The Grass Widow's Diary

Welcome Home Gypsy

2012-01-21T18:15:00.005-06:00

Here is the latest addition to the Grass Widow Household, the no-longer-wandering Gypsy. Two weeks ago she was in a kill shelter when Lone Star Boxer Rescue swooped in to save her. She spent two weeks being kenneled at a vet, she was spayed yesterday, and she came home with us today. She is unbelievably good and sweet, full of kisses she wants to give away, and instantly, madly in love with Knight.
In other words, a keeper.

Slow-Roasted Duck

2012-01-11T21:09:00.003-06:00

I made this recipe tonight for the first time and it was divine. I served it plain, but if you wanted to deglaze the roasting pan while the duck is resting and make a sauce to pour over the duck, that would be a great idea, too. I'm thinking a little dry white wine and maybe a smidgen of honey? Scrumptious.

Here's the duck recipe itself. Well-worth the wait of several hours' roasting time.

1 5-pound duck, backbone cut out, flattened, rinsed and dried
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Garlic powder
Onion powder

1. Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Season duck generously inside and out with salt and pepper, and season the skinless side only with the onion powder and garlic powder. Place in a roasting pan skin-side up and cover with foil.

2. Roast duck for 10 minutes, then lower the temperature to 300 degrees and roast for 2 1/2 hours, skimming off fat at least once.

3. Remove foil. Roast duck for 1/2 to 3/4 of an hour more, until the skin is gloriously brown.

4. Transfer duck to cutting board and let rest 15 minutes. Cut into eight pieces and serve.

Makes enough for three normal people or two hungry ones. Derived from this recipe, which I didn't copy in full mostly because I think beets and turnips are some of the worst tasting things in the universe, and I wan't going to let them near my pwecious bird.

Oh, and don't forget to save the duck drippings in a bowl and skim off the golden goodness of the duck fat when it's cooled. Save in the 'fridge to use when frying the best potatoes you'll ever eat.

Enjoy.

Let's go with "Strongly Disagree"

2012-01-10T09:35:00.006-06:00

I wrote some weeks ago about selfishness and the lack of understanding of what makes most of the world's personal relationships go 'round, after reading the Atlantic's piece All the Single Ladies. Now there's an even fluffier (that's actually a good thing, since the Atlantic piece was as dense as bad fruitcake) bit of nonsense in the New York Times, by author Dominique Browning. In this paean to single womanhood - written, perhaps, as Ann Althouse has posited, to make the Times' large contingent of 50-something female readers feel good - Browning lies on her deck after a fall and thinks happy thoughts about being a single woman. Some gems from this insightful piece include:

"Because many women, once released from marriage, seem to feel that it would take an act of madness to move back into a setup that involves not only housekeeping in all its manifold time-sucking beauty but also husband-keeping." [my emphasis] Really? How about the attendant "wife-keeping" that goes on in a marriage? The "to have and to hold" promised in so many wedding vows? And is the time-suck known as "house-keeping" (never mind that I suspect there's a woman hired for this purpose in Browning's household, given that she is financially able to live alone in Manhattan) really that much harder when there are two people in the house instead of one? Even if you reduce a husband to no better than an annoying pet, as Browning does, certainly even they can be trained to take out the trash and load the dishwasher now and then.

"Women alone eat breakfast at 11 if we feel like it, lunch at 3 and dinner never if that’s the way the day is winding down. Single women do not worry about cooking unless we want to. And we don’t want to unless we like to." I have not only a husband but (gasp!) two male children in the house, and I, too, manage to eat pretty much whatever and whenever I want. I don't cook when I don't want to; Husband is more than happy to sample the delights of the Whole Foods hot bar for dinner, and the boys are always up for Chick-fil-a. Mealtimes don't seem like such a big problem to me, sister.

"We love the give and take of making our own decisions." There is give and take in making one's own decisions? Who are you compromising with, exactly? Be real: there is no compromise when you live alone. I know this from listening to my own mother, who asks disbelievingly "what do you mean, you didn't your first choice on where you're going for vacation this year? how can this be?" And then I have to patiently explain to her that when you are married and you respect your spouse, you don't always get exactly what you want every single minute of the day. This confuses her, as it obviously confuses Ms. Browning.

"A marriage is a lot of work. Strike that. A man is a lot of work." Let's ask Ms. Browning's ex if he thinks women are a lot of work, shall we? I bet we can all guess what he will say.

And so the Times and the Atlantic go ever more frequently for Vanity Fair's audience, and put these poorly written, confusing pieces of misandry where real thought used to be. I'm not surprised, nor am I very disappointed. Pandering to one's audience, no matter how low-brow, is a time-honored tradition in the media. And think of the money it saves those readers who actually care about the content of the magazine or newspaper, rather than just the aging name on the cover! Sounds like a win-win situation for me.

Perhaps now someone from the Times will cab over to Ms. Browning's place and pick her up off her deck. All those assistant editors have to be good for something...

Hunting Unicorns

2012-01-09T22:36:00.002-06:00

It's easy when they walk right into your dining room. I didn't even need to feed this one - not that I'd begin to know what unicorns eat, mind you.

Anyone for a Swim?

2012-01-09T14:00:00.005-06:00

Five inches of rain (and counting) since last night; the backyard is now a lake. Those brown patches are not dry land; they're mulch and leaf mould floating on top of the water.

My lawn will grow back! Praise be! I love living in a swamp - or, at least, I'm glad to have my swamp back.

UPDATE: the water is 6" deep in the back of the backyard swamp. I know this because I threw sticks into the deepest parts and let Knight do the measuring for me. As Husband frequently comments: "you're not a very nice person." Knight pouted for some time after his information-gathering session outside. I really don't blame him. I know I didn't want to go out there.

Birth Day Songs

2012-01-05T21:00:00.005-06:00

Okay, this meme is going around Facebook - it's about finding out the #1 song the day you were born. I did my own, that was bad enough:

Then I looked up Husband's. My apologies to all of you.

And One's. He says he might vomit now that he knows this. I'm sorry, my love, but from a mommy's perspective, it's quite sweet: "I knew I loved you before I met you. I think I dreamed you into life... I have been waiting all my life." Cheesy? Of course. But kinda cute...

I'm not sharing Two's with him. Eight is a little young for a song with the word "ass" in the first line, don't you think? And this pose? Ms. Lopez, my son does not need to know about you.

So we're 1 for 4 in the Grass Widow Household (in my opinion, anyway). I knew there was a reason I've always disliked Top 40 music.

Speaking Greek

2012-01-05T19:17:00.002-06:00

One and I were having a conversation about Husband's and my days in college tonight, mostly consisting of him throwing out questions here and there and me giving highly sanitized answers to same. At one point I started a sentence "Now your father's fraternity..." and One interrupted:

"Dad's fraternity was the one full of nerds, wasn't it?"

I don't even begin to know how to respond to that. Anyone want to take a shot?

Resolved

2011-12-31T20:43:00.002-06:00

I am not the type to make New Year's resolutions; in fact, I'm not sure that I have ever done so. But motivated in part by a friend's loss of 15lbs (over Christmas no less!) and also by Venomous Kate's recently-posted resolutions, I am making an exception this year.

First of all, as a general resolution that effects how seriously I take the rest of these, I resolve to worry less in 2012. I desperately need to try to take more things in stride, and to look actively and consistently for less stress in my life instead of more. In addition, if such things can be accomplished at the same time, I would like to:

1. Lose 15-20lbs
2. Quit drinking diet soda forever
3. Exercise several times a week, even if it's just an evening walk
4. Pray more and cuss less
5. Speak and think positively - both about myself and those around me

I could go on forever, but likely all of these things will still need quite a bit of work one year from now, so I think I'll stop now.

Happy New Year, y'all.

Twenty Questions

2011-12-29T09:59:00.003-06:00

"People are not objects"

That was the bumper sticker on the ridiculously underpowered Mercedes sedan in front of me on the Tollway this morning. As an aside, a 200 series, really? With four people in it? I'm surprised it could actually accelerate enough to make in onto the freeway. Blech. People do really stupid things for what they perceive as status, yes?

Anyway, the sticker. What does this mean to you, that people are not objects? That you've figured out basic human biology? That you remember "animal, vegetable or mineral" from childhood? Or what? It had some veeerrryy tiny print underneath it, that another driver could only read if they slammed into the Mercedes from behind - sort of the last thing you see before you're dead, that kind of print. Not. Helpful. All I know is, it is a beautiful sunny day, ELO was very loud and cheerful, and sententious, self-righteous people need to keep themselves to themselves a little bit more.

Thank you very much. That is all.

Battle of the Go-Go's

2011-12-28T11:00:00.000-06:00

Two has come to love these little toys, so they were (of course) the main feature on his note to Santa this year. I like them, too, even though they do make Husband sing "We Got the Beat" every time he sees them. One is willing to play these with his brother at home, although I think he would draw the line at bringing them to school, as Two loves to do. Here the two of them are, enjoying Christmas vacation with small, brightly-colored plastic objects.

Comfort Food

2011-12-27T18:47:00.001-06:00

I made this Braised Red Cabbage dish as a part of Christmas dinner, and wow, was it a perfect side dish for a cold, rainy day. It paired so well with prime rib; I suspect it would do the same with any hearty beef dish. I'm not usually much of a cabbage fan so I didn't tinker with this one at all - and thankfully it came out just right the first time. It comes from one of my favorite cookbooks, David Waltuck's Staff Meals, which is sadly out of print. Here you go:

Braised Red Cabbage

5 strips bacon cut into 1/4" pieces
4 T unsalted butter
2 medium red onions, halved and cut into thin slices
2 minced cloves garlic
3 T sugar
1 large head purple cabbage, cored and sliced thin
1 1/2 cups low sodium chicken stock (I like Pacific brand)
1/2 cup dry red wine
1/4 cup honey
2 T red wine vinegar
2 T cider vinegar
2 bay leaves
kosher salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

Start with a very large pot. Saute the bacon and butter over medium heat for a bit, then add the onions and cook until translucent (10-15 minutes). Add the garlic, cook a minute, then add the sugar and cook a minute more.

Add the cabbage along with everything that's left. Increase the heat to high and bring things to a boil, then reduce to medium low. Cover and simmer for at least an hour - maybe an hour and a half. You want the cabbage tender but not mushy. Remove bay leaves, add more salt and pepper if needed, and serve.

Note: getting everything together before you start this recipe is a must. I was trying to prep this and au gratin potatoes at the same time and arrgh!, my head almost flew off. Next time I will do my mise en place and things will be more organized, yes? Yes.

Two's View of Christmas

2011-12-26T21:05:00.002-06:00

Two is a bon vivant. He is the child who ate eight pieces of candy, a Cadbury bar, Pop Rocks, and a serving of chocolate mousse on Christmas day alone. But he's also more serious that most people (including me, most of the time) give him credit for.

Here is his picture that he drew for his 3rd grade school concert - they ran a slideshow of "what the holidays mean to you" during one of the songs, and this is what Christmas means to Two.

As the carol says "...Born that men no more may die. Born to raise the sons of Earth, Born to give them second birth." Indeed.

Notes on Christmas

2011-12-26T15:14:00.012-06:00

The Grass Widow household had a perfect Christmas. The past two+ days have been filled with sleep, presents, food and peace. Here are some vignettes:

Santa is going to get an angry letter from me, because this was one of Two's presents. Yes, it's sharp and dangerous. He has reassured us at least 30 times, "don't worry." Thanks, sweetie; just what we all need to hear.

One received many, many books, this being the worst (and, of course, one of the favorites - thank you, Husband). He didn't feel very well yesterday, so he curled up and read four books in his beloved new chair. Yes. Four. And I carried that enormous chair upstairs by myself last night - no mean feat, if I do say so myself.

I didn't take many food pictures, although we ate like royalty, feasting on prime rib, au gratin potatoes, braised red cabbage, roasted brussel sprouts, carrots sauteéd with orange peel and thyme, and chocolate mousse for dessert. Here is part of our mid-day snack, minus the paté and baguette.

Two received a Lego project much larger than his head, and is still working on it. He's also created a number of new and interesting creatures, including the house-sized Mangmar fish, which is the sworn enemy of the Quacktable squid (yet to be made).

The family member who enjoyed Christmas the most: Knight. He thought the novelty of spending an evening at Gaga's was delightful, surpassed only by Christmas day at home. He hasn't been this happy since Lambie left us.

Just in case you think Husband and I didn't enjoy ourselves as well, I have evidence to the contrary. Here he is, laughing so hard he's crying (I'll take credit for that) and I'm looking cute in my favorite new pair of red shoes. Our 15th Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Happiness: pure bliss.

I hope y'all's Christmas was as warm, relaxing and wonderful as ours.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Two's Debut

2011-12-21T00:30:00.001-06:00

He talked me into posting his Harry Potter Lego video. Help me.

Things That Make Me Happy

2011-12-17T21:55:00.007-06:00

Do you remember this guy? His name is Jorge Narvaez and he and his precious daughter Alexa made this video 11 months ago. He's putting himself through college and raising Alexa and her sister at the same time. The video had close to 17 million hits on You Tube - given that it's arguably better than the original version, that's not too surprising.

So tonight Husband is channel surfing and look what we found:

Merry Christmas, Jorge and Alexa!

Unrelated Thoughts

2011-12-16T10:37:00.005-06:00

1. Why does my middle schooler have to go without water all day (unless he braves the grotty drinking fountains)? He can't bring a drink from home and have it in the halls or in class - not even in morning homeroom, which is where the school breakfast is provided. One child out of a thousand would bring alcohol, so rather than deal with 1 drunk student, 999 are left to get dehydrated every day. Well, whatever makes your job easier, Mr. and Ms. Administrator. Be my guest.

2. Today was a free dress day at middle school (or apparently so - not that One knew about it) and as I drove away from dropping him off I saw two 7th or 8th grade boys all decked out. They had skinny jeans, Tejano-star style shirts, and their hair was all spiky and slick. And they each carried (a) a bag of food for their homeroom Christmas party and (b) a dozen roses for their homeroom teacher. So. Dang. Cute.

3. Two has taken to filming himself making new Lego creations, and he is demanding I post said videos on YouTube so he can share his knowledge with the world. Is this my fault? Might be.

Whew. Finally, that horribly ugly dog is off the top of the blog. Now I'm happy.

How I Almost Became Famous

2011-12-12T08:42:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I went to Natural Pawz to buy the spoiled Knight a treat for his Christmas stocking and they were having Pug Rescue Day. I'm agnostic on pugs, so whatever. However, as I was leaving I happened upon this dog:

His name is Elmo, otherwise known as Sampson, and he's half boxer and half pug.

He is the ugliest dog I have ever seen in my entire life.

And I wanted to adopt him so badly, because I was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to be famous, and with a dog like Elmo, I would be so famous. Just. Like. That. He is so ugly everyone would want to know about him. I could have entered him in the World's Ugliest Dog Contest and won; in fact, all the others contestants would have gone home crying as soon as they saw Elmo, because they would know: there is no beating this dog.

I could tell right away: he would be so famous he would put Jenny Lawson's giant rooster, Beyonce, in the shade. I'm telling you, this dog was my ticket to the fame I have never even craved. I would be on TV in five minutes' time if I owned this dog. Suddenly, when I saw him I wanted to be on TV. That's never happened before - clearly Elmo exudes some seriously influential vibes, because not only did I want to adopt him, I wanted to be seen on TV with him.

