May
23
Wanna Be Ur Lovr
by Leslie
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.
May
21
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.
May
17
It’s Raining Again
by Leslie
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!
May
16
Here’s What I’m Thinkin’
by Leslie
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.
May
15
Home Is Where The Heart Is
by Leslie
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.
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.
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.
I’m happy to call this place home.
Stuff I Do
-
Stuff You Should Do
You know, Stuff.
