'tis the season

for a frightening anecdote.

do enjoy.

once upon a time there was a girl named, well, this girl is me. she (me) having just made an unexpected--less than welcome--relocation across these great united states, has found herself mostly, ummm, friendless, if you will (will you?), and lonely. shocked? appalled? me too. but, allow me to point out that even the most outgoing of souls (which the aforementioned is often categorized) would feel much the same in a scenario such as hers. change is not her (my) forte. least of all the unexpected. yet, here she was. without friend--or foe, for that matter. (the glass is still half full, let us not forget.) one day, loins girded, she headed "downtown"* to her son's soccer game, where she told herself she was going to put some of her (my) incessant-need-to-talk-skills to good use, by approaching some of these women she has met once or twice in her recent comings and goings in her new small town. she did. in fact, she approached three women she'd seen here and there. she counted because she was nervous. unusually so. unfortunately, conversation wasn't exactly the friendship-blossoming, love-at-first-sight kind she'd hoped to strike. in other words, no play-dates were made. but it was a start. feeling proud of herself for taking the proverbial bull by it's accompanying horns, she (me) sat down on the blanket and patted herself on the back. it was then that she noticed...her sweater...was on...inside out.

like an unfastened balloon being released into the air, so went the wind from her sails.


happy halloween.


*come to my town. you will then see why i went so far as to quote downtown. (but seriously. come to my town. i would love a visitor.) and yes, it is commonly referred to as "downtown."

the mothership has called us home

pilgrimage began saturday at 4 p.m.

set to end sometime monday afternoon.

*will someone (please) find me a razor...and some tweezers?

sing with me now...

happy birthday to you! happy birthday to you!

...happy birthday, dear 1! happy birthday to you!

he finally got a bike. and he couldn't be happier.

there's a reason they have their own day.

once upon a time on a lovely sabbath afternoon, a newly turned fifteen year old daughter asked her mother if she could drive the less than one mile from church to home. her mother kindly obliged. after all, what could happen? little did her mother know, how little the fifteen year old knew about driving...

upon turning on the engine, and placing the nay blue, wood paneled mini-van into gear, the car started moving. both feet placed comfortably on the floor beneath the driver's seat, the fifteen year thought, that's odd. i didn't even press the gas. which one is the gas? continuing to move forward, the fifteen year old spoke--audibly, this time--to the mother, "which one's the brake?"

words cannot justify the alarm the mother felt, not only when she realized the the giant error in judgement she had just exercised by ignoring the tiny screaming voice in her head by letting her fifteen year old drive, but more so when she realized what stood a mere twenty feet away, directly in front of the inexplicably (to the fifteen year old, that is) moving automobile: the beautifully landscaped lawn and church building as well as a tot and her father walking hand in hand on the way to their own car.

panicking, the mother glanced at the fifteen year old, who was still looking bewilderedly at the pedals beneath her, then to the people who's lives hung in the balance, and back to the fifteen year old who seemed oh so far away even though she was in the in the driver's seat right next to her. a split second decision. the mother lunged, nylons, sunday skirt, bouffant bob and all head first towards the fifteen year old's fumbling feet and pressed the brake pedal herself, with all knowing hands.

the mother up-righted herself. relieved, she looked at the two innocent lives she had just saved (who were only just realizing something was a wee hinky); triumphant, she re-fluffed her hair--who knew she was still that flexible? and livid she looked at the sheepishly grinning fifteen year old...

journey

look at the time. it's late, i'm stressed, and i've got a mountain of work to do. but, luckily, i still have this family who hasn't disowned me. i went to the ipod for a bit of relief, and when this song came on i couldn't help but feel, with a few modifications, exactly like this guy:

(this is cheesy, but you'll have to deal with it. sorry.)

