Check out my (I'm proud to say) friend Jenny's new blog Axis of Beebles; right now she and her family are in China, meeting their 6 year old daughter Rosemary for the first time. She's also blogging periodically at Motherlode at the NYT while in China, so don't forget to read that too. Prayers for safe travel, easy paperwork, good family/Rosemary bonding, and that she somehow won't be able to see the hateful and selfish comments the NYT readers are leaving her would also be appreciated, I'm sure.
What a wonderful adventure she and her family are starting out on!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Feeling Like Failure
I'm exhausted. Ground down to a nub. I don't know how many more ways to say it, but I've had it.
If I have to listen to my children fight one more time my head is going to explode.
I know. You're laughing. You're saying to yourself, "Self, you know so much better than Tari, because you know brothers are destined to hate one another at least 75% of the time. Poor Tari - she'll get over it."
But IT'S. NOT. TRUE. They have never been so nasty, so cruel, so hideous to one another as what I've endured this past month. They can hardly speak to one another without twisting their mouths, as if to gag on their brother's name. Or without screaming. And crying. And whining.
I. am. sick. of. this. It makes me want to quit, to let them be animals to one another (and the rest of the world) if they want to. It makes me want to give up killing myself to get them to activities, to take back the money we spend on tuition and take a two week trip with it - just Husband and I - to Hawaii.
Something, or somebody, has to change. I'm just praying I figure out how to help that happen.
If I have to listen to my children fight one more time my head is going to explode.
I know. You're laughing. You're saying to yourself, "Self, you know so much better than Tari, because you know brothers are destined to hate one another at least 75% of the time. Poor Tari - she'll get over it."
But IT'S. NOT. TRUE. They have never been so nasty, so cruel, so hideous to one another as what I've endured this past month. They can hardly speak to one another without twisting their mouths, as if to gag on their brother's name. Or without screaming. And crying. And whining.
I. am. sick. of. this. It makes me want to quit, to let them be animals to one another (and the rest of the world) if they want to. It makes me want to give up killing myself to get them to activities, to take back the money we spend on tuition and take a two week trip with it - just Husband and I - to Hawaii.
Something, or somebody, has to change. I'm just praying I figure out how to help that happen.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Two and Gaga Exchange Words
Two: "Gaga, you're such a liar!"
Gaga: "What on earth are you talking about?"
Two: "Last Christmas you told me Santa wouldn't come if I was bad, and I was bad and he still came!"
Gaga: Silence.
Gaga: "What on earth are you talking about?"
Two: "Last Christmas you told me Santa wouldn't come if I was bad, and I was bad and he still came!"
Gaga: Silence.
Lileks on Jackson
"I wouldn’t have felt any of this if the event wasn’t being treated as a near-fatal blow to Western Culture in some quarters. He called himself the King of Pop - after which fame and sales ebbed. Of the many lessons in his life, that may be the oldest."
A little wisdom in the late afternoon. Entire piece here.
A little wisdom in the late afternoon. Entire piece here.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
A Sweet Valentine
Yes, I know it's almost July, but read this - just go ahead. You'll be glad you did.
"It took us a long time to understand how blessed we were and from whom such blessings flow. The understanding made us even happier and more grateful, but it also forced humility on us. If we could claim no credit for what made our union good, we could lay no blame on others whose unions went bad. We have been poor and rich together, crazy and sane, mournful and joyous, and I can think of half a hundred times we might have gone down the wrong road or, even worse, failed to turn back and find the right one. If we fared well, it wasn't because we were wise - it certainly wasn't because I was wise. It was only, I think, that the power of what we felt for each other schooled us to trust in love. Love over money, love over politics, love over fashion and philosophies of life: our love - and, in our love, God's - over all."