If only Husband would say yes and let me adopt Elmo, oh how my life would change. Seriously, he said no: no to the ugliest dog in the world. I'm thinking, though, that's just because he didn't get to see Elmo in person. If he sees Elmo in person, like if I send Husband on an errand next week and it just happens to be to the place where Pug Hearts Rescue is having an adoption day, maybe I still have a chance. Fingers crossed.

If that doesn't work one of y'all will just have to adopt him. Then I can be slightly famous, because it will have been all my idea. If I can't have Elmo myself, I'd like to think I'm still connected to him in some way. Go on, go get him. You know you want to be on TV.

Why I'm Not Worried

2011-12-11T17:49:00.006-06:00

Two is my media consumer. He would watch movies, play video games and surf the Internet all day if I'd let him. He's never met a screen he didn't like. We've have to step in and make a host of rules about the time he spends with his two best friends, the TV and the computer (we've banned gaming systems altogether out of an abundance of caution), but strangely enough he doesn't object. I think he knows his habits are a little excessive and he welcomes the chance to take a break and try something different. To be honest, as much as I've griped about his media addiction over the years, I have to say it doesn't have me that worried. Because what he uses all that screen time for is insipration more than anything else.

These are two creations that he invented today:

Harry Potter's Potions Cabinet: Harry has no hair and an angry face because the potion he concocted made him bald.

Some Kind of Spaceship: Cobbled together from four or five Star Wars kits. The propeller at the back makes me think it floats, too. This might have been inspired in part by The Incredibles.

If this is why he loves movies so much, then I love them, too.

Happy Birthday to my Dad

2011-12-11T16:56:00.004-06:00

It's my Dad's birthday today - the day we used to set up the Christmas tree when I was a child, and then have steak and baked potatoes, my Dad's favorite special meal. Here's to the man who spent 13 of his own birthdays wrestling with a cold, snow-covered Christmas tree just to make me smile.

Happy Birthday, Daddy. I love you.

Heard Around the House

2011-12-08T22:08:00.001-06:00

One to his Dad while wrestling: "Hey, a little higher and you can kiss those grandchildren goodbye. Watch it."

One on buying a llama at Heifer International: "It's not every day you can buy someone an animal that can spit from 15 feet with pinpoint accuracy."

Two on the llama purchase: "But how are we going to pick who gets the llama?"

Me, at 9:45pm: "Hurry up - it's past your bedtime." One: "What is our bedtime, anyway?" Me: "8pm - has been since you were a litte boy." One: "So that's always been just a goal for you, I take it?"

Either child, when I get near the bathroom door they have left ajar while showering/dressing: "DON'T LOOK!" Yes, as I said, the door is always ajar. And this comes from the same two monkeys who continue to talk to me through the bathroom door every time I take a potty break.

Wounded

2011-12-08T10:22:00.003-06:00

I feel beaten up most of the time these days, as if people and circumstances are contriving to put me through round after round with Manny Pacquiao. It makes me tired, all this fighting, especially since so much of it seems to be about whether I have the right or the ability to make good decisions. I'm constantly on the lookout for another wound, another verbal punch that is meant to tell me "I blame you for this" or "What you did caused it to all to go to hell."

I'm used to having my judgment and worth questioned, and I'm used to fighting back. I'm covered in wounds and yet, I'm still here. After all, I'm the one whose birth parents dumped her because 21 is "too young" to be a parent. I'm the one whose mother said "your fiance is possessed by demons", and I fought back and married him anyway, because it was my decision to make, not hers. I'm the one whose father said "I'm tired of all this shit" and walked away because I wasn't worth the trouble, and I still stayed alive. What I don't understand is why these attacks continue to come, over and over no matter how old I am. Why everyone around me inevitably reaches the point where they openly question everything about me. Where they wonder what the hell they are doing with this mulish, difficult woman who won't shut up and do what they want her to do. Where they begin to openly doubt my ability to do anything right. Sometimes that doubt is unspoken, but really, come on: I'm not stupid. If you really think I'm capable of making the right decision, why are you standing there fighting with me?

All I want is the benefit of the doubt. I just want someone to respect my judgment and my opinions, to think my decisions will be and are solid. I want someone to defend me, not attack me. And I don't have that. Not anywhere I look.

I'm getting pretty damn tired of getting beaten up, I have to say. Really. Freaking. Tired.

Belief

2011-12-07T10:31:00.004-06:00

Two still believes in Santa as fervently as he ever has and none of us - not even One - has the heart to tell him the truth. When his friends tell him Santa is really just mom and dad he denounces them as heartless liars and goes along his merry, believing way.

God how I love this child!

What Did You Learn in School Today, Sweetie?

2011-12-06T17:58:00.004-06:00

One's answer: "Today I learned in Health class that the dad of one of my classmates is in prison serving a life sentence. We've been talking about who we are and what we like about ourselves and what we don't, and when it was his turn he started talking about this and then he was just sobbing all of a sudden. It was awful."

Two's answer: "We did math, like, almost all day, even fractions. Because fractions are going to be on the STARR test and it's going to be a really hard test so we have to study a lot for it."

So I feel overwhelmed by One's answer. 11 is too young to deal with that. I don't want him to go to private school with kids whose parents have private jets at their disposal, but did he have to learn about "dads who go to jail" today? Really? Not that I blame that poor child for talking about it: I wouldn't want to do an "All About Me" project in Health class either if that was one of my talking points. But I'm feeling very much like a protective mama bear right now, and part of me wants to stuff One back into a shell for a few more years before releasing him into the wild.

Two's answer today is, in reality, the more troubling one (and yes, he frequently talks in onelongsentencelikethat. just in case you were wondering). This STARR test is the replacement for the state-wide TAKS, and most of what we've been told equates to "if you were commended on TAKS you'll barely pass STARR." For all of that, I don't give a rat's patootie about the damn test. I don't want anyone teaching anything because it's on some test written by a bunch of yahoos in Austin. I want my child to have a good, intelligent teacher and I want her to teach my child what a third grader should learn. Why does it have to be more complicated than that? Yes, I am aware that is merely a rhetorical question. But why does it have to be?

Fortunately for everyone, neither of the boys seem horribly upset about his day. It's just mom who got all stressed out. And that would be, of course, business as usual.

School Frustration

2011-12-05T19:47:00.009-06:00

I have many moments in my life when I am grateful for the boys' schools. Our experience with our elementary school has been overwhelmingly good: a sensible, intelligent principal, good, solid teachers, an overall nice group of kids, and intelligent and involved parents.

Correspondingly, our experience with middle school so far has been more positive than negative. It's free, it's safe, most of the teachers are good (math right now looking like the only exception), the kids seem decent (from what One has told me - I have yet to meet any of them, as there are no opportunities to do so) and One has ridiculously good grades without an overwhelming amount of homework every night. But there are problems, and the problems are not ones that can be fixed. They are endemic to life in a 1,100 kid school in the 7th largest school district in the country. So far this year we have:

1. The lack-of-parent-communication problem. No fix for this, other than One has learned to borrow the office phone if he needs me (after I wrote every conceivable phone number in Sharpie in his go-everywhere binder, of course). Yes, Mom will fix it if it's broken. That's my job.

2. The lunch room problem, which consists of a 6th grade principal who thinks the proper punishment for loud and obnoxious students is to ban an entire third of the lunchroom from talking. Because he can't possibly find out who is making the noise: he's only interested in ferreting out the general direction from which it comes. I asked One if I could email this man about it, since One is not in the group making the noise, and he paled in fear. Please don't let Mr. W. learn my name. It will only come back to hurt me, because he's not a person you want to cross. Well, now: that's nice to know. I'm glad they've put him in charge.

3. The district-wide surprise testing, taking up an entire week. New this year: how fun. Four 2 1/2 hour tests, one on each core subject. The teachers weren't allowed to tell the students about it until today and the tests start tomorrow. We don't know if the teachers have prepared the students by covering the material beforehand, or even if the teachers will count this test as a grade (it's up to them individually). Just show up, pencil in hand, spend 10 hours taking tests you can't study for and live with the fact that you have no idea if it will affect your grade or not. Sounds just fine to me. And these tests are all in addition to the yearly Stanford and the new STARR (replacing the state-wide TAKS). How many weeks are we going to spend on standardized testing again? And who exactly does it benefit? Somehow, someone forgot to tell me the answers to those questions. Or maybe the answers don't exist. Who can tell?

4. The rumor-based problem: One's has a friend and fellow 6th grader who was given days of detention for filming a bus driver screaming at a fellow student. He took his video to the school administration and threatened to put it on You Tube; the threat may have been what earned him the detention instead of the filming. Nonetheless, you have to admit: it's disturbing. It makes me very glad I put in the extra effort to drive One to and from from school every day, rather than leave him to the tender mercies of a bus driver.

I know very well that, while these problems would be solved by a move to private school, others would crop up to take their place. Homework would double, for one. And there are other problems - perhaps mostly social ones - that I don't know if we are prepared to deal with. Never mind the cost: adjusted for inflation I make 25% less than I did when One was 6 months old, so spending $20,000 a year to educate him really isn't very palatable. Or possible. And even if it were, at this point we're stuck for another 18 months at the very least: you can't put together an application to the kind of private school One deserves to attend on a whim, nor do we have friends influential enough at those kinds of schools to make his acceptance possible without us jumping through all the standard hoops. We have made our public school bed, and likely we will lie in it until he goes to high school.

Overall, I still think we've made the right decision in choosing to keep One in public school. But if you think that once a decision is made I stop thinking critically, you have another thing coming.

Christmas Cards

2011-12-01T20:07:00.004-06:00

Kristen Howerton at Rage Against The Minivan has a post on what to do with Christmas cards post-Christmas, and I thought since I hadn't posted on this in a long time I would put up a picture of what we do every year with all the beautiful photo cards we receive.

This:
So if your card is up there, please know that we stop and visit you frequently as we head in and out of the house through the kitchen door. And we all like that, very much.

Getting There

2011-11-26T20:51:00.005-06:00

It's been a deliberately quiet weekend for all of us: a gorgeous dinner on Thursday, lots of reading and napping, football-watching, and the beginnings of Christmas decorating. I have to finish the dining room and I'd like something extra in the front hall. I also may decorate a little outside, but that remains to be seen. Here's where we are so far:

I've never started this early before, and wow, am I glad I did!

The First Time I Fell in Love with Texas

2011-11-17T17:30:00.004-06:00

The first time I fell in love with Texas was in January, 1990. I was on a month-long study trip to Guatemala and was trying to call home. Standard operating procedure for homesick college students in Guatemala City (as I was assured by my professor and the students who had been on the trip before) was to go to the national telephone company and ask to place a collect call. While there you waited in line, reciting words and numbers in Spanish to yourself and hoping to get it right. When it was your turn at the counter you blabbered out all the Spanish you knew regarding telephone calls, adding an "o" to the word "collect" to make it sound more authentic. Surrounding you were not just expats but many locals, making calls this way because none of them owned a phone of their own. When you were done in the line, you sat in the waiting room, listening carefully for your name to be called in rapid-fire Spanish, and hoping you'd catch the phone booth number they gave you at the same time. When called, you went to the booth in question, and (with a little luck) there were mom and dad on the other line. After you hung up, you were let out of a locked gate by a 16 year old with a machine gun (aka: the soldier making sure the non-collect-call people paid up) and you skipped merrily back to your $4/night hotel.

And so one evening, after having returned to Guatemala City from the rainforest and wanting to make sure my mother knew of my survival, there I was. I'd had my turn in line and was waiting patiently for my call to go through. While I was waiting, I noticed a number of what those of my generation would recognize as "normal pay phones" on one of the walls. I wandered over to them and started following the directions, which some kind soul had written in English. Suddenly, the phone began to ring. Bracing myself for a torrent of Spanish, I was instead greeted by a loud and cheerful (and decidedly non-New Englandish) voice: "AT&T, Haw mah I hep you tu-day?!?" All I could stutter out in response was "Oh my Lord, where ARE you?" "CorpusChristiTexasMa'am!" was the happy answer. And with that, I not only politely requested a collect call to New York, but I also fell in love with Texas. And with the sweet operator who made it forever unnecessary for me to stand in line, sit in a booth, and have my stomach poked by an AK-47 before exiting the building.

Ahhh, sweet Texas. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Fasting

2011-11-16T17:30:00.001-06:00

Another Advent Fast began yesterday, and as with the Lenten Fast last spring, I am less than excited. You see, I absolutely suck at fasting. I almost never fast the two days a week (Wednesday and Friday) that I should during the regular times of the year, and these long, six to eight week fasts? I’m horrible.

I know: one of the points of fasting is that you work at it, and you fail, and then you go back and try again, and through all that you learn self-discipline and humility. I get it: it makes sense to me. I just hate the idea that I have to participate in yet another activity that involves me falling flat on my face, getting up, trying again, falling down, getting up, and so on and so forth. That’s what my entire life is about. I’m a good mom, then I suck as a mom, I ask forgiveness and try again, and then some time later I fall back into “bad mom” world, and … well, you get the point. It’s the same with being a wife: snippy and critical, apologetic, sweet and supportive, SNAP, apologetic, patient and normal, mental breakdown, apologies, and back and forth all over again. Work? Lazy, guilty, burst of work, loss of temper, apology, sweet and patient – are you getting the point here, people!?! I don’t just suck at fasting, I suck at most of what I do, and I’m forever trying again, resolving to do better, falling down and crawling back up. I just really can’t take another category of my life in which this pattern repeats itself. I. Just. Can’t.

And so, the next six weeks to Christmas sprawls before me. No meals as a family, because Husband excels at fasting*, as he does at being a litigator and, well, just being Husband. No meals. This kills me. Not only do I have the guilt that comes from being the lazy, loser member of the family, I also go without the only time when we connect together, just the four of us. Not that we sit down together as a family and eat every day – hell no, not with our schedules! But the best thing about weekends is that they bring meals together (especially meals out) – chances for us to sit down and be four again, instead of Tari and the kids and Husband much later on, or the kids together and Tari and Husband some other time. So no four: not until Christmas Day, baby.

Added to all of this is the guilt I feel because I haven’t been to confession in a year, and therefore haven’t been taking communion since August. I’ve been trying to fit it in, but it never happens. Now that it’s the Fast, why bother? I will confess that I haven’t been fasting, and then I will go forth and not fast, and once I do that, how can I take communion with a clean heart knowing I’m not even trying to obey? So no communion, and that’s depressing beyond all other things.

Allow me to be the first to point out (if I don’t Husband will point it out to me as soon as he reads this): I got myself into this. I wanted to convert from Protestantism to Orthodoxy. I did so a year ago with a completely open heart and mind. This was all my idea. So I have no one to blame but myself. But again, I blame myself for so many things, I’m really not up to welcoming yet another to my list. I still believe with all my heart that Orthodoxy is right for me; maybe I’m okay with accepting that I’m just not very good at it**. It’s not like I haven’t done that before – it doesn’t stop me from being a lawyer, a mother or a wife, so why should it stop me from being a Christian?

::cricketschirping:: I don’t know, either.

*I have to say that I am incredibly impressed and proud of Husband's ability to fast and pray regularly. It amazes me. He so much stronger than I am! And he doesn't cycle through life like I do - he's the steady, sane member of the pack.

