5.26.2006
5.25.2006
Wanna come?
I am actually pretty proud of the invite. We're renting a REAL sno-cone machine (nothing allergenic about refined sugar!), having a fish pond with "wicked" prizes, clothespin drop, BBQ
, and a rice krispy treat cake.
, and a rice krispy treat cake.
Leah's "Nature Talk"
In Newport, we spent a morning at the Back Bay Preserve (or something like that) and took a little hike/walk. I saw the stone pulpit and stood on it and started giving j, l, and e a cheesy "nature talk." Leah insisted on doing one of her own, and right here she was a little embarrassed to say anything and kept asking me what she should say, and I told her to say what was in her heart. And she said this line: "I love the flowers of the winds." Pretty poetic for an almost-four, aye?
nasty roots
I'm totally going gray/grey. It's a sad fact of nature. Highlights are the only way out....I'll be 30 next month, and although I'm excited for the new decade, I'm not ready to surrender to grey. So that leaves nasty roots. But at least Leah looks cute in this picture.
darlybird logo
and here's the amazing logo that my graphic designer, martha c. designed for my biz. my newest goal: july 1st--i think that's actually realistic. website is designed, but now i just have to start photographing and uploading products. HELP! it will be www.darlybird.com
catching up
I feel like I'm in a constant state of catch-up. I have 6 loads of laundry piled up in my laundry room; 2 piles of clean clothes piled in my bedroom; dirty dishes on the counter; a toy room that is unwalkable due to too many toys just thrown in on the floor (this saturday=major DI haul); a birthday carnival to plan and execute (L's 4th); a business to launch; product photos to take; photos to upload; descriptions to write; bills to pay,,,,,,,,blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.....
But sometimes it's nice to just realize that none of that really matters. Leah's preschool graduation was this morning--it almost brought me to tears....I think I'm becoming my grandma. IT WAS JUST A 1ST YEAR PRESCHOOL GRADUATION! Jon remarked (in response to my near-tears) that it is the first of MANY graduations, and that it really isn't a big deal, as cute as it was. But then that fact makes it an even bigger deal. The fact that my smudgy darling L. Bluette is now on the life track of accomplishments, recitals, camps, graduations--basically INDEPENDENCE. And kooky Giggabot will soon follow. What's a mom to do?
So, TO HELL WITH THE LAUNDRY! down with the piles....forget the toy room....I've got to catch up with my kids!
P.S. Right now L is involved in one of her hour-long Barbie reveries where she invents names, opinions, arguments, conflicts between one Barbie and the next. The Barbie names always crack me up. Right now they're Fronjia and Neena and Tulah and Tallulah, and they don't like boys because boys don't like sparkly outfits. WOW! She's a girl!
But sometimes it's nice to just realize that none of that really matters. Leah's preschool graduation was this morning--it almost brought me to tears....I think I'm becoming my grandma. IT WAS JUST A 1ST YEAR PRESCHOOL GRADUATION! Jon remarked (in response to my near-tears) that it is the first of MANY graduations, and that it really isn't a big deal, as cute as it was. But then that fact makes it an even bigger deal. The fact that my smudgy darling L. Bluette is now on the life track of accomplishments, recitals, camps, graduations--basically INDEPENDENCE. And kooky Giggabot will soon follow. What's a mom to do?
So, TO HELL WITH THE LAUNDRY! down with the piles....forget the toy room....I've got to catch up with my kids!
P.S. Right now L is involved in one of her hour-long Barbie reveries where she invents names, opinions, arguments, conflicts between one Barbie and the next. The Barbie names always crack me up. Right now they're Fronjia and Neena and Tulah and Tallulah, and they don't like boys because boys don't like sparkly outfits. WOW! She's a girl!
5.21.2006
Miscellania
strawberries from our garden!
darlybird font. i'm getting tres excited.
this pic is supposed to show how e is finally deciding to stand up at about 18 mos. she's even graduated to taking a few steps....don't worry, she's been medically evaluated and everything's o.k.
these girls love each other so much. and i love them too.
darlybird font. i'm getting tres excited.
this pic is supposed to show how e is finally deciding to stand up at about 18 mos. she's even graduated to taking a few steps....don't worry, she's been medically evaluated and everything's o.k.
these girls love each other so much. and i love them too.
And then some...
two patties and fries at in-n-out
DUMBO
Underwear head
One of E's fave Disneyland highlights
Taking a spin at Bolsa Chica Wetlands in Huntington Beach with the chicas.
More
I know these post backwards, so LONG TIME NO SEE was supposed to be first. But oh well. Here's more.