Jonathan Cain of Journey, "Faithfully"

Highway [computer battery] run into the midnight sun
Wheels go round and round [pages turn right to left]
You're on my mind
Restless hearts sleep alone tonight
Sending all my love along the wire [g–chat, facebook, text, etc.]
They say that the road [law school]
ain't no place to start [raise] a family
Right down the line it's been you [and the things] and me
And loving a music [student] man
ain't always what it's supposed to be
Oh, Girl [and things]
you stand by me
I'm forever yours
faithfully

sorry for the cheese. just thought it was quite applicable. and i would imagine that everyone reading this has, at some point, felt very similar.

anyway...thank you, family, for putting up with me.

a poll

neesh should quit her job.

well, one of us has to. otherwise we'll never see--or talk to--each other again. and seeing as her better half is gainfully and securely employed, i think it should be her.

all in favor? say 'aye.'

all the single ladies?

take notes.

miss lorin's fabulous fours class, also known as favlious fours to some members of our family, has a class of mostly boys (poor woman), yet, 1 somehow, still surrounds himself with the ladies, albeit a minority in his class. i've heard much about one little lady in particular. grace. grace, the apple of 1's eye with whom he plays the affectionately titled game of 'babies' as well as others of the same home-economic nature at school: grace this. grace that. grace has beautiful* hair, mom. grace is so funny. grace and me don't use potty-talk like carter.

*i've seen the hair. it's regular, it's four year-old.

i thought it was his mad skillz--including, but not limited too, thinking all women, even in the wee hours of the morning with funky hair and the breath to match, are princesses and tells them so--that gave the aforementioned result.

we-he-hell...

i was going through stuff, decluttering the kitchen--namely, the never ending pile of to-do's and papers that i keep "neatly" stacked in the corner--i came across 1's valentines from his class mates. it was the usual stuff, you know, princesses and hello kitties from the girls, super heroes and lightning mcqueen from the boys. i chucked each one after i detached it's goody, some of which i consumed, and seeing who it was from. i paused when i came to grace's. wait for it...


a superman card, with matching superman tatoo.

it's not the hair, or his skillz, but hers.

huh.

on our way home from our church meeting house after a very important baptism for a good friend's son--i was certain he didn't pay any attention, but coincidently (or not-so-much coincidently)--these deep thoughts were spurred.

thing 1: (exceedingly pensive) mom?

me: yes?

thing 1: do we have houses in heaven?

me: i guess so, we have to live somewhere (right?), but (in anticipation of another question) i don't know what they look like...

{pause}

1: mom?

me: yes?

1: can we move in heaven?

me: (using my deductive reasoning skills) you mean like...move houses?

1: no. like move around. (i look in the rear-view mirror to see him wiggle in his car seat further specifying his point)

me: yeah, you can...

{pause again.}

1: mom?

me: yeeesss?

1: so, can alex move? uncle alex?

huh. interesting.

it's my party, and i'll write what i want to

today is my birthday, but it's a happy one because of my family. ab, max, and pear; i love you guys, i love my life because of you guys, and the best present* i could ask for today is another year to spend with you until my next happy berfday!

and while i'm posting on here, i've got a couple of other unrelated things:

first, i just saw that the reason you all have been deprived of this blog's principal author is because she has been saving her posts as drafts rather than publishing them. principal willing, i will release these drafts over the course of the next few weeks. (wow, this must be how that guy felt when he came across all of those tupac songs that were never released. except tupac was dead, so i guess my analogy is kind of crappy. but you get the idea, right?)

second, i'd just like to reiterate that the post directly below this post was not specifically aimed at me (nice strategy to wait until my happy berfday to bring this up, right?). it was directed at the kind of frustration that comes when a spouse drinks the last soda pap (yes, we've still got a little soldier in us), or when she––i mean they––hide the m and ms and tell you they're all gone. know what i'm sayin'? if not, let me help you.

close your eyes and imagine that you are stuck in a place where nearly all hope is lost, and you are despondently fighting against a great, impossible army. you look up and see that the enemy is about to swoop down and wring the very last drop of fight out of you, then suddenly realize that you have one final life-sustaining energy pack among your used-up bag of supplies. you hurry to get the sweet elixir, knowing that you must have it to sustain your fight––and your hope––one more day, only to find that it's been taken by your (sweet, innocent) partner––WHO ISN'T EVEN FIGHTING TODAY! as you shrink in despair, knowing that your time has surely come, the opposing army of things pounces. the first thing throws up on you. then the second thing poops in her armor and makes you clean it up.

now you know what i'm sayin'? see, the magical potion's absence only expedited the inevitable. it was the army of things that did all the dirty work.

*a small piece of cake would be nice, too. you're not totally off the hook.