**That comment will send Husband’s head rolling around the room! How can you accept not being good at something!?! What planet were you raised on? How does this happen??? This is a not-so-infrequent topic of conversation in our house, as you might imagine.

Not So Good Advice

2011-11-16T09:44:00.003-06:00

So I read this thing a while ago, about how to avoid germs when using a public restroom.

Yes, I did used to read the back of the cereal box at breakfast when I was a child. What made you ask that?

Anyway, as any woman knows, we all pretty much live in fear of the public restroom, since we are not blessed with the ability to pee standing up. Germs. Ugh. The only time public restrooms seem like a good idea are when we're drunk and we need to talk to our best friend right away in private about whether we should go home with that cute guy who just bought us a drink.

Back to the advice. The article said "Always use the first stall in the restroom because no one else wants to - it doesn't seem private enough. It will therefore be the cleanest."

I've been road-testing this bit of advice for a while and I wanted to let you all know: that first stall is NOT any cleaner than the rest of them. There's still pee on the seat, despite what this expert told me. It is not, unfortunately, a viable solution to the "OMG I have to use that restroom" problem.

I have deduced that therefore, everyone else must have read this same internet article at the same time as me. And that's why the coveted first stall is ruined forever. Thanks, internet. Thanks a lot.

How I'm Known at Work

2011-11-15T15:29:00.004-06:00

I don't blog a lot about work, with good reason. If you don't know what that good reason is, you live under a rock. But I thought I would share with you how I am known by my work-mates.

I am the lawyer who brushes her teeth after lunch.

I know this because, well, I used to make quite a habit of brushing my teeth after lunch and apparently, the identification of toothbrush to Tari just became so inseparable that, even though I rarely brush my teeth after lunch anymore, it's what people think of when they think of me.

When they're not thinking other, meaner things, I guess.

Today this was all confirmed to me when I did actually brush my teeth after lunch (which was a very nutty salad, by the way, with very small greens in it - it was the nuts-and-greens-sticking-in-my-teeth sensation that drove me to it). I left my toothbrush and cute little tube of toothpaste in the ladies' room, and when I went back a few hours later for another purpose, one of my co-workers pointed to them and said "That's yours, isn't it? I was just going to pick it up and bring it back to you, but here you are." Uh, thanks.

So don't forget: when you think of me at work, all professional and whatnot at my desk, remember that I am really just a lawyer who brushes her teeth after lunch. That is all.

Love and Fear

2011-11-14T21:55:00.005-06:00

I saw a bumper sticker at Whole Foods yesterday...

Let me pause to say that I know you are automatically thinking "Tari saw a bumper sticker that was so far to the political left it made her head spin around 360." But you'd be wrong, because this is Houston. And while there are more than the usual percentage of "Democracy Now!" bumper stickers at Whole Foods, there are also quite a few other points of view, as this piece illustrates.

So, back to the bumper sticker. It read:

"Most people who plan on turning to God in the eleventh hour die at 10:30."

I've been chewing on that one off and on for a while, and I have this to say:

Yes, I will admit, the Bible does discuss the necessity of being ready for God's return. The parable of the wise and foolish women with their oil lamps comes to mind right away. It's a valid point, and the idea that one should follow God faithfully because no one understands his timing is certainly not heretical.

But. However. On the other hand.

As CS Lewis put it very succinctly, we are always moving either closer or farther away from God. There is no stasis in life. Our thoughts and actions propel us in one direction or the other, and we need to be mindful at all times of that direction. As an aside, I have to tell you that Two loves it when we talk about this subject; he turns one light off in my room and walks back and forth between the light side of the room and the dark side of the room, thinking about what it all means (and talking all the while, of course). What Lewis wrote is also what the Orthodox Church teaches quite clearly. Our lives are meant to be a journey in which we move closer to God and become more like him: this process is called "theosis" and is the center of Orthodox theology and praxis. It is the reason we fast and pray. So we have at least two Christian traditions, both teaching the same thing: the necessity of living a life that brings one closer to God, both in action and thought.

Where does fear fit into that picture? If our work in life is to become more like God, how does acting based on the fear of damnation - as this bumper sticker is clearly encouraging people to do - bring us closer to Him? Is God a god of fear (in the "terrified" sense of the word - not "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom" sense. Darn English language)? No, He isn't. Perfect love casts out fear, doesn't it? And God is more than anything else the embodiment of love. And seeking Him, following after Him, becoming more like Him, should be a process that fills us with love and light, that heals us as our habits of sin fall away from us slowly.

What do we want others to think of us as Christians? What do we want them to think motivates our decision to draw closer to God? Do we want to preach fear or love? This isn't just a question of catching more flies with honey than with vinegar. This is for real: who on earth wants to draw closer to a Creater of whom (s)he is terrified? Instead of hapharzardly scaring the pants off people, let's instead show them God's love, the power He has to heal our souls from the scars of sin, and the mercy He waits so patiently to drop like a balm on the head of the broken.

France 1, Texas 0

2011-11-12T10:19:00.004-06:00

A expatriate friend posted on Facebook yesterday about the glories of Armistice Day* in Paris, where she now lives. Schools, government and most businesses were closed, at precisely 11am church bells throughout the city rang out, and jumbo-trons around the Arc de Triomphe broadcast the national celebration. Sounds absolutely beautiful, doesn't it? Honorable, respectful, and altogether the right thing to do.

Meanwhile, back home in the land of the freest and the home of the bravest (that's Texas to the rest of y'all) my boys came home from public school and were surprised when I told them it was Veterans' Day. No announcement had been made in either of their schools, no lessons given in class about the hundreds of thousands of people whose work past and present makes our children's lives possible. There was nothing. Nada. Zilch.

So tell me, what exactly does the Houston Independent School District think about our veterans? It seems to me they're somewhere in between uncaring and downright ashamed. Unlike the French. And when Texas loses to France in the patriotism stakes, it's a very sorry day indeed.

*Yes, I know that, to the French, Armistice Day is more like our Memorial Day, in that it honors primarily war dead and not just those who served. But when was the last time your child's teacher told him why he was getting a three day weekend at the end of May? Yup, I didn't think so.

Boys' Dreams

2011-11-11T17:27:00.011-06:00

On Veterans' Day this year I'm thinking of my boys, and how they, like all boys, dream of being soldiers one day. It occupies so much of their imagination for such a long part of their childhood, even if it is not a dream that will ever come true for them. This year I would like to say thank you to all veterans:

• for the dreams your service inspires in boys like mine,
• for your honor, because it gives meaning to such dreams, and
• for your brave and selfless service, without which none of these boys would be free to dream at all.

God bless you.

A Day in the Life

2011-11-09T20:05:00.001-06:00

And we go up, and we go down. And then we go up, and then we go down.

Such is life with a middle schooler in the house.

Most of the time, I have to admit, One is on the "up" side of things. He is "on his game", as it were. He remembers his responsibilities, he works hard, and he still manages to have a lot of fun. He's walking perfection ... with a teeny, tiny zit on his nose occasionally, but who's looking? Seriously, he is doing really well for almost 12. He had a great first middle school report card, he's working hard at football, and he's still reading like the bibliophile he has always been. Today, the high point of "up" was a trip to the opera to watch The Barber of Seville. One's reaction to opera: "It was fantastic! So funny! And can you believe B fell asleep during it? I mean, it was The Barber of Seville! How can you fall asleep during that?" And opera was followed by a picnic lunch outside and an early dismissal from school. How can things be any better?

And then we go "down". Because of things like, oh, the little math quiz he took today before the opera trip. "What did you get on it?" "Um, a 60, because I, well, I didn't really pay attention and I made mistakes on multiplication and division." Crash. Burn. Mayday. Complete with me yelling "How can you not care enough to make mistakes from 4th grade? How could you not check your work? What were you thinking?" Let it be known that this is not the first bad math grade of the grading period, or I wouldn't be so steamed. Yes, it was mature of him to immediately admit the cause of his mistake - and to own up to the fact that he was the cause - I've given him credit for that. He didn't stonewall, refuse to tell me, or outright lie, thank the Lord. But... but... but ... oh, it's so frustrating!

It's like one minute he's firing on all cylinders (I am on the metaphors tonight, aren't I?) and the next he's just standing there with his mouth open, watching the world go by. He did this quite literally at his football game two weeks ago, where he pretty much decided that being a spectator was more fun than being an offensive lineman, and stood and watched calmly as his teammates were sacked. Play after play after play. And they lost. And he was snarky and angry when I told him that if he was going to be absent for a game, he shouldn't put on his uniform and go out on the field.

Up, and then down. Up and down. When does he grow out of this - 25? Boy, that's an awfully long way away.

*The picture is One doing his air guitar on the swings at 9. Wow - nine.

Singularity

2011-11-08T10:06:00.003-06:00

I read the Atlantic's cover piece, All the Single Ladies, a few weeks ago, and I've been chewing on whether to write something on it or not. I think it's pretty obvious that author Kate Bolick and I couldn't lead more different lives. It's probably only slightly less obvious that I find hers to be almost completely shallow and lacking in meaning, mainly because she has deliberately separated herself from belonging to the most quintessential "community" mankind has ever created: a family.

I find her decision shallow because she seems to have made it in order to search further in life for self-satisfaction and happiness: some kind of "meaning" that apparently continues to elude her. She fails to realize that most of us find exactly these things by taking the path that she dismisses. In fact, the very reason that marriage and families endure as bulwarks of society despite the many attacks on them is because so many people have realized that focusing solely on their own happiness and fulfillment just doesn't get them there. When they take the lens off themselves, and turn towards helping others - that is when not just happiness but true joy descend. Does that mean that married life and family life is a peach? Of course not. But anything we do that has a higher purpose - even if that purpose is not a religous or metaphysical one, but simply the desire to consistently put another's needs before our own - will bring back gifts we can never hope to measure.

Ms. Bolick has lived her life lacking practically any kind of moral compass and now it is beginning to show. She has put herself first and all others who could have made her life richer second, and now writes with some bewilderment how this order of things could have failed her. It fails everyone, Ms. Bolick; even without a mother interested in teaching you this lesson (and yours clearly was not), you could have looked about you and discovered that quite quickly. But the mirror must have been much more fascinating, and so you missed it. Instead of grasping why people get married and have families - not for sociological or economic reasons, but for real, human reasons such as love and companionship - All the Single Ladies looks at marriage as a curiosity that can't quite be understood and can be easily dismissed as "just another odd way some people order their lives." In this conclusion, Bolick misses the raison d'etre of the vast majority of her fellow human beings; not just her long, meandering article but her life itself is the poorer for it.

Boomers Love Themselves

2011-11-07T21:44:00.006-06:00

Is anyone surprised that nothing has changed for the most obnoxious generation ever to "grace" this country's shores? The latest news: they are still as selfish and self-centered as they always were, and still just as out of touch with reality. Today's evidence? A Smart Money article on "10 Things Baby Boomers Won't Tell You." Among them:

1. I'm spending your inheritance now.
2. I'm spending it so fast, I'll be living with you (and on you) very soon.
3. We'd have more money to live on if we hadn't had you at all dammit.

The world won't be rid of this awful group of people soon enough. Thanks, worthless Boomers. Thanks for AIDS, skyrocketing divorce rates, disco, "finding yourself", latchkey kids and all the other ills you brought on the world. Now get to the county nursing home and eat your lime jell-o. It's more than you'll ever deserve.

Links on Wednesday

2011-10-26T22:05:00.001-05:00

Seven links for the middle of the week:

1. A good op-ed on the controversy about whether the Girl Scouts are or are not abortion-supporting feminists. The article focuses on two girls who recently left the Girl Scouts and then put up a website explaining why: they felt the organization did not comport with their Catholic values. I have to agree with the author: good for them.

2. From the same online magazine, an excellent piece on a controversial piece of legislation being voted on in Mississippi this fall. To me, scary stuff that takes very important and personal decisions away from the people most concerned about them. Government intervention usually does not = help, and MS is out to prove it.

3. Linked by Instapundit: the importance of s*x to our health - including the fact that men who have s*x at least three times a week reduce their risk of stroke and heart attack by 50%. Yes girls, that's 50%. Better put the kids to bed early a few more nights a week from now on ...

4. Experts are now going to recommend that boys receive the HPV vaccine as well as girls. What say you, MOBs - are you going to line them up and get them the shot? I'm waiting to ask the boys' pediatrician when we go in for flu shots in the next week or so. I'm not a big vaccinophobe, so I don't know that I care much if they get the shot. But I'm sure someone does. Michele Bachmann, call your office...

5. Bettina Siegel at The Lunch Tray is talking about Halloween candy, and you should read it - before Halloween, of course.

6. Did you know you can grow lettuce in a shipping container? Apparently, yes you can. Well, let me just say that you may be able to, and these guys may be able to, but I can't grow anything - not even herbs on the kitchen windowsill. So y'all go take care of the lettuce: me and my black thumb will hide in the corner and stay out of y'all's way.

7. And finally, are vegans ethical or not? Here's an interesting "not" (or a "not any more than us meat eaters", actually) that you might want to check out.

G'night.

Ahoy, Matey!

2011-10-23T20:33:00.004-05:00

This morning the boys watched this:

Which, of course, led to this:

Having boys is THE BEST THING, ever.

Lamb's Last Day

2011-10-21T12:08:00.004-05:00

Today ay 5pm we will take Lambie to the vet for the last time. Despite that this is the 3rd trip I've made to do this - Oscar and Lucy having preceded Lamb - it completely and utterly sucks. Six short years, for a dog who deserved 20 or more being treated like a princess. I hate today, I hate the cancer that has killed her, I hate knowing that the right thing to do is so hard and I hate doing it anyway. She is so sick. She needs to go. But no matter how many times this happens it never gets remotely easy.

I will hunt up some more pictures of my sweet in a few days, and write a little more about her silly, happy, just-dumb-enough-t0-get-my-way personality. Right now I'm busy saying goodbye.

I Don't Know When

2011-10-18T17:24:00.005-05:00

I really don't know when I've been this angry. It must have been at least a few days ... I mean years. Here's the ridiculous idiocy that has me furious:

1. It all begins when One's debate club, scheduled for after school today, was cancelled. It was announced to the students only this morning. This isn't bad in and of itself: it just starts the ball rolling. Because then:

2. One's stupid, uncaring, worthless public school didn't bother to call or email parents about said cancellation. Instead, they left it up to 11 year olds to call their parents. On their cell phones. Which we don't (and never will) have for our children. Eleven year olds. Cell phones. Call at the end of the day, 7 1/2 hours after being told to do so. Sure, that works.

3. One decided that he would sit in the office for an hour and a half without asking for help. Without asking "may I use the phone to call my mom?" Without asking "can you look up her cell phone number for me? I seem to have forgotten it?" Nothing. Nada. Zip. He didn't even do his stinking homework while he sat there, thankyouverymuch.

I am definitely angrier at the school for thinking they have ZERO responsibility in this situation. An email? A phone call? Something? They knew from 8am on that this was happening, and we got ... nothing. Worthless people sucking up my tax dollars, that's what they are. I really don't care one damn bit that this is middle school - they're still children, for Heaven's sake. The adults are still adults, aren't they? Who is responsible for whom in this situation? I'm guessing it's adults responsible for children - but what do I know? Obviously not enough.

But I'm also angry at One, who didn't take the slightest bit of initiative to help himself out of his predicament. One minute I think he's all mature, the next he acts like a 5 year old. God help me: I may never live through his teenage years.

