Month: May 2007 (page 1 of 2)

The Most Fun Five Dollars Can Buy

It was a sticky 88 degrees here today, so Julia and I broke out her new Slip ‘N Slide (well, technically it’s a Banzai Soak N Splash that I got at a discount store for an amazingly low price, but what’s the difference?).

My yellow Slip ‘N Slide had been a mainstay of summer when I was a child. All the kids in the neighborhood would gravitate to my house to play on it. It was so much fun. I couldn’t wait for Julia to try hers out.

She had a blast.

Giggle Guts

The Slip ‘N Slide hasn’t changed much over the years. It only took ten minutes for the plastic tube that serves to create the “tunnel of water” experience to leak and fail. So, we unhooked the hose and laid it on the slide, just like we did when I was a kid. The major difference between the Slip ‘N Slide I knew and the modern day version: the mini splash pool at the bottom, which happened to be Julia’s favorite feature…next to the hose.

Refreshing

It’s What I’m Here For

Today, I drove 20 miles to the next town to purchase a printer cartridge, milk, and items for Dave’s basic lunch. It was only after each item was carefully selected, placed on the conveyor belt and rung up by the cashier that I realized I didn’t have my debit card.

I had forgotten that I lost it.

It’s this sort of stuff that makes me think that the purpose of my life is only to make everyone else feel better about theirs.

Video Blogdiggity!

Here it is: My second video blog.

Want more videos? Check these out. I found them on my old desktop while I was editing my video blog. I hadn’t seen them in a while and thought it might be fun to share.

Julia’s Video Birth Announcement
Julia’s First Year Slide Show

Happy Memorial Day!

There Are Some Things Money Can’t Buy, For Everything Else I’m Screwed

I lost my debit card, yesterday.

Did you read that? I lost my debit card!

Don’t worry. The bank has been notified and the card has been cancelled, so there’s no need to panic. Still, this loss is tragic for me. I mean, my debit card: Lost. Sure, they’ll send me a new one and I can use Dave’s debit card until then, but it’s sort of like taking my cousin to the prom because my date backed out. It’s just not the same.

I had a special relationship with my debit card. I can hardly remember life before it came along. Checks, bills, coins – I said good-bye to all of them after I met my debit card. It was so easy and convenient that soon, we did everything together. I didn’t go anywhere my debit card wasn’t welcome. I knew the number, the expiration date, even the three digit security card on the back by heart. I probably could have identified my card by touch alone. My fingertips had memorized the swipey groove I’d always trace just before handing it over to pay. I loved that card and always took loving care of it until yesterday.

Yesterday was a busy day. Julia had swim class in the morning and then we went shopping. After we got home, I had so much to do: laundry, dishes, sweeping, mopping, writing, reviewing…and procrastinating all that work took a lot of time and effort. Before I knew it, it was almost time to wake Dave up for work and I had yet to make him dinner. I sped into town to pick up something quick, but couldn’t find my card when it came time to pay. Panicked, I looked at the cashier and screamed, “MY DEBIT CARD IS GONE,” and ran off.

All the way home, I replayed the day’s events to try and surmise where my card might be. The last time I used it was to purchase this dress for Julia earlier:

Beautiful Girl In A Sundress

I remembered checking out. The cashier was a young boy named Shiloh. I can remember thinking, “Wow, a pre-Brangelina Shiloh. Wonder how he came to work here… He looks a lot like Nick Simmons. I kinda like that Shiloh kid.” I remember signing the receipt. I remember him handing me my copy and my debit card. I remember reviewing the receipt on the way to the car while Julia jumped in mud puddles. I remember getting into the car and noticing two dudes hanging out in a van parked near us and thinking, “They look like they’re up to no good.” Then, I thought I remembered putting my card back in my wallet, but it wasn’t there.

I got home and checked the car I’d taken shopping and couldn’t find it. I ran into the house, out of breath and sweaty, screaming, “I LOST MY DEBIT CARD!” My parents came running and soon the whole family was searching. Since they had the house covered, I grabbed a flashlight and went outside to retrace all my steps. I even caught myself calling out, “Where are you debit card?!?!” It was nowhere to be found. I came back inside and managed to get Dave up for work, fed him some hot dogs and packed his lunch, all while having a full fledged freak out. Once he was out the door, the rest of us piled into the car to go back and search the store parking lot with no success. We returned home around 11:30 p.m. Defeated, I retreated to bed and dreamed of my poor, lost debit card sitting on hard, wet concrete, all alone, cold and in the dark.

This morning, I called the store to see if my card had been turned in there, but it hadn’t. I left my name and phone number, just in case it turned up. Reluctantly, I called the bank to cancel my card and put an end to a longstanding relationship with one of my best friends. Although I can’t use it anymore, I still hope it shows up. I need the closure.

Colorful

Photo Hunt

Colorful

This photo was taken last August at Oglebay Park’s Butterfly Garden, one of our favorite spots back in Wheeling, WV.

Wanna Be Ur Lovr

Me: I’m totally losing my mind! I can’t focus on anything. It’s like that commercial for Adult ADD, where the woman’s thoughts keep switching, like someone is changing the channel.

Dave: Well, where’s the remote? ‘Cause I want to find the channel where you want to have sex.

This Week, I’m Exceptionally Crazy. And Hip.

Check it out, yo.


Crazy, huh?

And did you catch that yo? That was me being hip.

The greatest part of being the Crazy Hip Blog Mama Mom Of The Week, or the CHBMMOTW as I like to refer to it, is that I get to choose the next one. Be sure to visit the Crazy Hip Blog Mamas to see my interview and my pick for next week.

