Goldilocks reversed

I came home from an early morning run this week, tired, rather than re-energized. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and go back to sleep, sweat and all. I think I would have done it if it weren't for the three bears. 

1.  a week of no school (for the kids); 2.  a week of school (for me--my mom is coming!); 3. a neck-and-neck game of candyland for family game night

Striking gold.

Did I forget to mention that we struck gold? It was a few weeks ago when we went to the Southwest Musuem and we spent a good amount of time in the panning-for-gold section. Sweetie came away soaked, but it was worth it, you see, for the sheer amount of gold nuggets she and Mister collected in their little plastic baggies. "Gleamin' booty," as they called it (thanks to the oft-repeated phrase in our Pirate Pete book). 

You'd think that with all of my dissertating lately that I'd have forgotten our gold-panning episode. But that's hard to do when I'm still striking gold every. single. time. I vacuum (which, admittedly, isn't very often these days). Darn that gleamin' booty! 

1.  Mister laughing so hard he "can't tell me anything else."

2.  Fresh, clean sheets.

3.  Open windows.

I'm officially declaring it.

The National Weather Service declared the official end of the Arizona Monsoon Season on September 30. The astronomical charts declared September 22, 2008 the official first day of fall. And tonight I am declaring today, October 5, 2008, the official first day of Summer Diminished. 

Those of you not lucky enough to be residents of our fair Valley of the Sun may not know that there is, sadly, no such thing as fall/autumn in Arizona. After living here for almost 4 years now, I can finally discern differences in the other seasons, but fall? Not a chance. And yet, it's not quite as blistering hot as it once was.  It's definitely not fall, but it's also not quite the I-must-get-out-of-here-before-I-sweat-to-death summer. It's "Summer Diminished." And at 85 for our high today, I think it's time to declare it officially begun. (Although I'm afraid that this does not mean we won't return to the high 90s in a week.) This exciting day does, of course, warrant a photo or two. The first one is taken from one of the windows in my kitchen. See the diminished sun? (If not, don't worry, you just don't have the practiced eye of a deseret dweller to determine the sun's nuances.) The second one is at the very end of sunset, just to highlight the presence of clouds in our eternally blue sky. 

I'm still mourning the loss of fall, but hooray for Summer Diminished!

1.  Cooler days, bright evenings, even cooler nights   2.  General Conference!!   3. Brownies & family game night

poem of the month--"The Drum"

I had to squeeze it in since this is the last day of the month. Lucky for you, this poem is short and sweet. It's one I've always liked because, alas, I tend to be more of the sit-nicely-and-don't-make-waves kind of people. Don't get me wrong, there are definite benefits to being a pleaser instead of a drum-beater. But I always secretly wished I had a little more of the latter to me. Also, this poem is in honor of my littlest sister Laura, whose birthday was this month and who has always beat out her own rhythm in a way that, for a long while, drove my poor mother crazy. But now all those drum beats together have made her into the fun, crazy, and smart girl/woman/sister that we all love. Happy belated birthday, Lou!

"The Drum"

by Nikki Giovanni

daddy says the world is

a drum tight and hard

and i told him

i'm gonna beat

out my own rhythm

Dance Party

I highly recommend the after-dinner dance party for the following reasons:

1. Your kids will be amazed at your dancing prowess and will think the running man, the Egyptian, and the sprinkler are the best moves they've ever seen.

2. You can play "jukebox": another tune requires another few dishes cleared or unloaded.

3. They get nice and worn out before bedtime.

4. It's actually a great stress reliever.

5. Dancing with kids . . . it really doesn't get much better.

Thankful three:
1. Dancing kids.
2. Utah peaches.
3. Breakfast for dinner.

A Day in the Life of Dissertation-Writing with Children

5:20am--Up to go running because I won't fit it in at any other time.

8am--Mister off to school. Retire to the office with Sweetie to "work" on our respective computers, side by side. Set Sweetie up on nickjr.com and begin to review what I wrote last night when I was working late. Spend 30 min to figure out what in the world I was talking about. Begin to type. 

