cut and similar melanin in his skin. It looked nothing like my Aryan almost three year old. He held to his beliefs and I quit trying to convince him otherwise.

Just goes to show. My black son never thought he was white. He's picked "himself" out of Clifford books and other picture books since he could talk. But my white son thinks he looks just like his big brother.

And why shouldn't he?

**I feel like I should explain the Aryan reference. My very blond, very blue-eyed husband used to live with a very stereotypical looking Jew. Once, his roomate was on the phone with his long-distance girlfriend (also Jewish) and she asked what my husband looked like. Jason grinned at my husband and told the girl on the phone, "As Aryan as they come. Think I should be worried?"

Over the Hedge

Yesterday morning, my hubs and I took the kids to see Over the Hedge. We were trying the "combat the da Vinci debacle by going to another movie" approach. I was pleasantly surprised with how funny and clean Over the Hedge was. There was a lot of adult humor in it, but none that I feared the kids repeating in their ignorance. There were slightly scary scenes, but not nightmare inducing. The biggest problem was when I was laughing so hard and the kids kept stage whispering, "What are you laughing at Mom?" We all walked away from the movie feeling like it was time well spent. It didn't hurt that all movies were $4 and three and under were free.

I hope there wasn't some glaring indecency in it that I'm going to get pounded for....

Currently reading and currently rivited:

Cyber Cinderella

It has been a while since I've read secular chick-lit. What a different world! I finished Cyber Cinderella last night, and it was a fun read but the sex life of these girls is so far from my experience, ya know? Besides that, it was British, i.e. there are all these words that although are technically English, are so not American. I had fun learning new slang words. I told my husband that we can be insulting people and they wouldn't even know it.

Story value, I give it 4 stars. Family friendly rating gets more like 1.

Grinding my Teeth

Several weeks ago I sent a query to my first adoption attorney, with whom my agency set me up because we were out of state, to see if he would just keep us on file. You know, in case something came up. Six years ago he was still a freelancer. He told us that he kept profiles for families who wanted to adopt Caucasian babies, but that he referred all minority babies to our large, national agency. I, hoping to avoid the ridiculous agency fees, asked if he would reconsider. He sent my email straight to the agency.

I could spit nails.

So they send me an email with a "situation." I said sure providing we could find the fees, what were they?

TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS. Hello? I could fly to Ethiopia/Sudan/Haiti and get a starving child for that.

So, six years ago there was an adoption tax credit. I think it was 2K. Because our son was considered "special needs" we got 5K. A couple years later President Bush raised the tax credit for ANY adoption to 10K. I'm thinking, "Great! This will be so awesome! This will really help people to adopt." Not so. The agencies all just systematically raised their fees by 10K. Let me make more of an impact: $10,000.00. And, by the way, you have to actually owe the government that much to get it back. It isn't like a check just arrives in the mail.

I know I shouldn't put a price on a child's head, but come on, they've already done it.

Further, our "insurance" (also known as a share program) used to cover adoption as if it was maternity, so I could count on at least 4K in help from them. Nope, now they've dropped that. They still put "adoption friendly" on their propaganda, ahem, guidelines, but as far as I can tell, they do very little for adoption. Grrrr.

Yes, I do believe that God is telling me to back off. When/if this baby shows up I will know it was only Him.

You Know You're Urban When...UPDATED

1: You name your restaurant "Le Fou Frog"
2. And people actually show up there
3. Even though your squatty brick building is painted peach
4. and your windows are dingy
5. and your sign is faded
6. and you have hazardous waste signs on your door
7. and you decorate with frogs
8. and you are in the middle of what appears to be an industrial park
9. and you charge between 27 and 74 dollars a plate
10. because your food is fabulous
11. and the menu is in French
12. except for the part about the frog
13. but you have Creme Brule Vanille (visualize all the oomlots etc.)
14. and you give amuse buche while they wait for their soup
15. which is chilled and awesome
16. and truffles with the tab
17. which makes the patron choke
18. if, say, they are from the suburbs
19. and didn't even order the $250 bottle of wine "a favorite of newly famous people."

But hey, you only have one 10th anniversary, God willing.

Pardon my French, I'm a Spanish girl.

**My wonderful husband looked up oomlots for me. Of course I wasn't even close. The correct spelling is umlauts, and they are the double dot over a vowel usually in German. So all you French speakers out there, visualize whatever accent you think would be appropriate and go easy on the poor American English speaker. I still have no idea how far off I am on the amuse busche, except that I remember the old, was it "Friends(?)" episode where they went on and one about being "amused?" I want to say Seinfeld, but I don't think they are responsible for that one.

My Honey

Ten years ago tonight, I was kicking butt and taking names at the local bowling alley. Ten years ago tomorrow, I said my vows. Ten years from now? Who knows? Hopefully I'll be on my way to Hawaii. This one's for you, Hon.

Thirteen things I love about my man:

1. He always puts the toilet seat down.
2. He taught my sons to do it, too.
3. No matter how much weight I gain when I'm pregnant (and I gain a lot) he always weighs more than me.
4. I still love the smell of him.
5. His infectious smile.
6. His un-dying support of me.
7. His willingness to support me and the kids.
8. He eats whatever I cook.
9. And when I don't, he asks where we are going.
10. His broad shoulders.
11. His never-give-up spirit.
12. He is a reader. (Hey, if you are one and he isn't, it is like being unequally yoked!)
13. He never asks where the money has gone.
13. He makes me laugh at the most bizarre times (like when we are having a "discussion").
13. His computer skills.
13. His other skills. (devilish grin)
13. That he makes my list go far beyond thirteen.
13. That he loves brown babies as much as I do.
13. But he still helps make pink babies that are pretty cute.
13. And, what they hey, that he knows famous people and introduces me as if they are just the guy next door and I'm the most fabulous person he has ever met.