The only thing I can think of to do is to turn this one over to Husband. As the possessor of his horribly frightening litigator's voice, I think he owes the school at least one phone call. The thought of that almost makes me un-angry again. Almost, but not quite.

Go Tigers: 5-0

2011-10-15T14:49:00.005-05:00

One's football team, the Tigers, are now 5-0 for the season. Today they beat a very tough Tarheel team 18-6; the game was tied 6-6 for far too long, and parents were pacing the sidelines, alternating between chewing on fists and cheering madly. Here are a few pictures of my #44 and his amazing teammates.

Go Tigers!

Favorite Things

2011-10-14T22:32:00.006-05:00

High on my list of favorite things is the annual International Festival at our elementary school. This afternoon it did not disappoint - it never does. Here are a few favorite pictures.

The Indian dancers, who performed to a fun Indian pop song. They were fantastic, and very Bollywood.

Always the cutest: the Japanese dance.

The USA table:

And a small piece of our newly painted cow. I won't reveal which piece - just enjoy ...

What I Didn't Learn in College

2011-10-11T08:57:00.001-05:00

I read a lot of things lately that question the value of a college education - or at the very least the value of a very expensive one. I had one of those, although mostly at the cost of the other students on campus, as I received close to $17k per year in need-based aid every year for four years. Despite all the money spent on me, I didn't learn a whole lot that has served me very well in the real world. In fact, it has become a family joke in the Grass Widow Household that the only truly good thing to come out of our time at Colgate was this family itself. Yes, we're that kind of sarcastic family, as if you couldn't tell already.

So what didn't I learn? And is there anything that I did learn? Let's make some lists.

• I didn't learn to be on time in the morning. Instead, after 1st semester freshman year I simply learned to avoid all classes that started before 10:30am. I really wasn't a morning person, you know, and why bother to struggle against your true nature?

• I didn't learn to plan ahead and write well. I wrote ever single paper over four years as "one draft wonders", even those of the 30+ page research variety.

• Despite the fact it was the late 1980's, I didn't learn to use computers. That is, unless you count figuring out how to use a Mac in the Computer Center to write one of those one-draft papers "learning". I really don't, since all I "learned" was to push a mouse around and "hunt & peck" type really fast.

• I didn't learn to pick good friends or make wise judgments about my social life. Husband practically fell in my lap: he moved in upstairs and was sitting on my couch one Friday afternoon. By and large, the best (aka kindest, smartest, least crazy) people I knew at school were his fraternity brothers and my freshman year roommate (who lived with me involuntarily, indeed miserably once she got to know what I was like).

• I didn't learn how to speak well, how to moderate what I was saying based on my audience, or how to read an audience and change what I was about to say in time to react to them. I was asked on maybe three occasions to stand up and give a presentation; they were rote recitals of what I had researched and I suspect didn't interest anyone else in class in the slightest.

• I didn't learn to be financially disciplined. Instead I learned how to weasel money out of my mother when I ran low.

• Finally, I didn't learn much of actual substance in the classroom. Sure, I picked up some tidbits about Mexican history and I can identify major artists post-1800. I can make myself understood in Spanish and French, I can blather on about Edith Wharton and Henry James, and I can proudly complain that I have been forced to read Moby Dick a whopping total of three times. But I didn't learn any math or science, I didn't pick up any economics or philosophy, and I never, ever met a professor who justified for me why what (s)he was teaching was important to the world, to the future or rarely, to the past.

So in those four expensive years, what did I learn?

• I learned that gin and beer make me sick when I drink them together.

• I know now that I am a very bad judge of who would make a good roommate. And, with one big exception, a good boyfriend.

• I figured out that what undergraduate professors want most in the world is to have their pet theory parroted back to them at every opportunity. This desire is greatly heightened if the professor is a Marxist or a feminist.

• I learned that unless your viewpoint matches that of your friends almost exactly, they don't want to hear what you have to say. College isn't a place for a robust exchange of ideas, in or out of the classroom. It's a place to find an audience who acts as your echo chamber, and to shut out everyone else from your life who might disturb that perfect pitch.

• I discovered that there were 18 year old people in this world who had never cleaned a bathroom, washed dishes, changed a light bulb, pumped gas, or gone grocery shopping alone. Some of them, most memorably, didn't even know how to fold their own clothes.

In the end, I discovered that all I got out of four years of my time - time very ill-spent, as I think you can tell by now - was a piece of paper covered with pretentious Latin script and my name in calligraphy. Over the years it has impressed a whole lot of people, and for the life of me I will never know why. They were four years that the locust ate: I stopped learning anything meaningful when I left for college, and I didn't start again until I began my first job the month after graduation. I suspect that if law school hadn't come along, I would be a very stupid person by this point. I certainly would have given up any pretense of higher thought process long, long ago.

And now, once again, I am looking down the barrel of a college education, although this time it is for my children and not for me. It is quite a long time coming, thankfully, but it's time to get my thoughts on the subject sorted, rather than leave it to the last minute when they are 16 and just dying to get out there like all their friends and have a meaningless, fun time for four years. Husband and I need to set expectations with the boys now, so those difficult conversations when they're 17 and the house is covered in glossy brochures aren't as hard as they might be. What will our family decide? I can't say. But I guess there is one more thing I learned from college: unless you are ready and it's the right school, it isn't worth the money.

Once a Boxer Girl, always a Boxer Girl

2011-10-10T20:47:00.002-05:00

Lamb, our precious, dumb, sweet, beautiful six year old boxer, is dying. Yesterday she swore off food (only to be brought back by a liberal soaking of her dog food in chicken broth). Today she again gave up food, and only the beef roast we had for dinner could make her change her mind (2 pieces!). We have yet another prescription for steroids, which will hopefully bring her appetite back for another week or so, but she is very close to leaving us.

Nevertheless, a boxer girl cannot change her nature, no matter how ill she is, any more than the leopard could change his spots. Yesterday afternoon, I was snuggling her and telling her I'd do anything to help her feel better - if only I knew what that was. Husband spoke as Lamb (we often do this to one another - just bear with it): "You could smack my brother for me." So I leaned over and gave Knight a small pip on the bottom. Lamb wagged her tail vigorously. "Do it again, mom" said "Lamb's Voice" and I did. Again, the tail wagged and wagged.

Once a boxer beyotch, always a boxer beyotch. I'm so proud of my tough little mixer!

I'm Living on a Pirate Ship

2011-10-08T17:52:00.002-05:00

Or that's how Two sees things, anyway, since he's the one who planted this in the front yard today. Thankfully I long-ago stopped wondering what the neighbors will think.

Lazy Saturday

2011-10-08T13:21:00.009-05:00

We're having an extremely restful Saturday, thanks in part to One having this weekend off in football. Husband is surfing and listening to music, Two is inventing something upstairs, One is doing this:

and I am sitting here typing away. Just a few links. That's all.

You have to read what is far and away the best piece I've read on Steve Jobs this week. Technology, religion, hope. It's all there.

NY Times Health section has a series of articles called Small Fixes, which I love. They all feature low tech, inexpensive solutions to health problems in the developing world. Here is the one on clean drinking water; look down the side bar for a dozen more, all of which are encouraging and interesting.

John Hinderaker at Power Line on the Occupy Wall Street crowd. What he said. Squared.

Heather Hendricks wrote a beautiful piece this week on her family's work in Haiti. Page down to the part of the story about Marie Lourdes for the hardest (and best) bit. Awe-inspiring quote: "six kids who could have been dropped off at an orphanage in the weeks to come will hopefully be raised by their mother because people are beginning to open their minds wide to what orphan care can look like. Doesn't it make sense that one of the best ways to fight the orphan crisis is to prevent children from becoming orphans?" Amen. Amen. Amen.

One of the downsides of "unschooling" can be seen here. And before you ask, no, I don't think filling out forms is an end in itself - and certainly not the goal of education in general - but come on, life skills, people. Kids need them. And they also need us to teach them to do the hard stuff now, even if they find a job someday that has nothing to do at all with that hard stuff. We need to be by their side while they work on those skills; if we don't challenge them to do what's scary, where are they going to learn how to challenge themselves to do it? I could go on for pages on this subject, but let's leave it at that for now.

And last - something I'm sure I've linked to before but love, so I'm permanently excused from bringing up again. Lt. Thomas Meehan's last letter to his wife, before he died on the way to the Normandy invasion. It came up today when I was talking to Two about fighting with his brother, and as I told Two, this is one of those things that describes what it means to be a man. My little one is not there yet, but we'll get him there, he'll get himself there - it's what the journey is about right now. "... strong as hell and as kind as Christ." Indeed.

Night Herons

2011-09-25T15:50:00.002-05:00

Late Night Miscellany

2011-09-24T22:31:00.001-05:00

I have a number of Facebook-size things to say, but too many of them to inundate my FB friends, who are already reeling from the FB re-design foolishness this week, with that many "status updates". So a series of mini posts condensed into one blog post sounds like a good idea.

• How is it normal that I am wandering around the house after 10pm on a Saturday night, picking up messes, folding laundry and washing dishes, and that I find nothing strange about this condition? When did this happen, and how did I fail to notice?

• Speaking of laundry, I am still in some state of disbelief about that fact that I have soccer uniforms and practice gear to deal with that cannot go in the dryer. All of this fancy "dri-fit" stuff, and what does it say? Line dry. So among my work clothes and unmentionables on the drying rack are someone else's soccer shorts and jerseys. I look forward to making Two dig through my stuff to find his clothes some day; the embarrassment will make this worth it.

• One's team won again in football today, making their record 3-0. This was a hard-fought win against some pretty tough defense. They came from behind (13-6) and went on to win (20-13). It was their first real taste of adversity on the field and they handled it really well. At least once they got over the shock, that is. Here they come in at the win, celebrating as they make their way back to the sidelines. A sweet victory.

Do you like the flag in the center of the picture? Wow, I sure know how to set up a shot on the fly, that's for sure. I also know how to crop pictures afterwards to make it look like I have that skill. ;)

• Two has become addicted to Monopoly. Except he doesn't know how to say it. He calls it mon-o-pol-eee. That lone "o" is long, by the way. I don't have the heart to correct him; it sounds too cute for words. He became furious today when One bankrupted me and pushed me out of the game; he was still stewing on it hours later. I'd like to think he's chivalrous, but it might just be that he hates to see his brother win.

• Finally, Two's soccer "career" is off to a great start: his team is 2-0 so far, and have yet to allow more than 1 goal to be scored on them. I have to admit that Two's contributions to the team are still on the small side, but he is learning the game, and for a first-time player is doing pretty well. Some of the boys on his team? I am almost certain that a team of those 3rd and 4th grade boys could easily beat the high school team on which I played, were they able to travel back in time to do so. That is not as much of a victory as you might think: that was, after all, a team that let me play on it. But they really are phenomenal; they are a joy to watch. Even Knight, who is trying desperately to get accepted as the team mascot, thinks so.

Goodnight, all.

Stickers

2011-09-19T14:04:00.010-05:00

I just received an email from One's football coach about this week's practices and Saturday's game, and in it he talks about the handing out of stickers tonight. Be on time to practice, we're handing out helmet stickers: stickers are important.

And they are, aren't they? I thought we were done with stickers, but apparently we're not. All of us handed them out - Dora or Thomas, depending on gender - when we potty trained our children. Then from pre-school on, teachers put stickers on our children's work. Smiley faces, "Good Job!", "Way to Go!" - all the little marks of encouragement that have meaning to our kids.

Finally just when you think they've outgrown the need for such things, someone comes along a puts a sticker on your son's football helmet for a win. Or for a touchdown, or a tackle, or for whatever he's done that we're proud of. You know he wants that sticker more than anything, even if he tells you otherwise. He wants tangible evidence of this good thing he's done, something to show the world, something that can never be taken off, never taken away from him. He did it, he was a part of it. He owns this good thing.

And so we clumsy adults resort again to stickers. Because they say tangibly those words I hope we utter but sometimes we forget: "I'm proud of you son. You did a good job out there today."

One, you did a good job out there on Saturday, and we're proud of you. I'm proud of you every day, actually. I don't think they make a sticker for that, but it's true just the same. Every day you put on your game face and go out and get it done - at school, at football, at life. No mom could be prouder than me if she tried. Good job, young man. Good job.

*One is #44 is the second picture.

Together and Apart

2011-09-14T20:20:00.010-05:00

For the past three years, the boys have been practically inseperable. They were close since Two was old enough to follow One around "I pwayin', mom - we're sojers. Bang!" but the past three years they have done almost everything the same, at the same time. They woke up at the same time, ate the same breakfast, rode with Dad to the same school, rode home in the afternoon with me, played and did homework together, went to taekwondo, ate dinner, showered together, and went to bed at the same time. Every day for three years, like shadows of one another, their days matched up almost exactly.

And now, everything is different. It's weird, and it's working, but it's completely different. Now, One wakes up before Two, eats on his own, and rides to middle school with me. I wake Two up before we leave so we can say goodbye, but he waits for his Dad to take him to elementary school. They are at different schools again (obviously) and in the afternoon first I pick up one and then the other - the order varies by the day. When we get home they spend some time together, but then one heads to sports while the other heads for homework; Two's soccer practices are on different days than One's football practices. On the days that each boy doesn't have his team sport, he heads off to taekwondo alone - something we've never done before. Even showering (which they stopped doing at the same time last fall, actually) is a one night on/one off kind of thing; frequently one boy desperately needs a shower on the night that his brother isn't really so bad (and we're all about conserving water and not showering every day - either that or its that I can't stand having the "yes you ARE dirty" argument every.single.night. A girl can only take so much.). Even bedtime is frequently different; on football nights, I have Two in bed before One even gets home, since his practice rarely ends before 9pm.

Of all the things we're adjusting to this fall - new school, new sports - this lack of teamwork was what I worried about the most. I knew it had to happen: looking just at school, they will not be in the same building together again until One is a senior in high school and Two is a freshman. And that's assuming they even go to the same high school, which is a big assumption in itself. But they are suddenly so far apart in all their activities, suddenly so much less of a team.

Except, they aren't less of a team. At least they don't act like it. They act the same towards one another as they always have: a little bickering, a whole lot of support and love. That "support and love" comes in all kinds of boy forms, from wrestling with one another, chasing each other around the house screaming, watching waaay to much TV together (Harry Potter IV: how many times can they stand it?), to Two insisting on carrying One's water to football practice and One sharing his favorite books with his little brother. The bond they have built through so much shared activity is so strong, it appears to be surviving this miniature separation completely intact. And since they will one day be fully separate, each on his own, grown-up and away from here, I am glad that they have a chance to first practice keeping that bond together even when not physically close. Maybe this is just another skill they will learn on their way out the door: to keep the team of two together, regardless of how much distance and different lives separate them. That is why God gave them to one another, after all.

"Let a friend be with you on every occasion, And let brethren be useful in necessities, For they are begotten for this reason." - Proverbs 17:19 (Orthodox Study Bible)

We Have A Winnah

2011-09-12T07:43:00.004-05:00

Last year One won a prize for creative writing at our Diocese's yearly Parish Life Conference. This year it was Two's turn: he won third prize for his grade for Creative Arts with a drawing of the cross circled around with the words of the Lord's Prayer. Yesterday was the first day of Sunday School at church, and the awards were handed out before the priests blessed the children and teachers at the start of the new school year.