"It took us a long time to understand how blessed we were and from whom such blessings flow. The understanding made us even happier and more grateful, but it also forced humility on us. If we could claim no credit for what made our union good, we could lay no blame on others whose unions went bad. We have been poor and rich together, crazy and sane, mournful and joyous, and I can think of half a hundred times we might have gone down the wrong road or, even worse, failed to turn back and find the right one. If we fared well, it wasn't because we were wise - it certainly wasn't because I was wise. It was only, I think, that the power of what we felt for each other schooled us to trust in love. Love over money, love over politics, love over fashion and philosophies of life: our love - and, in our love, God's - over all."
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Craftsmen
This piece in Popular Mechanics reminds me of not only my own dad but also of Husband and my grandfather. All three are craftsmen in life - the kind of men who do things well simply for the joy of doing it. They are men who give everything they have to everything they touch; they wouldn't know shoddy work if it walked up and whacked them on the knees. What they have isn't perfectionism - it's nothing as shallow as that. Instead, as the author points out below, it's a desire to make the world around you better by doing each job better than it needs to be done.
"To him, doing work precisely and with care is an end in itself. He often told me about the men he grew up with, fellow machinists and mechanics. To them, doing a job well–better than it needed to be done–was a core ethical principal. He took pride in his craftsmanship. 'The best thing you could say about a man,' my dad often recalls, 'is that he was a good mechanic.' And that was all you needed to say. But my dad also taught me that craftsmanship isn't just about how you build things. He brought that quality to everything: working in the business world, writing books, raising kids, grilling steaks. Craftsmanship is the respect we pay to ourselves, to the people around us, and to the material world we try to shape and improve."
Happy Father's Day to all three of the wonderful craftsmen in my life. May God grant all of you many years!
"To him, doing work precisely and with care is an end in itself. He often told me about the men he grew up with, fellow machinists and mechanics. To them, doing a job well–better than it needed to be done–was a core ethical principal. He took pride in his craftsmanship. 'The best thing you could say about a man,' my dad often recalls, 'is that he was a good mechanic.' And that was all you needed to say. But my dad also taught me that craftsmanship isn't just about how you build things. He brought that quality to everything: working in the business world, writing books, raising kids, grilling steaks. Craftsmanship is the respect we pay to ourselves, to the people around us, and to the material world we try to shape and improve."
Happy Father's Day to all three of the wonderful craftsmen in my life. May God grant all of you many years!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Work in Progress
Knight and his escape plans have led us to try some different options when it comes to crate containment.
This one worked for a day or two. You can see it's not working here, though - crate #2 is empty.
So far, this is the best solution. Poor Lambie - he ate her bed the first time I locked them in together, so she is sleeping on the plastic for now.
It's that or a steel box like they use for police dogs. And I don't have $1,100 handy, so this better work!
This one worked for a day or two. You can see it's not working here, though - crate #2 is empty.
So far, this is the best solution. Poor Lambie - he ate her bed the first time I locked them in together, so she is sleeping on the plastic for now.
It's that or a steel box like they use for police dogs. And I don't have $1,100 handy, so this better work!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
To My Birth-Mother
Hi. Well, I guess that 39 years ago you had one hell of a day. I just wanted to say "hey" and "I love you" and "thanks". Mostly thanks for doing the hard thing, and not finding a doctor who was sypathetic enough to your college-student self to help you get an abortion. Thanks for walking around campus for all those months, hiding under a coat and still having people stare. Thanks for the lost friends, the disapproving aunts, the fights with your parents. Whatever it was you went through, I'm sure it sucked. And so, thanks. Thanks for knowing I was a person even before you heard my heartbeat or felt me move inside you.
I pray that God has blessed you for what you did. I hope that you changed other's minds about life because of your courage. And selfishly, I'd like to think that you'll never forget me.
Thanks always. And I'll never forget you - I promise.
I pray that God has blessed you for what you did. I hope that you changed other's minds about life because of your courage. And selfishly, I'd like to think that you'll never forget me.
Thanks always. And I'll never forget you - I promise.
Happy Birthday to Me
I'm a little older than six now, of course, but I like this birthday picture best:
I'm the one with the big red tomato on her jumper.
I'm the one with the big red tomato on her jumper.
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