Long Time No See
Jon, the man of my dreams, finally installed our new-ish camera software. I've had a heyday looking through pictures. And so I'm going to post a bazillion.
5.18.2006
Brimming
I've had a post brewing in my head for over a week now. I just didn't have the time or energy to make it tangible. And then something happened that slowed my thoughts down and made me evaluate, pause, compute...
My neighbor June, the spunky diva who came to neighborhood functions in lime green linen pants suits, with lucite and rhinestone jewelry, a beautifully coiffed wig, tattooed makeup, and stilettos, died on Monday night.
I first met June last year, the week after we moved into our new house. I saw red flip flops walk up our walkway from our opaque ground-level bedroom window. I wasn't expecting anyone, and I was thrilled to meet the owner of the sea-foam house across the street. She brought a bouquet of alstromeria with the Albertson's pricetag still attached to the cellophane.
June had gall-bladder surgery 2 weeks ago; I had been checking in on her frequently, made dinners, and even an emergency batch of my caramel corn one Friday afternoon when she was craving it. I think the last time I talked to her I was holding Leah, she was in her typical weekday get-up of a long, v-neck white t-shirt, bare feet with silver toenail polish, shaved head, and red reading glasses. She told me that she had an infection in one of her incisions. I told her she needed to go to the doctor. She said she already had. I gave June my cell phone number and told her that we'd be away for a week in Southern California, but if she needed anything to give me a call.
As I was loading the girls up to head for the gym on Monday morning, another neighbor, Louise, saw me and asked if I had heard about June. I guess she knew that I was June's surrogate granddaughter-figure in the neighborhood, and probably saw me more than once, running barefoot across the street with mismatched Tupperwares full of our extra dinner. I was surprised and horrified to hear that June wasn't expected to make it through the night. Monie, June's daughter, had been frantically trying to get a hold of me all week to see if I could help June out. When I finally talked to Monie on Monday morning, she told me that she had found my cell phone number in June's bedside table. June had been too delirious to remember that she had put it there.
June had a tough life from everything that I've been able to piece together. Her husband died over 30 years ago in a freak job-related accident. She had two children in Southern California, no grandchildren, a few good friends. Three years ago, after a different surgery, June ended up with an infection and was in a coma for three months. She teetered on the brink of life and death, and then miraculously came through. She was a fighter. She had been living in extreme pain for the past three years.
So even though I know that June is beautifully restored, refreshed, renewed, free of her infirmities, and with her long-lost husband, I still couldn't hold back tears as I turned onto our street and saw June's red Grand Am, parked in her spot in the carport, with personalized license plate, "PROUD ONE." And when I went to her home today to talk to her son and daughter, I saw everything I had surveyed so many times before when visiting with June: plush white carpets, crystal animal figurines, couch with plastic covers, beautiful bouquet of silk poppies, things that aren't really my own taste, but I love because they were so June . . . I missed her.
And I think what I will miss more than anything, is the opportunity to serve someone who needed it so much. I realize now how much satisfaction I got every time I brought a meal over to her, every time I could be a listening ear, or help her in any way. It might be a little selfish, but I miss those opportunities already.
I told Leah about June's death and she gasped. She's never known anyone who died. I told her that June's body had died, but that her spirit was going to live with Heavenly Father and her husband. She said, "Mom, but how is June going to get there? Is she going to drive?" And I still think that she's a bit confused. As we were going over to offer condolences to June's children, Leah looked around and grabbed a baggy of strawberries off of our counter. (She always got to hold one of the Tupperwares of food for June . . . usually the dessert.) She told me that she wanted to bring them over to June.
And when I think of June chilling with her husband, with her hair, without the pain that has plagued her for years, I get happy. My tears are tears of joy.
My neighbor June, the spunky diva who came to neighborhood functions in lime green linen pants suits, with lucite and rhinestone jewelry, a beautifully coiffed wig, tattooed makeup, and stilettos, died on Monday night.
I first met June last year, the week after we moved into our new house. I saw red flip flops walk up our walkway from our opaque ground-level bedroom window. I wasn't expecting anyone, and I was thrilled to meet the owner of the sea-foam house across the street. She brought a bouquet of alstromeria with the Albertson's pricetag still attached to the cellophane.
June had gall-bladder surgery 2 weeks ago; I had been checking in on her frequently, made dinners, and even an emergency batch of my caramel corn one Friday afternoon when she was craving it. I think the last time I talked to her I was holding Leah, she was in her typical weekday get-up of a long, v-neck white t-shirt, bare feet with silver toenail polish, shaved head, and red reading glasses. She told me that she had an infection in one of her incisions. I told her she needed to go to the doctor. She said she already had. I gave June my cell phone number and told her that we'd be away for a week in Southern California, but if she needed anything to give me a call.