Here is the proud prize winner with his certificate:

Congratulations, sweet Two.

Time to Remember

2011-09-11T07:45:00.019-05:00

Ten years. Does it feel like 10 years, more, or much less? I think for all of us it is different depending on the day. Today it feels much closer for me. Today we are sharing the Naudet brothers' movie with One for the first time, and that will bring it closer still. He was 20 months old when the attacks came; he's cruising towards 12 years old now at light speed. He's ready to know more. And so time passes.

I really don't have anything to say on this day - nothing that means anything important or imparts any wisdom. That isn't surprising to me; I do hope it's not surprising to you, either. All I have are some quotes, some links to people much more eloquent than I, a picture, and not much else. It should be a day of fewer words than tears, perhaps. Less chatter, more resolve.

From James Lileks, September 21, 2001:

"I’m tired tonight. I’m tired of people who can watch 5,000 people from 62 nations burned alive and crushed to death, and think: well, you know you had this coming. I’m tired of people who presume I am ignorant of history because I hang a flag. No: Not tired. Annoyed. Annoyed like I was while walking Jasper Dog tonight, and passed the great high school football field at the end of the block. It was lit like noon, with huge banks of lights lluminating the field, blaring through the thick autumn fog. Grunts and shouts and whistles blowing. As natural and ordinary a September sight as you’ll see, and all I could think of were the lights hoisted over the site of the World Trade Center, casting flat dead light over men who pulled the arms and legs of people from the rubble.

It angered me that this ordinary sight had been soiled - then I thought: That’s where we are now. Think of it. Think of it when you turn the corner and the lights fade. Never forget.

Never."

Lileks again, from September 5, 2002.

The Mudville Gazette's story about Rick Rescorla, a hero among heroes on that day. I think Greyhawk's leading quote on Mudville is even more appropriate today than it is on all other days: "Good people sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf."

And finally, and not as out-of-place as it sounds at first, a Budweiser commercial that Kate posted on Facebook yesterday:

UPDATED: More Lileks.

"O Lord, Who blessest those who bless Thee, and sanctifiest those who put their trust in Thee, save Thy people and bless Thine inheritance ... Grant peace to Thy world, to Thy Churches, to the Priests, to our Civil Authorities, to the Armed Forces and to all Thy people ... Now and for ever, and unto ages of ages."

Soccer Boy

2011-09-10T08:18:00.004-05:00

Two has taken up soccer this fall. He has never played before, but he was thrilled to try and so far absolutely loves going to practice. It will be a bit of a challenge when he plays his first game and people are (gasp!) watching and cheering, but with a bit of coaching from mom and dad we're pretty positive he'll make it through. No, I'm not being sarcastic here. Two hates being watched, especially by people he doesn't know in places he's not used to.

Here he is at his second practice. So far, you can see how much he likes it. And how much he likes his AC Milano jersey I bought him to practice in.

It's Friday Night (and no, I did not just get paid)

2011-09-09T23:09:00.008-05:00

In fact, I have nothing to do but provide you with links. I have an exciting life, I know.

If you ever wonder why I own a gun, you just need to look at the news to get your longed-for answer. Because those professionals out there who you're sure will protect you? Sometimes they can't hit the broad side of a barn. "Eight officers returned fire — in two distinct volleys — firing 73 bullets and striking Mr. Webster twice, in his chest and hip." I don't believe I've ever missed a target at the gun range. I doubt sincerely my aim would be as good as 100% in a real life, dangerous situation, but I promise I'm better than 2.7%.

In political news, Chris Matthews briefly channeled Rick Perry the other day on Social Security. My explanation? Everyone can get busy and forget to fill their meds prescription now and again. That might also explain the leg tingle he had a few years ago, come to think of it.

I was feeling a little embarrassed about picking on Mormons the other day and revealing the secret of their underwear and all, but then a fellow mom blogger confessed that she struggled with the desire to burn Mormons at the stake for their heresies, so now I am feeling quite a lot better about the whole underwear thing. Thank goodness for the ability to compare yourself to others and feel self-righteous after doing so! Where would I be without it?

Our former priest, author and blogger Fr. Joseph Honeycutt, has a piece in which he confesses to some adolescent trouble with the Boys in Blue. He writes: "It didn’t help that there was a light as bright as the sun shining on my back and a police megaphone piercing the night with a voice that said..." Doesn't it make you feel so good about your own youthful run-ins with the law, knowing that your priest, too, made similar mistakes? Me too.

James Lileks writes a great post today on the new Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavor, the name of which I will not repeat here. He is (understandably, in my opinion) upset about the name and attendant marketing campaign. "Just a small interval of childhood unpunctured by leering sexual puns in the dessert aisle- a small thing, I grant. Hardly worth defending." What he said. He's also starting to write about 9/11 a bit, as you can see at the beginning of today's post. Look back in on him on Monday; I'm thinking he'll have something well-worth reading on it.

Pound Pup Legacy is asking for nominations for their 5th annual "Demons of Adoption" award. And no, before you ask, I am not against adoption. I am against abuses of the system, dishonest people who make money off the process without counting the cost on the birth families, adoptive families and children, and a lack of proper oversight that allows all of that to happen. So there.

Finally, if you've never checked out one of the most interesting sites on the internet, don't waste another minute and head right over to Retronaut now. See the past. Be the past, Danny.

G'night.

Football Practice

2011-09-08T23:17:00.006-05:00

One's team had their last practice tonight before their first game this Saturday. Wheeee! The boys are really excited - at least, going by One's reaction, they all must be excited, because he is on the moon. I am the "official" team photographer, so last night while the boys were practicing I practiced too - with my camera. I've always used the idiot settings on it, and while they get good results in many situations they do not adequately cover motion shots, especially in lower light. I did some manual-reading and some googling about camera settings, and went out to play with ISO, f-stop and shutter speed for the first time. I think I had as much fun as the boys did - at least while the light held.

Huddling up:

I'm trying to see how much motion I can capture, so I take some of the drills at the beginning.

The light is starting to go, or at least my camera skills are failing me:

Aha! I open the apeture a little more and voila! More light! Just like the internet said there would be. Again, trying to see how much motion I can capture, and what looks blurry when I zoom in and what doesn't. So legs: not so bad. Feet: blurry.

Now they're getting into the drills One likes best: running into things.

Best of all: running into one another:

And now the light is really gone as it gets to be 8pm, so Two and I head home, leaving One to finish out practice and ride home with Dad. They always come in the front door laughing, so I think they like that arrangement most of all.

Let's hope I can pull it off on Saturday. I know the boys can. Go team!

Links for the Week

2011-09-06T09:25:00.000-05:00

I've been finding out a lot of random things lately; isn't that what the internet is for? As usual, I can't help but share some of them with you. Some fall in the "interesting and nice to know" category; some are a little stranger than that.

Youth football is not the most dangerous thing in the world. Yes, that word "not" is in there on purpose. As one of the MDs interviewed in the article says "The thing is, the little kids simply don't move that fast. And they're made of rubber." Anything that makes this mama feel better - we'll go with that, okay?

On the "much stranger" side of things: did you know that Mormons wear special, blessed underwear? Really, how there can be so many of them when this is what they look like under their clothes? If you know the answer to that question, please don't share. This was more than enough for me.

And then the scary side: Britain is going farther down the road to totalitarianism by trying to take away four overweight children from their overweight parents. George Orwell, call your office. Really, read the whole article: it's beyond disturbing. For three years a social worker been present at the family's mealtimes, taking notes on what they consume. That hasn't had the desired result, so the children are to be taken away and given up for adoption, with no parent contact allowed. I don't like seeing fat kids any more than the next person, but this is such an obvious violation of both the parents' and the children's human rights, it's ridiculous. Who will they come for next, I wonder?

I've actually caught Drudge in a mistake! Well, not a mistake per se, but one of his links this past weekend read: NEW PILL TO 'STOP STROKES'... and linked to this story from the UK. But ... the same drug has been approved for the same use in the same group of patients for close to a year in the US... so, news? No, not so much.

In general I never write about the industry in which I work, but this is an interesting story, and not one that I've seen in the US press. Cisco is being sued for allegedly helping the Chinese government develop a system to crack down on dissidents who use the internet to express their views. The claim, filed by Human Rights Law Foundation, alleges that there is evidence, in part in the form of a 2002 Cisco proposal, that "reveals how [Cisco's] products can address China's goals of “maintaining stability”, “stop the network-related crimes” and “combat 'Falun Gong' evil religion and other hostiles”." Oy.

Five links seem more than enough for a four-day work week. Cheers.

Back to School

2011-09-05T22:00:00.003-05:00

We've had two weeks of school now, and overall third and sixth grade each seem to be a rousing success. Two is, of course, still at the same school, so his adjustment time has been minimal. He should have increased work this year and a push towards more independence in getting his work done, organizing himself, and so on - which he needs and which I hope he is ready for. He's quite capable of being ready for such things if he cares to be; whether he will put in the effort to care is all that remains to be seen. He is thrilled to have a number of good friends in his class, and he seems very well-matched with his teacher. He's added art club at school to compensate for missing classes at Glassell this semester, and he's trying out soccer for the first time. Busy? Yes, he's busy. But so far he loves soccer and there's no way he'll have anything but a positive reaction to art club, since art has always been one of his favorite subjects. I think he's set to have a good year, and to grow even more independent as he navigates the school building without his brother there for the first time in a while.

One is having a typical tween's reaction to middle school. He loves it, it's wonderful, he loves his teachers, he wants to learn, everyone is nice. And then he stresses out: he knows his work will fall short of perfect, he's worried he's not making friends fast enough, what if he's tardy and gets a lunch detention, and so on and so forth... As I said: a perfect tween reaction to middle school. He started down the path this afternoon while finishing up his homework (which has been blessedly light for the first two weeks) by telling me "but when I get this done, there will just be more assigned tomorrow, and then the day after that, and every week there will be work, and I don't how I can make it all year long." Followed by a loud sob. And so I rubbed his back and told him gently that, yes, Virginia, there is a lifetime of work ahead of him, and then at 80 he will retire. And that no one in their right mind looks at all of it at once, dangling out there in the future, waiting. He needs to learn - he is learning - to focus on the task at hand and to take small bites of the work that is to come. He'll figure it out - but why I was surprised that he came to me with the "I'll work and never stop" idea so soon, I don't know. This is the child who kept me in his room for a full hour past bedtime when he was four: "I don't want to die! Death comes for everyone someday and it will come for me and I'm scared and I don't want to die." At four. My friend Jenny calls it "existential angst", and One has it in spades, unfortunately. But he also has a lot of resiliency, which is why (I guess) I haven't heard a whole lot about the fear of death in the past seven years. And so I tell myself: this too shall pass. And it shall, and hopefully the joy and optimism remain. They have before, and so they will again.

As the top of the blog says: all of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again. Rinse. Repeat.

Hurricane in the Mountains UPDATED

2011-09-01T16:17:00.005-05:00

When I first started hearing reports about Hurricane Irene, I have to say I was a little Gulf Coast Smug about it. The pictures of Manhattanites queuing up at Whole Foods for last-minute necessities, then the ones of them out walking in the actual storm, did cause my Smugometer to go up a bit. Where were the piles of broken glass in the streets from the skyscrapers, where was all the damage? As it turns out, I was looking in exactly the wrong place. As it turns out, one of the places I needed to look was the most unlikely I could have thought: the place where I was raised.

This probably isn't surprising to y'all who have seen what Irene did to southern and central Vermont, but Irene whacked the heck out a number of small towns near and dear to my heart, hidden away in the Adirondack Park. These are small towns full of people who have seen more than their fair share of blizzards, ice storms, economic hard times, and the like - and who have even seen seasonal flooding from their small and swift rivers. But they have never seen flooding like that which Irene brought with her. Not ever - not on this scale. The damage is heart-breaking. Homes were thrown off their foundations, blacktop peeled off the surface of the roads, three fire stations were destroyed, and something like 70 bridges were wiped out or damaged. People whose homes had never flooded had 4'-6' of water in their homes (yes, that's feet, not inches). Water raced down the main street of the town my father grew up in, and it poured through the windows of the wooden covered bridge I crossed at least two times a day for the first 15 years of my life. It was, to say the least, a catastrophic event.

If you want to see pictures, learn the news, find out how you can help, there are some links to check out below. A number of people have come into the area to help, and of course the residents themselves have been taking care of each other very well, as they always do. I have always worn the 1,500 miles of distance between me and my childhood home very lightly; many, many times, I needed those miles. But for the past few days those miles have been far too many; I am too far away to be of any help, and I am finding out that that hurts more than I ever would have expected.

God bless all y'all back home. I'm proud to be from the place y'all care about and care for so deeply and so well. You are all in my prayers.

Links:

The beautiful Wells Library in Upper Jay flooded and lost all but 5 of its children's books. Here is how you can help.

Some news and pictures at this blog.

Lots of really good coverage from the Adirondack Daily Enterprise.

And best of all, how you can help, from North Country Public Radio.

UPDATED WITH A FEW MORE LINKS:

Reuters picks up the story, and

The local Fox affiliate posts a story.

Doing What We Like Best

2011-08-21T17:45:00.001-05:00

On the last afternoon before school starts.

Saturday in Pictures

2011-08-20T21:07:00.010-05:00

One had football tryouts today in the stinking Texas heat at high noon. I can't even express what this feels like - to stand outside on a treeless field in the middle of the day and sweat as simply as you breathe. He was so thoroughly soaked by the end of it, the permanent Sharpie letters on his tee shirt (identifying him by last name and grade, of course) had run. This is what it all looked like; you won't know what it feels like unless you've done it yourself, once upon a time.

The coaches in their reviewing tents:

Jugs of life-giving elixir:

Some of us, however, stayed home today to watch TV, and so dressed accordingly:

Being 8 is so much easier than being 11, don't you think? And the wardrobe is so much more colorful ...

Despite the heat, One had as much fun today as his brother. He gets more excited about football with every practice, and can't wait for his team assignment. The only thing that would make him less than happy would be if he were put on the A&M team - but since I don't think Antonio Armstrong drafted him today, he's probably safe. For now I hope he keeps enjoying himself, and puts as much of himself into football as he always has into taekwondo. If he does that, he'll be fine.

In his Labor-o-to-ry

2011-08-18T13:25:00.003-05:00

The wild scientist goes to work, enjoying the last week of summer vacation with nothing to do except exactly what we like.

The Hard Life

2011-08-13T23:27:00.007-05:00

"My life is so hard."

I used to have a college roommate who said that, frequently. She would throw herself down in a chair, place the back of her hand against her forehead, and utter those dreadful words at least once a day. And then she would pick herself up, pour herself a glass of Diet Coke, and get on with the story of why life was just so impossible.

I think about those moments a lot, especially when I'm running and running and running, from laundry to work to pick up kids to buy groceries to cook something halfway acceptable (eggs? again?) to washing dishes to trying to remember to work out to falling into bed and asleep before I can turn off the light by my bed.

Sounds exhausting, doesn't it? Well, it is, and then it isn't. It is harder than the awful, dreadful things my 19 year old roommate - she of the Volvo and the 2 vacation homes - were facing? Yup, it's harder. But is it easier than what 99% of the world knows of as life? Yes and yes and yes again.