When I took you, B, as my husband, I promised in the strength of my commitment to God, to love you, to respect all that you are as an individual and to encourage you to become all that you can be.

As you wife, I promise to submit to you as the head of the house, to create a home for you which is a place of peace and contentment, and to remain faithful to you in all circumstances of life as long as we both shall live.

With these promises, I received you as my husband, trusting the love of God to sustain our union.

I said it then and I still mean it now. I love you Babe.

Scrubbing Bubbles Automatic Shower Cleaner

This Works for Me Wednesday I'm going to take the wimpy route. I'm sure that we at-home moms are supposed to share the ingenious ideas we've created ourselves, but sometimes there is a product out there that just makes our lives easier and we should tell all the other mothers.

I HATE cleaning the shower. I don't know why, but give me a toilet anyday. Actually, I think I do know. It stems back to my college days when I cleaned homes for a living and women would tell me, "There is mold growing in my shower [because I haven't cleaned it since we moved in], do something about that, won't you?" And I'd get out my products and toothbrush and scrub away and bleach out their counters (which of course I was expected to replace at my cost) but couldn't make a dent on the mold/mildew.

Anyway, now it is my shower growing mold and I still hate to clean it. Enter, The Scrubbing Bubbles Automatic Shower Cleaner. I heard the ad last week on my way to Sam's and I thought I'd just check, for giggles sake, if they had one. They did and it was !!!!!$25!!!!! I thought, sheesh, that's a bit high, doncha think? And then I thought of my wonderful husband whose mother is an immaculate housekeeper and I know how the shower drives him crazy because he's never seen a dirty shower. And I thought, well if it works, it'll be well worth every penny.

IT WORKS!!!!!

My shower was filthy. I admit it. And it isn't sparkling clean yet, but I can tell a definite improvement in just four or five days.

I don't know what they cost at the regular store. At Sam's it came with four refill tanks and the cleaner. But if you follow the link they will send you a coupon for $5 off. Of course you can't use coupons at Sam's, but maybe the $5 makes it almost free other places?

Anyway, WORKS FOR ME!

See and link to other works for me's over at Rocks in my Dryer.

Having Words With God

God and I had words this morning at 4:30. Actually, I had words with God. I did the talking. Ranting. Whatever. And then I climbed back in bed and had to eat my words. Not because He gave me the Job rundown of "consider Leviathan" either. I know who is bigger and better which is the primary reason I was so peeved with Him.

But, for inexplicable reasons, He cared about a little tiny thing, and only because I cared.

And my reason for ranting--disappeared.

Tap-Tap-Tap....Just in case you aren't paying attention, Jamie, I AM.

Flee the Night

First, just let me reiterate how much I LOVE Dove Unconditional Chocolate Ice cream. I don't like chunky ice cream. I don't like ice cream with chocolate chips/chunks/or otherwise in it. Typically, chocolate ice cream grosses me out by about the 5th spoonful. This ice cream defies all logic, and yet, I want to inhale the whole pint. RIGHT NOW.

And it only has a little to do with my day.

Having said that, let me also say that I know most people don't read fiction to find profound spiritual truths. I know I don't. I like Christian Fiction because it is clean and not because I want to be led to the Lord or even fed spiritually. Just entertained. But again, read this from Susan May Warren's Flee the Night:

"I've discovered that it's not the big sins that dig at your soul, but the thousands of tiny, seemingly inconsequential ones that slowly gnaw away at any sense of hope."

How about this one?

"You keep going. You don't look back. If you second guess every move, you become paralyzed. Sometimes it's simply taking one breath after another. You look to that breath, then the next, and you live on the hope that maybe your mission means something in the great scheme of things."

And it is a page turning, can't put it down story too.

You can read my full review over at Armchair in a couple days.

Two Places to Visit

First, go here. Now. And get laughed up. Trust me, it's worth it. Don't forget to come back.


Okay, ready? Now go here for some words of wisdom. As I approach my 10th anniversary this week, she is talking directly to me. But I imagine I'm not the only one who could use these words of wisdom.

Need A Lift? How 'Bout A Cry?

http://livedigital.com/content/52110/

This video made me bawl. Maybe it is all the beautiful, colorful children. But I think more than that it is the beautiful, colorful children praying. And in a world that seems intent to rip them apart.

We need to turn our eyes to Jesus and teach our children to do the same.

My Mom

To the woman who declared, "You aren't sick if you don't have a fever. Get up and go to school!"

To the woman who had a song, no matter the subject: RAINBOW. Caught you didn't I? (Actually, she is humming "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," right now.)

To the woman who insisted I try on 20 wedding dresses because you can't know until you've had on twenty, even if you just know this is the one.

To the woman who makes incomparable pot roast and fried chicken.

I say THANK YOU and I hope you had a wonderful Mother's Day. May I remember your wise words always.

Dibbs, Again

I bought and tried caramel Dibbs this week as my peanut butter 39 grams of fat ran out.

Hush, they were still on sale.

Okay, caramel dibbs, not so much. Sure, they have less fat (not by terrible much, but hey) but if you combine less fat with less taste, why bother? (Says the girl who drinks skim milk dubbed white water by some cream loving relatives/roomates of mine).

No, really, peanut butter Dibbs, regardless of the fat content are worth it, every stinking 2 grams per nickel sized piece.

My husband likes caramel. I guess that is a good thing because I won't waste calories on them. Well, maybe a few.