As I was loading the girls up to head for the gym on Monday morning, another neighbor, Louise, saw me and asked if I had heard about June. I guess she knew that I was June's surrogate granddaughter-figure in the neighborhood, and probably saw me more than once, running barefoot across the street with mismatched Tupperwares full of our extra dinner. I was surprised and horrified to hear that June wasn't expected to make it through the night. Monie, June's daughter, had been frantically trying to get a hold of me all week to see if I could help June out. When I finally talked to Monie on Monday morning, she told me that she had found my cell phone number in June's bedside table. June had been too delirious to remember that she had put it there.
June had a tough life from everything that I've been able to piece together. Her husband died over 30 years ago in a freak job-related accident. She had two children in Southern California, no grandchildren, a few good friends. Three years ago, after a different surgery, June ended up with an infection and was in a coma for three months. She teetered on the brink of life and death, and then miraculously came through. She was a fighter. She had been living in extreme pain for the past three years.
So even though I know that June is beautifully restored, refreshed, renewed, free of her infirmities, and with her long-lost husband, I still couldn't hold back tears as I turned onto our street and saw June's red Grand Am, parked in her spot in the carport, with personalized license plate, "PROUD ONE." And when I went to her home today to talk to her son and daughter, I saw everything I had surveyed so many times before when visiting with June: plush white carpets, crystal animal figurines, couch with plastic covers, beautiful bouquet of silk poppies, things that aren't really my own taste, but I love because they were so June . . . I missed her.
And I think what I will miss more than anything, is the opportunity to serve someone who needed it so much. I realize now how much satisfaction I got every time I brought a meal over to her, every time I could be a listening ear, or help her in any way. It might be a little selfish, but I miss those opportunities already.
I told Leah about June's death and she gasped. She's never known anyone who died. I told her that June's body had died, but that her spirit was going to live with Heavenly Father and her husband. She said, "Mom, but how is June going to get there? Is she going to drive?" And I still think that she's a bit confused. As we were going over to offer condolences to June's children, Leah looked around and grabbed a baggy of strawberries off of our counter. (She always got to hold one of the Tupperwares of food for June . . . usually the dessert.) She told me that she wanted to bring them over to June.
And when I think of June chilling with her husband, with her hair, without the pain that has plagued her for years, I get happy. My tears are tears of joy.
5.06.2006
Rice Pudding: A Memory
As I was reading Tropical Velvet's blog about her daughter writing a note to herself which read: "Let the lunch ladies give you gravy," my brain stumbled upon a little jewel of a memory in "me own life," dealing with hot lunch and perhaps the beginnings of my OCD tendencies. I'll share:
Back in good ole Centralia, WA, the land of my years 0-14 (save a two-week period post-birth before my parents moved from L.A. to WA), hot lunch was actually somewhat coveted. I remember the school lunch calendars passed out each month. My eyes would quickly scan to see when burritos were being served. Yes, this is pretty pathetic, but it is the truth. I loved hot lunch burritos. I thought the kids who were on the subsidized lunch program (about 90% of the kids at my school) were the lucky ones. I, on the other hand, had to bring home-packed lunches, consisting of sandwich, apple, and a treat.
(Quick memory diversion: S, my sister, and I remember the day of shame when my mom packed us raisin bread with tuna fish sandwiches. Okay, I know that I went to a very delish Cafe Barrone several months back and actually ordered this, but when I was in 2nd grade, it didn't go over too well. Sus even remembers strategically holding the sandwich so that her fingers covered up the raisins--as if she would be the laughing stock of the lunchroom.)
So back to the burritos. They usually had burritos at least once a month, and I was allowed to take a dollar to school once per month to indulge in the Ford's Prairie Elementary School burrito. This particular memory is from 3rd grade. Burrito occupied one of the menu squares, so it was my lucky day. My mom was a little skeptical after she looked over the rest of the menu for that day, which probably looked something like:
Yummy Bean Burritos
Tasty Tater Nuggets
Fabulous Fruit
Creamy Rice Pudding
The rice pudding was where she stopped. Rice pudding at a school cafeteria? WE were definitely not a rice pudding family. In fact, I don't think I had ever even heard of the concept until that moment. She was concerned that I wouldn't like the rice pudding, and that I would waste it. But, I wanted the burrito and I wouldn't back down. I assured her that I would eat every last morsel on my tray.