Loud Diego music fills the room. "Al rescate, mi amigo, to the rescue, my friend. Go Diego . . . " 

Try to ignore it and keep typing.

Sweetie: "Mom, I don't like this game! I can't figure out how to rescue the dinosaur. Can you help?"

No answer.

Shrieks. "Pleeeeeease?!!!!!"

8:30am--Give up trying to block out the Diego music and child frustration. Color and read books with Sweetie instead. Run some errands.

11:10--Mister home. School debriefing, Lunch made, eaten, cleaned up.

1:30pm--Lunch over, Sweetie napping, Mister in a quiet time. Return to computer to see: "With their sweetiemistersweetiemister religious background sweetiesweetie of sisterhood sweetie and the new possibilities [kjasdnfj;kak;lsdjfl;kjl;kj;alsjdf ] afforded by the nature of sweetie sweetie mister sweeitie online writing, both of which I [sdfjiojoijwelrjl; discussed in the previous sweetiesweetie chapter," 

I guess Sweetie wasn't as done with the computer as I thought she was. After 10 min of deleting, I get to work. 

2:00pm: Mister pokes his head in. "Mom, is my quiet time over? Will you come see the Lego ships I built."

Me: "Not over yet, bud. You've still got 30 min. I'll see the ships after the timer goes off. You need to stay in your room now."

2:10pm. Mister again. "Now is it over? Can you get down some markers for me? Can I eat that last cookie? Will you pour me some milk to go with it? Can you come see the Lego ships I built?" 

2:15pm. Markers down--check; Oooed and Awwed at the Legos--check; Milk and cookie--check. Threaten to lock in room should quiet time be breached again--check. Back to work.

2:20pm. Mister, looking so sad and forlorn: "Mom, Benjamin says his best friend at school is Draque and not me. I'm only his third best friend. I want to be his first best friend. Why don't you think I'm his first best friend?" Big eyes. Sad face.

2:40pm. After consolation and discussion about the virtues of best friends verses lots of good friends, back to work. 

2:50pm. Sweetie's awake.

3pm. Two tv shows allow me to actually write a solid page.

4-9pm. Piano, soccer practice, dinner, dishes, showers, bedtime. 

9pm. Eating ice cream and blogging instead of dissertation writing. Ugh. Off to work!

My thankful three:

1. That one page! You gotta start somewhere (and hopefully, you get to END somewhere too)

2.  Rocking my baby, who is no longer a baby, to sleep--a very rare occurrence.

3.  Watching my boy play soccer--a completely joyous face is another rare occurrence. 

Par-tay Like It's Your Birthday

Well, yesterday was my birthday. The big 3-3. Since J was out of town, the kids and I had quite the shin-dig on our own. They brought up the Happy Birthday banner and hats, we made a cake and each licked our own spatula of batter (plus the beaters, of course). We played a rousing game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, donkey artwork courtesy of Sweetie, and a nail-biting game of bean bag toss, with Mister coming off the big winner o' starbursts.

Mister, unfortunately, was a little disappointed in the party attendance. "Mom," he said, "Don't you have any lady friends you can invite? Remember my party? I had, like, 6 friends." I tried to tell him that 2 of my 3 best friends were already there. That's all I needed. "Okay, he said, unconvinced. "I just think it would be more fun if you had more friends."

I managed to take a couple of pics, the one above on timer. Sweetie was the designated party photographer (of the cake and the blowing-out-the-candles action), but she mainly managed to capture some fabulous close-ups of body parts that you don't really want close-ups of when you're 33.

In honor of my birthday, I have to quote some from Sandra Cisneros's short story "Eleven" in her book Woman Hollering Creek. I love this story and its narrator, who sums up birthdays and age for me so perfectly:

"What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you are--underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree truck or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.

You don't feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don't even feel smart eleven, not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is."

So, happy birthday to me. Maybe I will feel smart 33 when I'm almost 34. That's the way it is :)