I know a falling star can’t fall forever
But let’s never stop falling in love
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Get Your Tickets Here Folks
Little voice calling out from the bathroom, "Mama, Mama."
Response, "Coming! Do you need help?"
Little voice, "No, but you have to check this out! It's bright green!!"
Wow. I can hardly contain my excitement.
Check please.
Response, "Coming! Do you need help?"
Little voice, "No, but you have to check this out! It's bright green!!"
Wow. I can hardly contain my excitement.
Check please.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Pulling Teeth
Next in the long list of activities we have to strong arm our kids to do (e.g., brush teeth, do homework, clean up toys, take shower), comes Son #1's reluctance to write thank you notes for all of his birthday gifts.
Son #1 (whining): I'm tooooooo tired.
Me: You're not too tired to play with your Legos; you're just too tired to thank your Aunt and Uncle for them. They'll think you're ungrateful.
Son #1 (whining more loudly): I'm not ungrateful. I'm just tired right now.
Son #2 (picking up a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid): It's easy. You just fill in the blanks.
"Dear Aunt Loretta: Thank you so much for the awesome pants! How did you know I wanted that for Christmas? I love the way the pants look on my legs! All my friends will be so jealous that I have my very own pants. Thank you for making this the best Christmas ever!"
So darned charming, right? And that Jeff Kinney is onto something. I'm looking forward to getting some form letters in the mail tonight.
Just kidding. He can't get off the hook that easily.
Son #1 (whining): I'm tooooooo tired.
Me: You're not too tired to play with your Legos; you're just too tired to thank your Aunt and Uncle for them. They'll think you're ungrateful.
Son #1 (whining more loudly): I'm not ungrateful. I'm just tired right now.
Son #2 (picking up a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid): It's easy. You just fill in the blanks.
"Dear Aunt Loretta: Thank you so much for the awesome pants! How did you know I wanted that for Christmas? I love the way the pants look on my legs! All my friends will be so jealous that I have my very own pants. Thank you for making this the best Christmas ever!"
So darned charming, right? And that Jeff Kinney is onto something. I'm looking forward to getting some form letters in the mail tonight.
Just kidding. He can't get off the hook that easily.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day 2009
Such a perfect, relaxing, sunny day off. Grateful for the troops and especially thankful for those who've lost their lives throughout the decades defending the freedom we enjoy in this country--including Kevin Mowl who I never met but whose family lives in my hometown and, I'm sure, is still grieving today. We take so much for granted.
I saw this quote in an old body + soul that I was reading in the hammock today and it seemed apropos for the day.
"To live each day as if it were your last, you would be trying to remedy all the mistakes you had made, all the regret, all the things unsaid. If you live each day as if it were your first, you are freed from all obligations, all guilt, all regret."*
Speaking of freedom, I need to embrace such a positive perspective.
Got a lust for life, yeah, a lust for life.
And now for some spare ribs that the hubby has been barbecuing all afternoon.
*Breathing Space: Twelve Lessons for the Modern Woman by Katrina Repka and Alan Finger
I saw this quote in an old body + soul that I was reading in the hammock today and it seemed apropos for the day.
"To live each day as if it were your last, you would be trying to remedy all the mistakes you had made, all the regret, all the things unsaid. If you live each day as if it were your first, you are freed from all obligations, all guilt, all regret."*
Speaking of freedom, I need to embrace such a positive perspective.
Got a lust for life, yeah, a lust for life.
And now for some spare ribs that the hubby has been barbecuing all afternoon.
*Breathing Space: Twelve Lessons for the Modern Woman by Katrina Repka and Alan Finger
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Smokin' Sunday
Went to Charlotte Beach today for the Roc City Rib Fest. The lines for the top barbecue joint were an estimated 90 people deep so we just had ribs and pulled pork sandwiches from other vendors. Seriously not nearly as good as the hubby's barbecue dishes but fun nonetheless.
The best part for me was spending a couple of hours on the beach in the sunshine. Not the best photo as you can barely see the water and the sailboats are tiny specks but the sand between my toes felt divine.
The perfect Sunday.
The best part for me was spending a couple of hours on the beach in the sunshine. Not the best photo as you can barely see the water and the sailboats are tiny specks but the sand between my toes felt divine.
The perfect Sunday.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Cause I'm a Blonde
I have two jokes in my repertoire. I've been telling the following since I was a kid.
Me: How many elephants can you fit in a mattabooboo?
Unsuspecting person in the wrong place at the right time: What's a mattabooboo?
Me: Nothing Yogi.
Yeah, it probably wasn't even funny when I was six (except that people pretend to laugh at kid jokes) but Yogi Bear references are clearly not funny now. Especially when the listener responds, "I don't know. How many?" D'oh.
Why can't I remember more jokes? Well, thanks to the New York Times, I now know and the reason smacks of an audible "duh."
Our brains are programmed to remember patterns. This is why we can sing along to the ABCs but would have difficulty remembering any other sequence of 26 letters. Jokes, by their very nature, veer off sharply from what's expected. (Otherwise, they wouldn't be funny.) As such, it's inherent in my little brain's functionality to forget the punchline. The pattern is disrupted.