So I got and gobbled up the bean burrito, tater nuggets, and fruit. But the rice pudding. Oh, the rice pudding. I sat and stared at it, ate one grain, stared longer, ate another grain, stared longer, ate . . . . . . you get the picture, until I was the last one in the cafeteria. The custodian came to mop and I was still there. He put up all of the other tables but mine and did everything else he could until my table was the last of his job. So he told me that I'd have to go---afterall, the other kids had already been at lunch recess for a good 15 minutes.
A sick sense of guilt and dread waved through my body. I couldn't throw the rice pudding away. I picked up my tray and moved it to the walk-through counter area and stood and continued, one grain at a time. Finally, recess was over and it was time to go back to class; there was no longer any choice. I had to be finished. I took a huge bite, stacked my tray, and walked, recessless, back to Mr. Dunn's classroom.
Dr. Phil--whom I never watch, although I have 2? of his books (should I be embarrassed?)--talks about finding the 10 defining moments in your life. I think the rice pudding incident might be number 9 for me. After all, next month I'll be thirty and I still remember the dread I felt that day in that crusty cafeteria--when I was in 3rd grade.
To this day, I have never had rice pudding again. I've heard it's pretty good.
Back in good ole Centralia, WA, the land of my years 0-14 (save a two-week period post-birth before my parents moved from L.A. to WA), hot lunch was actually somewhat coveted. I remember the school lunch calendars passed out each month. My eyes would quickly scan to see when burritos were being served. Yes, this is pretty pathetic, but it is the truth. I loved hot lunch burritos. I thought the kids who were on the subsidized lunch program (about 90% of the kids at my school) were the lucky ones. I, on the other hand, had to bring home-packed lunches, consisting of sandwich, apple, and a treat.
(Quick memory diversion: S, my sister, and I remember the day of shame when my mom packed us raisin bread with tuna fish sandwiches. Okay, I know that I went to a very delish Cafe Barrone several months back and actually ordered this, but when I was in 2nd grade, it didn't go over too well. Sus even remembers strategically holding the sandwich so that her fingers covered up the raisins--as if she would be the laughing stock of the lunchroom.)
So back to the burritos. They usually had burritos at least once a month, and I was allowed to take a dollar to school once per month to indulge in the Ford's Prairie Elementary School burrito. This particular memory is from 3rd grade. Burrito occupied one of the menu squares, so it was my lucky day. My mom was a little skeptical after she looked over the rest of the menu for that day, which probably looked something like:
Yummy Bean Burritos
Tasty Tater Nuggets
Fabulous Fruit
Creamy Rice Pudding
The rice pudding was where she stopped. Rice pudding at a school cafeteria? WE were definitely not a rice pudding family. In fact, I don't think I had ever even heard of the concept until that moment. She was concerned that I wouldn't like the rice pudding, and that I would waste it. But, I wanted the burrito and I wouldn't back down. I assured her that I would eat every last morsel on my tray.
So I got and gobbled up the bean burrito, tater nuggets, and fruit. But the rice pudding. Oh, the rice pudding. I sat and stared at it, ate one grain, stared longer, ate another grain, stared longer, ate . . . . . . you get the picture, until I was the last one in the cafeteria. The custodian came to mop and I was still there. He put up all of the other tables but mine and did everything else he could until my table was the last of his job. So he told me that I'd have to go---afterall, the other kids had already been at lunch recess for a good 15 minutes.
A sick sense of guilt and dread waved through my body. I couldn't throw the rice pudding away. I picked up my tray and moved it to the walk-through counter area and stood and continued, one grain at a time. Finally, recess was over and it was time to go back to class; there was no longer any choice. I had to be finished. I took a huge bite, stacked my tray, and walked, recessless, back to Mr. Dunn's classroom.
Dr. Phil--whom I never watch, although I have 2? of his books (should I be embarrassed?)--talks about finding the 10 defining moments in your life. I think the rice pudding incident might be number 9 for me. After all, next month I'll be thirty and I still remember the dread I felt that day in that crusty cafeteria--when I was in 3rd grade.
To this day, I have never had rice pudding again. I've heard it's pretty good.
4.26.2006
Long Time No Blog
I've been taking a little blogging hiatus. (You may or may not have noticed.) It has actually been quite refreshing. Don't get me wrong; I have loved blogging, and the acquaintances I've renewed through it, the friends I've been able to keep in touch with, and the new people I've been able to "meet" via this medium. I've also loved being able to sit and write---and to have a reason to do so. I used to be a major journal-writer, but I gave that up at about the time I got married. Don't know why, just didn't take the time. So it's been really amazing for me to reconnect with my "writing self" and think about the perfect word in a sentence--because my two lovely gills don't really care about perfect words yet, a great image, etc...and venting via blog has been fabulous too.