And if there's even one of you who doesn't believe me, read this and know, just for a moment: we all have it easier than so many other people. There is so much of our lives that we find hard - the traffic, the work, the making ends meet - that is so much easier, just because we do it here, in the richest nation, in the freest place, in all our middle class (or even upper middle class) glory. You all know that already without me saying a single, solitary word - that is adundantly obvious, I'm sure. But click the link and read it anyway, just because you should, even though you know already, and I know that you know, and all that. Just read, and remember.

Remember in gratefulness and not in grief. With alms-giving, born not out of guilt but out of thankgiving. May it always be so. Amen.

The Boy Who Goes To Eleven

2011-08-13T17:43:00.008-05:00

We went shopping today, and this is what we got:

I swear I gave birth to him six months ago. What happened? When did his shoe size become a 7 (yes, that's a men's 7). Where did this child go?

With all this evidence in front of me I can only come to one conclusion:

He's growing up.

The Balance of Tears

2011-08-12T20:26:00.007-05:00

Joyful, sad, all in one week. Isn't that what happens when you're an adult? Last time I thought about it: yup, that was it. I'm far too sad about a whole host of things - maybe it's the hot weather, pressing down on all of us and causing me to check my happiness. Sometimes I think life tries to balance itself out between tears of joy and tears of grief. Sometimes I think it's about as good at that as the Texas weather is about balancing sunshine and rain: not so much these days. We all have both; right now I simply have an over-abundance of sadness.

Today I read Kelly's heartbreaking and beautifully written post of two men my age taken from their families too young and it cut my heart in two. I watched Jennie Parillo's One Last Dance video that she posted of the last time her husband swirled their little girl around the living room and I cried tears of grief (for someone I don't even know) and of fear (for people I do - and love dearly).

I see my gloriously brave neighbor and her family, fighting cancer for the third time in eight years. She is my hero: a woman who faces down death itself and gets a second degree black belt at the same time. She roars and marches on where I would lie down in the middle of the road and give in. And still I'm scared for her - probably more scared than she can allow herself to be. "Oh Lord, visit and heal thy suffering servant..."

I hear that, after years of awesome parenting and self-sacrifice of the kind that would make me whine like a dog, a dear, dear friend is being challenged in court to keep custody of her beloved child. Her gracious, giving nature has caused her to be much more sinned against than sinning all these years, and what is the payment for that? Ugliness, a court battle, and a creeping fear that, despite her blamelessness, something will still go horribly wrong.

I have prayers for all of this, and more, and most days I say them and carry hope with me. But sometimes the fear suffocates me, as it does all of us. Today has been one of those days. A day of trying and failing to catch my breath and of feeling an ache in the pit of my stomach that has been absent for some time. Life is so good, and yet sometimes so short; so sweet and yet so painful. It's a struggle for all of us to live for the moment we have been given right now, and to celebrate this life as much as we can. To not give into fear, but to look to the light in all we have been given.

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." And forgive me my fear, yet once again.

Joyful Tuesday

2011-08-09T15:55:00.003-05:00

No, joyful is not a word usually associated with Tuesday, but sometimes it happens, right?

I'm a might bit embarrassed to say that it could possibly be the [cough] country music I've been listening to in the car on the way to work. ::shame::

Oh hell, go ahead and enjoy it with me. If you listen to any of them, the first one's the best.

Steps to Anarchy

2011-08-08T21:45:00.005-05:00

1. Forget to arm the police

2. Disarm the law-abiding portion of your population

3. Prosecute anyone who defends himself from violent crime

4. Sit back and watch. Suggest people evacuate. What's next? Telling them to hit the Molotov cocktails back at the rioters with a cricket bat?

As Instapundit points out, where are the Korean shop owners with AR-15s when you need them?

Absolutely the Last Time

2011-08-06T16:57:00.001-05:00

This is really, really the last time I post anything on the movie Juno. I have been very complimentary of it in the past, but I've also confessed that it brings on a big case of Ugly Tears at the end, no matter how many times I've seen it. After a long bit of thinking, I believe I know the reason for the tears. It's not the beauty, it's not the redemptive nature of the movie: nope, not. at. all.

It's the 30 second cry scene. Followed by the "happy teenage couple with no worries" ending.

Why? Because if that was all I was to my birth mother, then I don't want to know about it. And I want to cry, a lot. Really, can anyone tell me what Juno feels throughout the entire movie? When she really gets down to expressing herself, what does she have to say? Well, she's annoyed - tired of being a whale, tired of being stared at, tired of her boyfriend taking someone else to the prom. Then, at the very end, she cries. Does she cry because she misses her child, because she's so relieved it's all over, or because the epidural has worn off and her stitches hurt? We're not told. Your guess is as good as mine.

And then it's over. At the end of the movie she's skinny (lots of profile shots), she's back to riding her bike, the light is yellow and tender, and her voiceover talks about how she and her boyfriend are like peanut butter and jelly. It's Deep, Man. Really, really deep.

If that's all that happened when I was born, it crushes me. If my birth mother walked away from my birth and delighted in her post-pregnant life from Day 1 without a backwards glance, I doubt the existence of her soul. It's not that I wish suffering on a single human being - especially not the one who gave me life - but I'd like to know I was more than that. Just like Juno wants - in the end - to have her "chair" with Paulie Bleeker mean something real happened, I want to know that what happened in the early morning hours of June 15, 1970 wasn't just a "get up and walk away" kind of thing. Juno tells everyone it was. I beg by God to differ.

Saturday Treat

2011-08-06T13:22:00.004-05:00

The boys fell in love with iced coffee in Colorado two weeks ago, so today I gave into their pleading faces and made them some as a treat.

Does anything look cooler on a hot August day?

Hating the Caravan

2011-08-05T10:21:00.000-05:00

We returned this past Sunday from a week in Colorado, about which I will write in more detail soon. A short aside to a lovely long trip is all I have time for at the moment.

While in Colorado, Two discovered that motorhomes and campers weren't illegal. Or as he likes to refer to them: "caravans".

See, after watching more than his lifetime allowance of Top Gear, and hearing the three boys on it rant and rave about caravans and the blight they are to all decent people's lives, he naturally assumed something must have been done by now. Those caravan drivers must have been put off the roads for good, their caravans smashed, and law and order restored (along with a decent speed limit, I'm guessing).

Imagine his horror, then, when while driving down the mountain to go white water rafting one morning, Two discovered the road blocked by a large, ugly, white caravan. "Arrrrrrgh!" he howled. "What is that doing there? It's in our way. It's stopping Dad from driving fast. It's slow. It's horrible. Take. It. Away."

I don't think he'll ever live that reaction down. Then again, I don't think he'll rest until he's made the pesky things illegal, either. Wally Byams, watch out: my 8 year old is coming for you.

A Sense of Accomplishment

2011-08-04T15:53:00.000-05:00

I wasn't blogging a whole lot at the beginning of the summer, so I missed writing about two very important events in the life of the Grass Widow household: One graduated from elementary school and both boys became black belts in taekwondo. All in one whirlwind week - it was quite a show. Watching both events filled me with pride and happiness. So much happiness that, in fact, toward the end of the graduation ceremony I realized my face hurt --- I'd been smiling non-stop the entire time. One was so handsome in his eagerly requested coat and tie, Two almost behaved himself, and the whole auditorium was filled with smiles and hugs and shouts of laughter. I thought it was amazing.

And then I watched my children work harder than I ever imagine they could, and achieve something that not many achieve. And my perspective on the two events changed a bit.

Because as happy as I was for One at that graduation, let's face it: everyone (in the first world, anyway) graduates from the 5th grade. Yes, he worked hard and had challenges, but it wasn't Phi Beta Kappa from Harvard, for Heaven's sake. It was a happy, fun elementary school graduation, capped off by ice cream. It was a moment to savor and be proud of, but it wasn't truly an accomplishment.

I say that not to be mean, but to point out the difference between how we feel when we have to do something and how we feel when we choose to do something. You have to go to 5th grade, or the homeschool equivalent thereof. You don't have to play on an all-star baseball team, or dance on stage in a ballet in front of 100's of people, or earn a black belt in martial arts in less than 3 years. So when you do, it is sweet. It is a victory. And from a parent's perspective, it feels so much different from any other parenting experience I can hardly explain it. It's not just a sense of pride, of "hey, that's MY KID". It's more like you're impressed with them, because they are people in their own right who make sacrifices and work hard even when they don't want to and don't give up. They are people who make it. I was proud of the boys, but even more than that, they impressed me. Not in a shallow way, but in the sense that I was honored to have been a part of helping them get there - I was proud not because they were mine, but because I was theirs. They did the work, I didn't, but they let me share in the glory of it.

It's exhilarating stuff, this parent thing. Watch out, world: these boys are coming!

Adoption Links

2011-08-03T19:56:00.005-05:00

I've been trolling around the internet lately looking for different perspectives on adoption. Not surprisingly, there are a lot of different ones out there. Adoption is a complicated and emotion-filled issue, whether we want to admit it or not. Sometimes an act of mercy that allows a child to be given a second chance to have a family, and yet sometimes an act of coercion that causes untold grief. Not easy to pigeonhole, especially since you also have three often conflicting ways of looking at the issue: one from each side of the adoption "triad". What can seem like an unmitigated good to one member of that triangle can be perceived as horribly wrong to another, and vice versa all the way around and around.

What have I been reading on the subject lately? Some interesting stuff. Here are a few links:

The recently-reactivated Fleas Biting blog has an excellent post on the need for accountability in international adoptions, and why turning a blind eye to corruption only hurts everyone involved. Law professor and blogger David Smolin writes "Adoption systems in which large numbers of children moved became infected with large-scale and systematic abusive practices impacting substantial numbers of adoptions. Within those systems, even the children who were properly adopted are damaged, because they and their adoptive families must live with the uncertainty about whether or not they were stolen---an uncertainty that is very difficult to resolve. Thus, most adoptive parents and adoptees who were adopted from affected countries have no way of knowing whether their adoptions were tainted by child laundering or other abusive practices." Read it all, and the post prior on this blog, if the subject interests you. Very thought-provoking stuff.

Adoptive mom Tonggu Mommy writes a beautiful post on the chance she had recently to speak to a group of moms at her church about the realities of adoption. Again, read the whole thing - the part where she talks about her daughter loving her and her husband but hating having been adopted made me cry. And she reminds all of us who look to God for meaning in adoption that, "[a]s Christians, it's our job not only to speak about God's hand in adoption, it is also our job to encourage compassion in others, and to point out how God prefers family preservation over adoption, whenever possible." Amen.

I read a not-as-pretty but definitely compelling post at First Mother Forum, called "Why Was I Given Away?" More tears for me - definitely something I needed to read. In it, birth mom Jane Edwards writes about the compulsion many birth mothers feel to give their children up, and how many of them were convinced that "an irresponsible person like you doesn't deserve to raise this baby", and so chose adoption not for any positive, but instead all negative reasons. More importantly, she makes the point that birth mothers do not give up their children because they love them so much; they give them up because they have no way to do otherwise. After 41 years of listening to the former claptrap ... bing! epiphany time for me! Of course you don't give someone you love up because you love them - none of us who are currently parents would do so, so why in hell would anyone assume that a birth mother felt any differently?

And even uglier - did you know that you can find babies online, listed by race and due date? Well, you can get anything online, can't you - why not a newborn? Apparently Mormon sites like this one make a habit of it. I've even found one that lists prices. Please note that they aren't called "babies" - they're "situations". And you thought he lived in New Jersey!

Finally, after ugliness, we get to math (some of you think this post just got uglier, others, not so much). Abba Fund's blog has a post (a little dated, I know) about how many orphans there are in the world, and what the term "orphan" means in UNICEF and other circles. Complete news to me, I have to admit. As the post writer Jason points out, "Therefore, of the 132 million children they [UNICEF] classify as orphans, only 13 million have lost both parents. The majority of orphans are living with a surviving parent, grandparent, or other family member. 95% of all orphans are over the age of 5." Additionally, UNICEF has more recently identified that, out of that 132 million, 2 million are not in family care at all and are institutionalized (scroll down at the link to "Children without Parental Care" for the scoop). Having been convinced at one point that there were orphanages overflowing with parentless infants all over the developing world, these stats surprised me.

These posts are just a handful of the millions out there on adoption - so many of them are so good to read. Everyone has an opinion, don't they? And that's not a bad thing, especially if you have an open mind.

This is Bravery

2011-08-01T21:30:00.003-05:00

The boys love The Magnificent Seven, especially because it features their all-time favorite, Steve McQueen. I hope while they're watching the gun fights, they listen to these words, too.

The Creepy Picture

2011-07-21T22:00:00.005-05:00

Does this creep you out the way it creeps me out? First off, as an adoptee I have to say the words bother me quite a bit. For better or worse, my birth mother gave me a heck of a lot more than "a need for love". It's far, far more complicated than that. And my adoption is a simple one as these things go. When you're talking about adding the complexities that come with international adoption (which is what the picture illustrates, obviously), it doesn't even come close. And speaking of international adoption, is the picture itself racist, awful, something truly ... just blech?! I see the "inscrutable Asian" face on the birth mother, and the gloating smile on the white mother, and it makes me shudder. The wall on the left where the words are is otherwise blank, contrasted with the open window (opportunity! the world!) on the right. Oh how perfect it is to be adopted! Oh how completely lacking in emotional and ethical complexity! Yes, I know it's just a picture, but what a piece of propaganda.

How did I come across such tripe? Well, I was nosing around the internet down all kinds of rabbit trails and I found it on one of those over-the-top adoption blogs – y'all know the kind I mean, I think. One of those blogs where it can’t just be “God blessed us with the chance to step in where someone was needed and be an awesome Plan B for you, precious child”, but it has to be “God pre-destined you from before you were even conceived to be our child, so to hell with your birth mother – you’re much better off without her anyway.”

Ack. The world is broken by sin. Sometimes adoption can be a part of mending that brokenness. But whatever it is, whatever it can be, it isn't this picture.

Things That Pain Me to Tell You

2011-07-19T18:19:00.011-05:00

I'm complaining, which I'm sure you all want to hear about. But there are a few things that have been peeving me mightily, and I'd like to get them off my metaphorical chest.

1. Parents at taekwondo who help their children get into and out of their sparring gear need to Get. A. Life. If my boys can do this themselves for three solid years, trust me, your child can, too. Because honestly, it really looks pathetic to have a 9 year old standing there idly while his mama pulls off his fighting gear. The word "wuss" comes to mind. I know it's not an earth-shattering problem I'm talking about, but give your kid some dignity and let him dress himself, okay?

2. Poverty tourism gets my goat just about more than anything. This could (and should) be a post unto itself; the same is true with #3 below. But since I'm not involved in anything remotely related to ministry I think I will just leave the real writing of it to the experts. But in my own opinion: pastors and the like flying off to get photo ops in third world garbage dumps should be forced to stay there for several weeks before flying home again. Maybe then they'd just donate the cost of their tickets, etc, to a long-term mission that actually does some good and be done with it.