I feel so much better about myself now.
In a nice twist, this research also confirms why I often did well on exams in college after not studying, attending class or even buying the books. I would study with others, listen to them chatting about the subject matter and put key points in lyric form to songs that I knew. If luck was on my side, the answers (and songs) would come back to me during the test.
I even remember the title of one such song, Behind Mud Walls, which was sung to the tune of Charlie Rich's Behind Closed Doors and helped me ace an anthropology exam. Given that I had time left at the end of the test, I wrote the whole song for my professor on the back of my test. Brownie points!
I took an IQ test and I flunked it of course,
I can't spell VW but I got a Porsche
'Cause I'm a blonde, B-L-I-N-D
'Cause I'm a blonde, don't you wish you were me?
Me: How many elephants can you fit in a mattabooboo?
Unsuspecting person in the wrong place at the right time: What's a mattabooboo?
Me: Nothing Yogi.
Yeah, it probably wasn't even funny when I was six (except that people pretend to laugh at kid jokes) but Yogi Bear references are clearly not funny now. Especially when the listener responds, "I don't know. How many?" D'oh.
Why can't I remember more jokes? Well, thanks to the New York Times, I now know and the reason smacks of an audible "duh."
Our brains are programmed to remember patterns. This is why we can sing along to the ABCs but would have difficulty remembering any other sequence of 26 letters. Jokes, by their very nature, veer off sharply from what's expected. (Otherwise, they wouldn't be funny.) As such, it's inherent in my little brain's functionality to forget the punchline. The pattern is disrupted.
I feel so much better about myself now.
In a nice twist, this research also confirms why I often did well on exams in college after not studying, attending class or even buying the books. I would study with others, listen to them chatting about the subject matter and put key points in lyric form to songs that I knew. If luck was on my side, the answers (and songs) would come back to me during the test.
I even remember the title of one such song, Behind Mud Walls, which was sung to the tune of Charlie Rich's Behind Closed Doors and helped me ace an anthropology exam. Given that I had time left at the end of the test, I wrote the whole song for my professor on the back of my test. Brownie points!
I took an IQ test and I flunked it of course,
I can't spell VW but I got a Porsche
'Cause I'm a blonde, B-L-I-N-D
'Cause I'm a blonde, don't you wish you were me?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Chasing After the Wind
Last night, Son #1 was positioning his army men and tanks all over the family room floor and breathlessly chattering nonstop about squadrons, reconnaissance teams and surveillance missions. He even had a few men stationed on the mantle that I noticed as we headed off to bed. Snipers, he informed me.
In the midst of all of this, he noticed the book that I blogged about yesterday.
Son #1: Mama, you don't need to read a book about play. Just get down on the floor with me and think strategically.
Once again, trumped by a nine year old.
Why is this topic of happiness so interesting to me? Simply because I'm a chronic malcontent?
According to recently published research that my loving brother shared with me: I am not alone. Women's happiness has declined over the past 35 years both absolutely and relative to men. In other words, men may have been the primary beneficiaries of the women's movement! Go figure.
To make matters worse, it's all women. Married and single. Career women and homemakers. Childless women, women with families and single parents. All educational groups. All ages. All races (where known). It's universal: women are less satisfied with their family's financial situation, have become increasingly dissatisfied with the amount of available free time, feel decreased social cohesion, and are facing increased anxiety and neuroticism.
Why? Possibly because even though women have greater professional opportunities, we still carry the emotional burden for our families on top of it all. Or because we have so many outlets outside the home, we cannot be happy across all facets of our lives. Maybe our expectations grew and our lives are not measuring up.
Sound familiar? All I know is that I'm on a personal mission to end the misery and I don't think the antidote is found anywhere but within myself. And if I find in myself a desire that this world cannot satiate, I can only conclude that I was made for another world.
In the midst of all of this, he noticed the book that I blogged about yesterday.
Son #1: Mama, you don't need to read a book about play. Just get down on the floor with me and think strategically.
Once again, trumped by a nine year old.
Why is this topic of happiness so interesting to me? Simply because I'm a chronic malcontent?
According to recently published research that my loving brother shared with me: I am not alone. Women's happiness has declined over the past 35 years both absolutely and relative to men. In other words, men may have been the primary beneficiaries of the women's movement! Go figure.
To make matters worse, it's all women. Married and single. Career women and homemakers. Childless women, women with families and single parents. All educational groups. All ages. All races (where known). It's universal: women are less satisfied with their family's financial situation, have become increasingly dissatisfied with the amount of available free time, feel decreased social cohesion, and are facing increased anxiety and neuroticism.
Why? Possibly because even though women have greater professional opportunities, we still carry the emotional burden for our families on top of it all. Or because we have so many outlets outside the home, we cannot be happy across all facets of our lives. Maybe our expectations grew and our lives are not measuring up.
Sound familiar? All I know is that I'm on a personal mission to end the misery and I don't think the antidote is found anywhere but within myself. And if I find in myself a desire that this world cannot satiate, I can only conclude that I was made for another world.
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