But, I think there are a few blogging drawbacks that finally forced me to cave a bit. And maybe I'm alone on this, and maybe I'm not, but regardless--I felt a little strangled by blogging.
MY personal BLOGGING BEEFS:
*I found myself thinking, "what can I blog about today?" more often than I should have. This made me feel slightly pathetic.
*I found myself thinking, "I HAVE to blog about that!," as if a wonderful/frightening/amazing/emotive experience was only legitimized by blogging about it.
*I found myself divulging more info than I should have on my blog. (Think Brazil?) Somehow, telling the "world" something personal on my blog was frighteningly easy. Just let my mind flow, hit publish, and voila! there I am up close and personal. YIKES!
*I was blasted by negativity from one lurker in particular, and through that realized that what I was writing was being read by more people than I ever intended. And that makes me uncomfortable.
*There are tons of freaks in the world who fill their days as computer predators. Am I endangering myself or my family? I know that sounds paranoid and extreme, but all of these heinous Dateline specials on internet predators (there's another one tonite!) have given me cause to pause.
*I was spending too much time blogging. I wanted to keep up with several different blogs, and that takes a lot of time. At the end of the day, I didn't like realizing that I had spent maybe an hour (more sometimes, less sometimes) blogging. The world is too real and immediate and important to spend so much time on the computer, right?
*I crave friendship and connections and women to converse with and I find myself in a bit of a vacuous setting for that right now (some fabulous exceptions 20 miles away duly noted). So blogging has been a great outlet to feel more connected. But why am I not out in my community more, trying to strengthen myself where I'm at?
*I'm also in the throes of starting darlybird.com, and quite honestly, that has taken so much of my time, and i've been LOVING it. (watch for a summer launch date TBA!)
I don't know if this makes any sense, or if any of you feel the same way or have the same reservations. I value the friendships I've made and rekindled via blogging. I really do. I wish I lived near all of my fun friends, bloggers and non, and that I could throw wildly wonderful parties every month (or week, or day!) and be with so many great people--in their presence. Computer presence is not enough.
So, I will continue to blog. I think the good it's done for me outweighs the bad. I just need to be more careful about my time, my personal info and boundaries.
If anyone has any great answers to this conundrum, please fill me in on the process. I've just kind of been through blogging detox, and I think I'm ready to put one foot back in the door.
But, I think there are a few blogging drawbacks that finally forced me to cave a bit. And maybe I'm alone on this, and maybe I'm not, but regardless--I felt a little strangled by blogging.
MY personal BLOGGING BEEFS:
*I found myself thinking, "what can I blog about today?" more often than I should have. This made me feel slightly pathetic.
*I found myself thinking, "I HAVE to blog about that!," as if a wonderful/frightening/amazing/emotive experience was only legitimized by blogging about it.
*I found myself divulging more info than I should have on my blog. (Think Brazil?) Somehow, telling the "world" something personal on my blog was frighteningly easy. Just let my mind flow, hit publish, and voila! there I am up close and personal. YIKES!
*I was blasted by negativity from one lurker in particular, and through that realized that what I was writing was being read by more people than I ever intended. And that makes me uncomfortable.
*There are tons of freaks in the world who fill their days as computer predators. Am I endangering myself or my family? I know that sounds paranoid and extreme, but all of these heinous Dateline specials on internet predators (there's another one tonite!) have given me cause to pause.
*I was spending too much time blogging. I wanted to keep up with several different blogs, and that takes a lot of time. At the end of the day, I didn't like realizing that I had spent maybe an hour (more sometimes, less sometimes) blogging. The world is too real and immediate and important to spend so much time on the computer, right?
*I crave friendship and connections and women to converse with and I find myself in a bit of a vacuous setting for that right now (some fabulous exceptions 20 miles away duly noted). So blogging has been a great outlet to feel more connected. But why am I not out in my community more, trying to strengthen myself where I'm at?
*I'm also in the throes of starting darlybird.com, and quite honestly, that has taken so much of my time, and i've been LOVING it. (watch for a summer launch date TBA!)
I don't know if this makes any sense, or if any of you feel the same way or have the same reservations. I value the friendships I've made and rekindled via blogging. I really do. I wish I lived near all of my fun friends, bloggers and non, and that I could throw wildly wonderful parties every month (or week, or day!) and be with so many great people--in their presence. Computer presence is not enough.
So, I will continue to blog. I think the good it's done for me outweighs the bad. I just need to be more careful about my time, my personal info and boundaries.
If anyone has any great answers to this conundrum, please fill me in on the process. I've just kind of been through blogging detox, and I think I'm ready to put one foot back in the door.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