3. And finally, if one more person tells me that Caylee Anthony was a late term abortion, and tries to use a dead two year old to justify their anti-abortion position, I might just scream so loud you can hear me in Idaho. Why? Well, first of all, let's remember that you, personally, were not on the jury, and that Casey Anthony was indeed acquitted of harming her child. Did she behave bizarrely in the extreme, lie like a dog, and do all sorts of other inappropriate things? Yes, she did. Did she act like you would have had your child died or gone missing? Probably not. But did a jury of her peers convict her of harming one hair on her daughter's head? No, they did not. And so your abortion analogy breaks down before it even leaves the driveway. Secondly, even if Casey Anthony was convicted, the whole statement is still a really crappy idea. Is abortion a sin? I'm quite sure. So is cheating on your husband and your taxes, failing to help widows, coveting your neighbor's riding lawnmower, and being rude to your mother. God will sort all those things out - as well as other, more serious infractions - in the great by and by. But those of us hanging out down here on Planet Earth should not run around spending all our time pointing out the sins of others and shouting "you're as bad as a child murderer!" I mean, if that's what you want Christians to be known for, I guess you should go ahead. Tell every woman who has had an abortion that it's as if she drowned her child in a swamp and left her there. What a good idea. While you're at it, tell every guy who cheats on his wife that he might as well have murdered her, he's such a piece of whaleshit. That will spread the love of Christ mighty well. That will let everyone know the Church is a hospital for sinners (instead of a room full of finger-pointing hypocrites) immediately. I'm sorry for the sarcasm, but can't we judge in our hearts without acting so judgemental? Can't we think to ourselves "I would never, ever do that!" and then let it go? Because while yes, an unborn baby is a person, so is a sinner. And if you give all the sinners in the world the middle finger instead of grace, I'm afraid you're going to be left on your mountain of self-righteousness quite alone.

Okay, I'm done now. Unless you want me to go on about the weather ...

Seven Links for Friday

2011-07-15T08:08:00.010-05:00

A columnist in South Africa asks poignantly, what does it mean to be South African? What is national identity, and how can a country foster the good things that flow from it? How does a people get to a point that they can say "we have a set of shared values"? It's an interesting question, although one we frequently take for granted in the United States - even given our diverse heritage.

Would you buy Amazon's challenger to the iPad? Why or why not?

If you think you need a vacation but you don't see one on your schedule, go to Nina Camic's blog and browse through her photos from her recent trip to France and Spain. The pictures and quiet prose will lower your blood pressure by several points.

I've been enjoying looking through this food blog, D's Kitchen. I have yet to try any of the recipes, but the gazpacho is calling my name. I think it's on the menu for this weekend.

The Atlantic has a long but interesting piece on How to Land You Kids In Therapy. Since that's been my goal for years, I'm glad to have confirmation that it's working quite well, thank you. No, in all seriousness, the whole problem outlined by the article seems to come down to whether or not we let our kids fail. Well, not over-simplify things, but OF COURSE WE DO. Or we should, anyway. For a more interesting take on how that should happen, pick up a copy of The Blessings of a Skinned Knee, which has to be one of the best parenting books I've ever read. My fabdamntabulous maid of honor, Kelly, recommended it to me several years ago, and I love it. Kelly is, of course, much better known as the author of the meaning of pie than she is as my maid of honor, but she really was there for my four minute wedding, too. Honest.

Speaking of parenting, Tiff has a great post on the subject at her blog freeplaylife. In it she gives the simplest but best advice: "while our kids might have interests that we’re not interested in…that we may find silly or worthless…it’s not about what they are doing. It’s about getting involved in doing something with them, because the time we spend with our kids is what matters." In her case, she's writing about playing video games and eating ice cream with her kids - because that's what they wanted to do with mom. I think too often we take this advice when our kids are small and then discard it as they get older. Would we play Dora with our four year old for two hours because that's what she wanted to do? Probably. But would we play Halo with our 17 year old son, if that's what it took to still hang out with him? I'm not so sure a lot of parents (especially moms) would. And that's pretty much a shame.

Finally, because it's summer, I'm linking again to this invaluable article on how drowning in real life does not look like drowning in the movies. Read, read, read.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Couldn't Have Said It Better Myself

2011-07-13T19:45:00.008-05:00

P.G. Wodehouse wasn't necessarily known for his deep thoughts, especially on love. Remember the "Ickenham Method" that Uncle Fred always proposed? Grab the lady by the wrist, waggle her about a bit, say something pithy like "my mate", and shower her upturned face with kisses. You have to admit, it's a bit on the short side of romantic. But last night I'm reading along in the first of the Blandings Castle novels, Something Fresh, and there of all places is a description of falling in love that I decide I simply must share. Mostly I wanted to share it with One, who needs to start socking these things away for future reference. A good passage like this may come in handy one day, 10 years from now, when he's wondering to himself: "Self, is it this young woman who I really love? What, then, is love?" And all those other thoughts that my Can I Overthink This Some More child will likely have about such things.

Here's the set up: Ashe and Joan, impoverished writers and neighbors in London, are traveling to Blandings Castle as temporary servants, the goal of which employment is only fully explained by reading the whole dang book (something I highly recommend, by the way). They arrive on the cold, dark, windy train platform, and while waiting for the cart to take them and the luggage to the Castle, Ashe sees Joan smile and has an epiphany:

"He did not wish the station platform of Market Blandings to become suddenly congested with Red Indians, so that he might save Joan's life, and he did not wish to give up anything at all. But he was conscious, to the very depths of his being, that a future in which Joan did not figure would be so insupportable as not to bear considering, and in the immediate present, he very strongly favored the idea of clasping Joan in his arms and kissing her till further notice. Mingled with these feelings was an excited gratitude to her for coming to him with that electric smile on her face; a stunned realization that she was a thousand times prettier than he had ever imagined: and a humility which threatened to make him loose his clutch on the steamer truck and roll about at her feet, yapping like a dog."

Do you think that's a good place for One to start, 10 years hence? Me too.

Chicken Posole

2011-07-13T18:55:00.004-05:00

A friend once gave me a recipe for this, but I've not only lost it, I've also managed to forget 75% of it. So tonight I made something else up instead. Here it is:

2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken, cut into strips (I prefer chicken thighs, but tonight we had chicken breasts. Oh well.)
2 cans Rotel tomatoes, drained (mild or regular - depends on your audience)
2 cans white hominy, drained
1 large onion, chopped
3-4 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups chicken broth
1/2 bottle of beer - a light, summery one works nicely. Allow me to pause and plug my neighbor's summer brew. Yum.
1 1/2 tsp cumin
salt and pepper
olive oil
avocados
grated Monterey Jack cheese

Saute onions in olive oil until soft. Add garlic and continue to cook for a few minutes. Put aside on a plate. Add chicken and a bit more oil to the same pan and brown the chicken on both sides. Add the beer (Remember to drink the rest yourself. Don't you think you deserve it? I do.) and cook for 2 minutes or so. Add back in the onions/garlic mixture, as well as the chicken broth, cumin, salt and pepper. Simmer covered for 10-15 minutes. Remove chicken to a plate and cover. Add hominy and Rotel to the pan and cook uncovered for 10-15 minutes; you don't want to boil all the liquid away, just cook things a bit. Add the chicken back in, and serve topped with cheese, with avocado slices on the side.

It was over 100° today and this actually was not too painful to cook. That's saying a lot. Enjoy.

Dreams of Empire

2011-07-11T21:11:00.004-05:00

The boys - and by that I mean all three human males living with me - have recently been very taken with Top Gear, the UK version, of course. Episodes stack up on the DVR, only to be devoured by the three of them in gales of laughter and screams of surprise. The show's characters are analyzed: do we like James better than Jeremy, who really has the worst hair of the three of them, and how short is Richard, really really? The cars are enjoyed as a secondary pleasure, at least as far as the younger two are concerned. The contests, the potty humor, the constant ragging on one another: this is what makes their Top Gear world go round.

And so One says, quite thoughtfully the other day: "When I run the world I think I'll keep the British around. They're quite funny, really."

Pause.

Oh dear. I mean, I'm glad he has a plan for adulthood and all that, but I really didn't think Middle School Megalomania would set in so quickly - before, in fact, middle school has begun at all.

It's going to be a long three years. I hope all those episodes of Top Gear will help distract him from world domination, at least until he starts to shave. ::sigh::

Summer Sundries: BBQ and Okra

2011-07-11T12:16:00.003-05:00

I already confessed to developing a liking for pork barbecue, despite my deep and abiding love for All Things Texas. Since I've made the big confession, I might as well go all the way and share the sauce recipe I made up to go along with my new-found habit. Here it is:

Basic BBQ Sauce

1/2 cup ketchup
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup cider vinegar
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup molasses
squirt yellow mustard
smaller squirt Chinese Rooster Sauce

Whisk together in a saucepan, heat and simmer for 5-10 minutes, and you're done. It's just as good cold as it is warm.

I also found a fantastic okra recipe - one that does not involve either frying or tomatoes. I had to look long and hard for one that had neither, but I found this and then played a bit from there. Here you go:

Summer Okra

1 lb okra, stemmed and split in 1/2 long-ways
2 T butter
1 T bacon fat (you could just use more butter, but if you happen to have bacon fat, why not use it?)
2 small lemons (1 large one would work as well, wouldn't it?)
1/4 tsp ground fennel seed
3/4 tsp paprika (who cares what kind?)
1/4 tsp ground cumin
1/4 tsp ground coriander
1/8 tsp turmeric
dash of cinnamon
dash red pepper flakes
Plain yogurt (optional)

Combine the spices and set aside. Take the zest from both lemons and add to the spices, then juice the lemons and put that to the side as well.

Cook the okra in the butter and bacon fat on fairly high heat. Keep stirring until lightly browned. Add the spices + lemon zest (and maybe another T of butter if things are looking dry), stir well and cook another minute or two. Throw the lemon juice on, give it 30 seconds more heat, turn off and serve. You can add a small dollop of yogurt to the top if you like - or not.

Bedtime Snack

2011-07-10T22:42:00.002-05:00

My love of s'mores is well documented, as is my love of sharing them with my nearest and dearest. Because I ask you: what more can boys want for dessert on a summer's evening, after all, then a melty, oozy, chocolatey s'more? Nothing, of course. But as much as I love sharing these favorite oojahs of mine, I like nothing more than stealing out to the fire when the coals have burned down low and making just one more, just for me, when no one else is watching. The boys are tucked safely in their beds, Husband is on the front porch with cigar, coffee, iPod and headphones, and I and my last s'more are left alone, disturbed only by the dogs, sniffing the air and wondering if there's anything in it for them.

No, nothing for you, sweet pups. Go back to sleep and leave mommy to her bedtime snack. G'night.

Sunday Supper

2011-07-10T19:37:00.007-05:00

Husband tried something new in the smoker today: pork shoulder instead of brisket. As much as this Texas girl is loathe to admit it, I am in love. Yes, as soon as those glorious slices of pork hit my plate, and I dipped them in the cider-vinegary, molasses-y sauce I'd cooked up, I close to passed out cold, right at the table. So way back when, some of my unknown ancestors must have stopped on in North Carolina on their way to Somewhere Else; it can be explained no other way. No, this does not mean that I will stop eating Husband's brisket, or stop participating in pilgrimages to eat brisket at Smitty's, but it's kinda like when you have another child: there's a new place in your heart all of a sudden for the next little loved one.

Here are some pictures of my new sweet one and all of his side-dish friends:

A butt's best friend, the homemade sauce: (bless my adopted Texas heart, I said the "s" word - oh shame!)

Some homemade roasted red peppers, because everyone needs some condiments:

A new okra recipe - first a picture of One cooking it, and then finished with the spices added. I'll post the details soon:

Kelly's blue cheese cole slaw - perfection, as usual:

And the old summer stand-by, tomatoes and fresh mozzarella. Two is getting pretty good at preparing this for me start to finish. I like it.

The day could not be complete without my favorite summer dessert - yes, s'mores for the 10,000th time. I plan on eating them so much with the boys that they become one of our quintessential summer memories.

Happy eating, y'all.

Saturday in July

2011-07-09T20:04:00.003-05:00

Fiction at Half Past Eleven

2011-07-03T20:48:00.013-05:00

One continues to read more fiction than any one child should consume; when he's not reading a new book he's re-reading (and re-reading and re-reading) something like a Harry Potter or a Percy Jackson. Since my last post on his fiction habit, he has read:

The rest of the Hornblower series. We're thinking about buying him one of the Patrick O'Brien books to see if these are as much fun for him.

The Throne of Fire, the second of Rick Riordan's Kane Chronicles. I've read the first one and I think they pale in comparison to the Percy Jackson books, but One likes these quite a bit.

The Green Glass Sea, about children growing up in WWII-era Los Alamos. I had to badger him to start this one for some reason, but once he started it he ate it up.

My Family and Other Animals and Birds, Beasts and Relatives, both by Gerald Durrell. One loved the first and liked the second. Both are set in Corfu, where 10 year old Durrell moved with his family from England in the 1930's.

Frontier Wolf, set in Britain at the end of the Roman Era, and The Shield Ring, set shortly after the Norman Conquest. Both by Rosemary Sutcliff, who we love.

Black Horses for the King, by Anne McCaffrey.

The Eagle of the Ninth, The Silver Branch, and The Lantern Bearers. A trilogy by Rosemary Sutcliff about Roman Britain. One loved these, although we did miss the Eagle movie in the theater, unfortunately. We may have to catch it on DVD instead.

The Cabinet of Wonders and The Celestial Globe. A bit of a knock-off of Percy Jackson, but One enjoyed them all the same.

Cosmic, by Frank Cottrell Boyce, about a 12 year old boy sent into space. Another one of those "I'll give you a dollar if you read this next" books that One then turns around and loves. When will he learn, I ask you?

The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate. Yes, a book starring a girl - and he still liked it. I see nothing wrong with encouraging him to read about strong-minded, intelligent girls. He's going to like girls someday - might as well start getting him interested in the right ones early on. Or that's my theory, anyway. Anything to stop him from getting crushes on cheerleaders...

The Wild West, by Henry Brook. A collection of western stories.

The Shining Company, set during a Saxon invasion of Britain. Yes, you guessed it: Rosemary Sutcliff.

The Unnameables, by Ellen Booream. One is really liking fantasy books these days, so this was well-received.

School of Fear, by Gitty Daneshvari. One loved this - it's been re-read several times by now. Very funny and cleverly done.

Nick of Time, by Ted Bell. History, time travel, adventure. What's a boy to not like?

Al Capone Shines My Shoes. The second book about Moose Flanagan, a boy growing up on Alcatraz. For me a bit of a hat tip to my dad, who was a prison guard himself in a prior life. One approves.

Dormia, about a sleepwalking hero.

Ring of Fire: four kids, four cities. That's all I've managed to glean, but One liked it.

Summerland, by Michael Chabon. Magical places, heroes - the whole gumbo that makes One happy.

Number 11 of the 39 Clues series.

When You Reach Me, by Rebecca Stead. I've had this in mind since Melissa Wiley recommended it, but I waited for the paperback to come out (same thing with Calpunia Tate). A good read that pays homage to Madeleine L'Engle, my favorite children's book author by far.

Adam of the Road. A 1943 Newberry winner that's still a good bet.

The Bronze Bow, by Elizabeth George Speare. A Newberry winner about a young Jewish boy at the time of Christ.

The Silmarillion and The Children of Hurin. He likes to read the genealogies aloud to his dad. It's about as exciting as the "begats" in the Bible, but does that stop him? Nope.

Now do you see why I had to do a half-year post on this child? He's reading even more these days, which I didn't think was possible. And none of this list counts what he picks up at the school library and I never see, or his still-inexplicable love of The Warriors series and other similar books. If you look in the dictionary for the word "bibliophile", you'll see this picture:

Oy.

