Jul
25
A week or so ago I recieved an e-mail from my friend Amanda that went a little something like this:
Hey Leslie,
I am looking for someone to help out with a few reviews per month over at http://www.amomsreview.com and I thought of you first.
Here is how it would work….stuff stuff stuff and more stuff.
Let me know if you are at all interested.
Thanks,
Amanda
This is what I read:
Leslie,
I am looking for someone to help out with a few reviews per month over at http://www.amomsreview.com and I thought of you first. Because you are an amazing writer and I know you could add a whole new dimension to this thing we call “reviews.” With your fantastic wit and irresistible charm, you could take feedback to the next level. Then, companies will be knocking down our doors to have you to write about their products and visitors will flock to the site in droves to hear you wax eloquent about bathroom deodorizers and breakfast cereal.
I think this may be your life’s calling. Let me know if you are at all interested.
Please, please, please say yes,
Amanda
And I did say yes. Right after I hopped and skipped around the dining room table declaring to my family that I got a “writing gig,” and did the robot as I repeated “writer in demand” in my electronic robot voice.
Today, my first review is up. Please, go check it out.
Jul
25
Life, I Love You. All Is Groovy.*
by Leslie
If I were to provide you with a dramatic representation of my friendship with Jenn, it would come in the form of a music video. I would use The 59th Street Bridge Song* and there would be smiling and holding hands. And lots of skipping.
I adore Jenn. Her writing is like music – smooth and flowing. It sweeps me away and I can just get lost in it. She can transport me across the ocean and onto a train in 1,000 words. She can make me fall in love with a bicycle.
But that’s not the only reason I love her – this girl with the great talent. You see, she’s got this great big heart and I think she’s one of the warmest and brightest people I’ve happened upon in this blogging world. She makes me smile. She lifts me up. She gave me this:
She said this about me.
And well, Jenn, I love you.
All is groovy.
Jul
24
This has become my favorite place to spend lazy summer afternoons.
I like to curl up on the love seat with a cat in my lap and read blogs while Julia plays in the yard. I can easily entertain the occasional neighbor that stops by and they’re none the wiser that my sink is full of dishes. It’s wonderful. (Make sure you clickety click the photo. I’ve left you little love notes all over it.)
And at night…
…we like to sit around the fire, roasting marshmallows, sometimes singing and other times just soaking in the quiet. (You can watch a one minute video from last night’s fire here.)
I wish I could have captured a good view of the sky. The stars looked amazing. Julia wished the night away on those stars. I really couldn’t think of much to wish for – everything I could ever want was right there.
Jul
23
Here I Go Again On My Lawnmower
by Leslie
Yesterday, a couple of teenagers from down the road, over the creek and across the main road stopped by to see if they could walk on our property to scout the deer they intend to shoot and kill in the woods near our house when hunting season begins this fall. It seems they like to plan ahead. Although Dave and I aren’t big on the hunting thing, since they are friends with our neighbors (the nice ones who plow our drive-way in the winter), Dave said okay.
I was just driving my lawn tractor in from mowing the back half of the property when I came upon Dave and the two young men. We exchanged pleasantries and the boys moved along to get a closer look at the awesome doe that was standing at the edge of our field.
Once the kids were out of sight, I began to tell Dave about my latest idea for a video blog.
“Okay, so I think we need to do a video…to that song Rock and Roll Part Two? You know, ba-ba ba baaa baaa baaa Hey! That one?”
“Yeah?”
“A video of us mowing. Like, we can start with clips of us gassing up the mowers, pulling out…maybe one of those huddle things where we all put our hands in and shout, ‘Go!’ on three…”
“Uh-huh.”
“And then we edit together video of us mowing….high fiving when we pass each other…a little bit of my lawnmower dancing…”
“Yeah…”
“Maybe I could do some writhing, Tawny Kitaen style, on the hood of the lawn tractor…”
“That would be hilarious!”
“Yeah!”
“Maybe you could do a little of this,” he throws his head back and arches his back, “and I can throw some water on you…”
“You’re thinking of Flashdance.”
“Yeah, like Flashdance. That’d be cool.”
“Anyway…wanna do that next time we mow? Get some video?”
“I’d like to get some-”
Well, he said something a little naughty. Then, just as he was feeling me up and making a reference to a wet t-shirt contest -
(An aside: Even though he’s got free access to the goods without the veil of a t-shirt, the idea of seeing them through a wet t-shirt is appealing to him. I don’t get it. But hey, he doesn’t question me about my fascination with assless chaps. He just puts ‘em on. So, I’m not saying a word.)
- we heard Julia cry. She’d been running around the yard and fell down, so we started to move toward her. As I looked back, I saw the two teenage boys up the hill from us, just out of sight, but within earshot so they could have heard the whole conversation Dave and I were just having. And I’m pretty sure they heard it, because they were smiling. They may have even been laughing. And giving a thumbs up gesture.
After we made sure Julia was alright, I pointed out the boys’ location and that I thought they heard us talking. Dave turned to see them looking through their binoculars. At us. He said, “Oh yeah. They heard us.”
“So, do you think that video is a good idea?”
“Well, if those boys show up the next time you fire up the lawnmower, I think you’ll have your answer.”
Jul
22
Chitty Chitty Bang Bangs
by Leslie
I owe my mother an apology. For years, I gave her a rough time for these:
Specifically, my bangs. At the time the photos were taken, I didn’t care. I was a kid. I ate my boogers. I couldn’t have cared less about my bangs. But, time passed and I matured. My booger-eating ways went by the wayside and I began to care about my appearance and those pictures seemed….embarrassing. How could she let me go out like that? Worse, yet – how could she do that to me? She cut my bangs that way. I have given her a rough time about this for years, until…
I noticed a striking similarity between Julia’s bangs lately and my own years ago. And the worst part? I cut them that way. After one too many bad bang cuts at the hand of a “professional,” I decided to pocket my ten dollars and ruin her bangs myself. Man, I’m lucky she’s pretty because I suck at cutting bangs. In my defense – bangs are tricky. If you’ve ever screwed up your own, you know. Try dealing with a set of bangs on a toddler. Imagine trying to tattoo a monkey and you’ve got an idea of what cutting her bangs is like. Except my monkey can talk and she screams, “I HATE YOU CUTTING MY BANGS!” the whole time.
And so, I extend to both my mother and my daughter a heartfelt apology. I am sorry.
Now, take a look at the picture of Julia up there on the right. That’s the outfit she chose and dressed herself in today. Not too bad, huh? On days we have some place to go, I present her with two outfits I’ve chosen and give her an either/or option, but this was an off day and the closet was wide open. She didn’t do bad.
Regardless of who selects her clothing, she insists upon getting it on her body all by herself with no help from me. Verbal assistance isn’t even allowed, rather, it enrages her.
I’ll say, “The tag goes in the back, Sweetie.”
And I get, “Moooooommmmmm! I DO IT MYSELF!!! NO HELP ME!”
Sometimes she’ll take everything off and begin again, as if I’ve somehow botched the whole getting dressed process with my little reminder, (which she needed by the way).
Then, she’ll start at square one, pulling, twisting, tugging and stretching to get that stuff on her wriggly little frame. Her outward struggle with her wardrobe mirrors my inner struggle to keep from grabbing that damn shirt to pull it over her head, already! NOT helping is so hard for me. I’ve had to literally sit on my hands to keep from intervening, but I realize that she needs to do it herself. It’s good for her and probably for me, too. At least this way, when she looks back on pictures and says, “Mom! Why’d you dress me like that?”
I can say, “I didn’t. You did.”
Stuff I Do
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Stuff You Should Do
You know, Stuff.