And a big THANK YOU to Amanda for choosing me. You are the SpongeBob to my Patrick. Especially in that episode where SpongeBob wins all the awards and Patrick tries to be like him so he can win some, too.

It’s Raining Again

Remember that song by Supertramp? I had it on a 45 record and wore it out when I was kid. I love that song.

It’s raining here. Again. This is Day 2 of the rain. We’d had an exquisite stretch of warm, beautiful days filled with sunshine, cloudless skies and plenty of outdoor play. Now we’re stuck inside. For the second day.

Yesterday wasn’t bad. We’d spent so much time outside lately that Julia had a lot of fun rediscovering her play room toys while I did a little cleaning over in my sidebar. (Looks good, huh? Nice and tidy. I did it all myself. It only took me two hours to figure out how to do the expanding/collapsing thingies. Well, thingies is the technical term. Some people call them doohickeys.) We kept busy all day, doing the things we’d neglected during our week of unbridled recreation.

Today, to put an end to the sofa somersaults, coffee table karate chops and bean bag body slams, we did this:

It’s my first video blog. Enjoy!

Here’s What I’m Thinkin’

It’s late. Really late. I should be in bed like a responsible adult, but I’m not. Instead, I’ve put on one heck of a fake rock concert, played on-line poker and sucked down enough Diet Coke to kill a lab rat. And so I have thoughts. In my brain. Deep thoughts, inspired by that bitter akaloid caffeine.

Here’s the main thing: Blogher. Are you going? I’m not going. I mean, I thought about going. Karly asked me if I was going and I was really tempted to go, but mostly to meet Karly. And she didn’t know if she was going. We were just talking about it. Instead of going there, I’d rather invite you all – my community – to hang out. We could have Blogher, Jr. Except, no. That name won’t work. There are men in our community…as well as non-bloggers…

We could form The League of Super Internet Acquaintances and meet at my house. I’ve got space. People could camp in my yard. Except for a few of you that I’d invite to stay in my family room for a slumber party. You know who you are. We could play Truth or Dare. Someone’s bra would probably end up in the freezer. It’d be great.

I know some people are freaked out about meeting someone from the internet, but if there was a big group of us – you know, safety in numbers. Or maybe a get-together isn’t a good idea.

The League of Super Internet Acquaintances still is a good idea, though. I’d love to have a thingy like the NaBloPoMo Randomizer that would consist of blogs authored by members of my League of Super Internet Acquaintances. That’d be sweet.

It’d be even cooler if our name spelled something. Super League Of Bloggers. S.L.O.B.

It’d be even greater if it spelled BADASS.

I’ve also been thinking about doing a video blog post, just to try it out. Maybe I’d do one once a week, or once a month or never. I don’t know.

I’m just thinking.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Most of my life, home wasn’t about where I was taking up space; home was more of a feeling. Home was with my mother. Home was where I felt safe. It was more about people than a physical location. That idea of home has been true for a long time.

Growing up, I lived in the church parsonage with my parents – a wonderful house that wasn’t ours. It belonged to the church and we were frequently reminded of that as members showed up unannounced and occasionally at odd hours. Trustees and deacons were able to gain access with their own keys, and did. They chose when and what changes were made and set the rules about what we could and could not do in or with the house. We lived with a shortage of privacy and without the freedom to make the house feel like our home.

After high school, I moved from the parsonage to the sorority house, then into various apartments. My address changed with each new opportunity. And it was easy to pick up and go where things were happening, because home is where the heart is. My apartment was just the place where I lived. Home was something different.

Things changed when I met Dave and Julia came along. Suddenly, it became important to make the place we lived our home. It took us some time to find that place, but now that we have, there is nothing like it. There is something to having a place – a physical space – you can put your heart into.

We’ve been here going on eight months now and I still marvel at the idea that this place is mine. I can do exactly what I want with it. If I want to install mirrors and a ballet bar for Julia, I can do it. That yucky outbuilding that sits exactly where Julia’s swing set should be? I can tear it down and build a new one where I want it. I can plant an orchard and will actually be here to see it bear fruit, because this is my home. This is where I’m putting down roots.

The Homestead

I love my house and how it sits on our street – at the summit, off the road and up on a hill, like it is the sole reason the street exists. It is situated so I may watch the sunrise from my breakfast nook and the sunset from my front porch. There is always a gentle, refreshing breeze that’s just strong enough to fly a kite. Julia can run outside and her legs give out before our property does.

Kite flying

I love walking “up the mountain” to the north end of our property with Julia each day and that when I look back, there are at least three cats coming along. We walk past the trees we’ve planted together and that quiet spot Dave and I visit to make out under the stars. At the farthest point from the house, you can still hear the faint ring of our dinner bell calling us home.

I love my neighborhood and how everyone is outside to visit each evening after dinner and on Sundays. When we struggle to prepare some ground for a garden, someone shows up with a rototiller, and when word gets around that we’ve suffered a loss, someone shows up with a homemade cheesecake and a listening ear. The farmer across the road plows the driveways on our street in the winter and mows our brush in summer, the guy at the end of the road fixes the cars and lawn equipment, often for free, and I make buckeyes. Everyone has something to offer each other. We all contribute.

I don’t mind living in a place where internet access is scarce and cable is a luxury most people don’t have. I am relieved to see kids spending more time outside than in, riding bikes and joining pick-up baseball and football games. I enjoy sharing the roads with the local Amish. Their horse-drawn buggies are a wonderful reminder that I don’t have to move through life so fast.

I like where I live. I feel good about raising my daughter here.

The side door

I’m happy to call this place home.

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