Pine Cove

2011-07-02T23:23:00.002-05:00

For two separate weeks this month the boys have spent their time at three of Pine Cove's many summer camps. If you don't know Pine Cove already, you should. Established in 1968, it is now one of the largest and most well-respected Christian camps in Texas, if not farther afield. For us, it has been and continues to be one of the best discoveries Husband and I have made as parents.

What makes it so great? What makes the boys so happy? To start with, they never sleep. Well, almost never, or so it seems. The kids are up early, the days are full, and the nights go on, well, late into the night. The boys are busy with their new friends, and as a consequence they have very little time to think of anything else. During their two weeks at camp this summer they have climbed rock walls, flew down enormous water slides, shot BBs, 22s, and bows and arrows, played soccer, flag football, war ball, paintball and lasertag, learned to sail and kayak, flew down the zip line, swam every day, gone horseback riding and mountain bike riding, flown off the Blob, and played Medieval war games (yes, everyone had a sword and helmet for that last one).

And those were just the "activities". They also had daily Bible studies, evening "club" where they could sing and dance to praise songs and then cool down by listening to a talk on spiritual "stuff". Their nights were made even longer by "theme nights", where they dressed as pirates, had dance parties, wallowed in the mud at the Buffalo Hunt, crept through the woods in full camo, and so on and so forth. See what I mean? There was very little sleeping. Lots of fun, but not a lot of time to sit back on your bunk and think about how much you miss your home or dog or mom or...

All of this activity is still balanced, if not by 10 hours in the sack each night, but by a chance to get to know their cabinmates and counselors very, very well. Each cabin has 6 to 8 kids and a full-time counselor. The camp recruits at over 140 college campuses each year, and the counselors and staff they find are phenomenal. Even after only six days, each boy's counselor knew him and had insightful and affirming things to say about him and his character. For example, today we received One's "character certificate", which reads: "[One] is analytical, allowing him to understand difficult concepts. He is firm, grounded in his beliefs. [One] is forthright." Uh, yup: that would be One. And Two's counselor this past week (very, very beloved by him) wrote: "[Two] is a compassionate young man. He is generous and willing to help others regardless of the situation. He is expressive and readily shares his joy with those around him." Oh, praise God! It is enough most of the time that we can see these qualities peeking out amidst all the wildness that two boys embody. But that a counselor who knows your child for six days can see these things, say these things - not only is it affirming for your child, but wow, what a boost as a parent! Maybe sometimes we get things right, at least some of the time.

As I write this both boys are tucked up in their beds, finally clean. Yes, they do make them shower every day at camp, but that doesn't mean they actually used soap. They came home this afternoon remarkably filthy, covered in smiles, sporting Keen sandal tans, and really, really tired. They are thrilled to be back, and even happier to be full of memories that they will keep with them for the rest of their lives. Some of those memories are of conquering the zip line despite great fear, others are of laughing hysterically with friends while trying to push each other off one of the water inflatables. Still others are deeper still, and hopefully are things that pushed their faith in God deeper into them, cemented their love for Him a little more, and made them a little more confident about going out into the world to follow His narrow path. Whatever is inside those two precious, half-feral, incredibly amazing children after these two camp sessions, I like it. I like what I see when I see what Pine Cove brings out in them: it is their best, and parents we can't ask for more than that.

Thank you, Pine Cove.

Delilah

2011-07-02T22:44:00.000-05:00

My husband is in love with this song:

Why I Live Here

2011-07-01T11:56:00.003-05:00

Lileks sums it up:

"Let me put it this way: after three months of very hot weather, I don’t think one becomes overcome with a sense of emptiness and depression. Three months of cold that makes your lungs ache and your fingers go dead is like being beaten with a cloth-covered mallet once every hour. The despair of February is a hundred times worse than the inconvenience of the afternoon sun broiling the parking lot you’re crossing on your way to an air-conditioned place."

Or even the inconvenience of four months of crossing that broiling hot parking lot, if you must know. Hot weather makes you itchy, it makes you miss the cool breeze at sunset and the chill in the morning air when you go out to get in your car. But it never, ever matches the hopelessness you feel when the ice is so thick on the windshield at 6:30am that you break yet-another ice scraper, and you huddle in the dark in your cold car waiting for the defroster to do its job. Sweat and sunshine can get old, but they are always preferable to the defeat of yet another snowstorm, and it's April already.

Here's to 19 years in Texas. I'll be leaving shortly after Hell freezes over - or the Rio Grande, whichever comes first.

Lt. Dan Band

2011-06-30T13:03:00.001-05:00

Check it out. The movie will be released online on July 4th.

What I Don't Want for my Boys

2011-06-24T21:40:00.004-05:00

One of things I do not want, most of all, is to turn out snobs. Sounds reasonable, doesn't it? But how many people who say that would also give a limb and a kidney to send their child to an Ivy or similarly prestigious school? This is why I've said before and will say again: what your kids learn in class is only one of the many things you should think about when picking a school - be it college, elementary school, high school - whatever.

Because really, do you want them to end up like this one day?

"My education taught me to believe that people who didn’t go to an Ivy League or equivalent school weren’t worth talking to, regardless of their class. I was given the unmistakable message that such people were beneath me. We were “the best and the brightest,” as these places love to say, and everyone else was, well, something else: less good, less bright. I learned to give that little nod of understanding, that slightly sympathetic “Oh,” when people told me they went to a less prestigious college. (If I’d gone to Harvard, I would have learned to say “in Boston” when I was asked where I went to school—the Cambridge version of noblesse oblige.) I never learned that there are smart people who don’t go to elite colleges, often precisely for reasons of class. I never learned that there are smart people who don’t go to college at all." [emphasis added]

That right there, folks, is the description on an idiot. A very educated one, but an idiot all the same. No. Thank. You.

A Few Random Thing I Know

2011-06-18T20:31:00.003-05:00

You know you live in Texas when the guys remodeling your next door neighbor's house are still at it at 8:30 on a Saturday night. 12 hours a day, 6 days a week - isn't that a standard work-week?

You know you live in Houston when you children request sushi for their first post-camp dinner. And you give it to them.

You know you've picked the right summer camp when you wash the shirt your 11 year old played paintball in and it comes clean. Yes, water-soluble paintball pellets. One's pre-school never figured out the "non-permanent paint" thing, but Pine Cove has it down pat.

You know your younger child will be a sore trial to his wife someday when every picture taken at camp all week shows him wearing the same outfit. Six days, one really foul white swim-shirt. Ugh.

You know your older son enjoyed camp when he and three of his cabinmates insist on re-registering for the same week next year before they will allow you to leave the premises, and they painstakingly write down each other's full names to make sure they get to be in the same cabin as one another again next year.

You know you've been married a long time when you buy your husband a new shredder for Father's Day, give it to him early, and he's actually happy about it.

That's all I know for now.

Shopping in an Empty Box

2011-06-13T21:01:00.006-05:00

I went to Barnes and Noble tonight to try to find something to read that might hold my interest. After all, why not? Husband and I are free of children this week, so 7:30pm trips alone to the bookstore seem like a good idea. There's only one problem: I forgot about the five main rules of shopping at a modern chain bookstore.

1. If they have a lot of it, it will suck. See Stieg Larsson, JD Salinger, and anything with vampires.

2. If you want to buy title A from a particular author, they will always have the inferior B and C, but never, ever A.

3. Whatever on your list you want the most, they won't have at all. They might not even have anything that author has written, no matter how prolific.

4. Browsing never solves anything. Otherwise known as: if the back cover review is written by Barbara Kingsolver, put the book down and back away slowly.

5. No matter how hopeful you are, books with dogs on the cover will always end one way: with a dead dog.

Me, I'm home now and (re)borrowing one of One's Percy Jackson's. Now that kid? He has a much better book selection in his room than any bookstore I've ever seen. Lucky boy.

Allison

2011-06-05T12:26:00.003-05:00

Ten years ago this weekend, Tropical Storm Allison ravaged Houston. We were undeservedly blessed to have no damage from the storm, although we went to bed that Friday night convinced that we would wake in the morning to water throughout the house. Friends lost their homes; one couple we know perched on their kitchen counter with a bottle of wine and watched their cat jump from one piece of furniture to another to avoid the rising water. Miraculously no one we knew lost their lives, although 23 people in Texas were lost.

The Chronicle has an excellent slideshow of pictures from those terrible days. Check it out.

Just a Thought

2011-06-04T21:56:00.005-05:00

I was talking with some acquaintances tonight - nice people, all of them, I have to say - and I was puzzled to find the conversation I walked into consisting of (A) decrying the insularity of all people who live in "small town America" (upstate NY and Katy TX in particular) while (B) using (A) as an excuse to never go outside Loop 610 in Houston, unless it's to (1) shop at The Galleria or (2) leave town altogether.

I have to say I'm confused. Using the supposed insularity of others to explain your own inability to get along with anyone "not your own kind" seems to not work very well as an argument. Just a thought, but perhaps some self-reflection and honesty is in order. Why not just admit it? Say out loud "I don't like people who aren't like me and I want absolutely nothing to do with them" and be done with it. After all, that's really what you said already - you just needed some circular self-justification to get there.

Six Random Things

2011-05-17T10:59:00.001-05:00

It's a buffet of randomness this evening: here are links from all over the internets, telling you all kinds of things you didn't even know you needed to learn. Enjoy.

1. I’m obviously in the wrong profession. I wonder if I could re-up my lifeguard certification. Then again, is it too late to spend my days in a bathing suit? Probably so. Shucks.

2. I knew there was a reason I’m glad that I’m too broke for liposuction. It would have been a waste of money anyway! See how things work out...

3. How gross is canola oil? Turns out, it's really, really gross. Chemical solvents are used in its processing, and the level of heat in that processing likely destroys any Omega 3s in the oil – actually, it turns them into free radicals (hey, don’t they cause cancer or something?). Can anyone say "butter"? It sounds a lot better to me than "hexane".

4. Do you think I’d get away with this if I wrote this piece from the opposing perspective? Nah - me neither. Thank goodness, since, not being an actual racist or anything, I wouldn't really want to.

5. Tell me Queen Elizabeth isn’t so cute? And the scarf? That just makes it perfect.

6. So, you’ve been letting the children play with fire again, have you? Don’t worry, you’re not alone. We even let them play with knives around here.

Shopping Adventures

2011-05-14T22:26:00.008-05:00

We went to the Galleria tonight to run some errands (something we never, ever do, especially all 4 of us together) and the boys were a little, well, over-excited about it.

First they amused themselves while Husband got a new suit:

Then we went upstairs to get One a tie for his upcoming "promotion ceremony" at the end of the school year. One, of course, wanted the.most.conservative.tie.ever.made. He makes his father look like a GQ-reading fashion junkie. Two, on the other hand, spent his time in the boys' department trying on blazers and suit coats. He liked the simple navy two-button blazer, of course, but then he found a navy pinstripe Joseph Abboud suit jacket ($165, thankyouverymuch) and we had to bribe him with a visit to the Toll House cookie store out in the mall to get him out of the jacket and out the door. He was addicted to his own reflection while wearing that jacket - he stared and he turned sideways and he buttoned and unbuttoned - I've never seen anything like it, at least not in an 8 year old boy. One thing is completely certain: that child is not working retail in high school and college. I can't afford to pay the bill when he's done.

U.S. of A.

2011-05-14T20:30:00.005-05:00

Compare and contrast:

A teacher in MA refused to hang her student's drawing of the American flag in the classroom, or even allow him to hang it from his desk.

vs.

We just finished watching the video of Two's (public) school music performance entitled "America's Heart", in which children from 30+ birth countries sang five songs devoted to their love of the USA. Complete with flag drawings up on a large screen during the last song, Small Part of the World.

Why do we live in Texas again? Oh, wait - I remember.

Red Light Cameras: No Surprises

2011-05-11T09:12:00.004-05:00

The Houston Chronicle reported today that, to no one's surprise:

"In the five months after Houston voters forced city officials to turn off a camera surveillance system that fined motorists for running red lights, traffic accidents at those 50 intersections with 70 cameras have decreased 16 percent, according to recently released data."

But wait: the police told Houstonians during the last election, when we voted to rid ourselves of these cameras, that the cameras "save lives" and "reduce accidents". What happened? They say it's the lack of rain that's making all the difference (hmmm). I say: they weren't being honest with us in the first place. Considering the amount of money the owner of the cameras was getting from the red light tickets, and that the cameras' owner paid for many of the ads in support of keeping the cameras, I'm thinking ... it ain't the weather.

I looked at the data in the chart, and what I find almost as interesting are the stats on the three biggest intersections for accidents. Two of them are at Beechnut and the Beltway, and one is at South Main at the Loop. I drove Beechnut to the Sam and then on to work for five years, and Beechnut from 59 to the Sam is like a racetrack. It's three lanes in each direction, apartments and business lining the street, and yet everyone drives over 50 mph no matter what. Now that I don't have to take that route to work, I wouldn't drive over there if you paid me. I'm not surprised there were a substantial number of accidents there before and after the cameras. Nor am I surprised about the Loop at South Main statistics. That's pretty close to home for me, and again, not a route I want to drive on a regular basis. South Main changes from a highway-like road to a regular street at the Loop, and generally traffic comes north on Main toward the Loop at well over 50 mph. There could be three times the accidents at that intersection than there are now and I wouldn't be shocked.

So, in short, three of the most dangerous intersections in Houston got worse without cameras, and just about every other one got safer. I still think we're better off without them. Good riddance.

Second Grade Humor

2011-05-09T20:13:00.002-05:00

Two is full of jokes lately. He eats lunch at school with a few boys who love to trade them back and forth, and he likes to try to make up his own as well. Here are some of the latest ones:

Two: Why did the duck cross the road?

Me (the hapless sucker, every time): I don't know - why?

Two: The chicken was sleeping.

Two: What day of the week do potatoes hate?

Me: I don't know.

Two: Friday, of course.

Two: What did the alien say to the measuring cup?

Me: I have no idea.

Two: Take me to your liter.

Two: What did the cat say to its owner?

Me: I don't know.

Two: "Meow." Cats can't talk, mom.

He claims to have made up the first and last ones. Whether that's true or not - who can tell? All Two really knows is: this is fun.

Metro Dash

2011-05-09T07:44:00.000-05:00

This looks like so much fun! Who wants to do this with me next year?

Mother's Day Feast

2011-05-08T19:09:00.006-05:00

We ate well today at the GW household. Husband outdid himself yet again with his brisket and an asian-style grilled veg dish; I made pea salad and tomato salad, as well as a simple strawberry shortcake for dessert. My boys spoiled me well and truly today: not only did I eat like a queen, they also gave me the nifty video camera with which I filmed the boys for the post just above, and a new camera lens that I took all of today's pictures with. Hopefully I'll get better with the latter in short order. Oy.

I think a good day was had by all. I know I had one. Thanks so much to my trio of hardworking, loving guys. I definitely don't deserve even one of you.

And now, of course, some pictures. Can you say "smoke ring"? I can.

This had some smoky, sesame oil, bit of spice thing going on. It was amazing.

I will never get tired of tomatoes, basil and fresh mozzerella. Ever.

Preparing for pea salad:

And the best way to end the day:

This is the nicest picture I took today with the new lens. Lambie looks 75% sweeter than she is in real life. Technology is an amazing thing, isn't it?

I hope your day was as good as ours was. Happy, all.