Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Hello boy. You are one darn good and cute little fella. And, it is a good thing that you are because you still spit up insanely giant amounts of spit up roughly 10 million times a day. So much so, that I have had to reassure some of my older nieces that this is not typical because they are starting to be terrified of babies after watching you do what you do. BUT, you are good at all the important things. Like being so so so so cute!!! We love you and all your cuteness and good little contentedness Mr. Jesse Frank. Remember when you were so tiny for like one second? Now you are a complete baby -- not even one bit a little newborn. How? Who knows. I like you.
Friday, July 17, 2009
On Wednesday I told him that my blog entries were always boring lately. "What's something fun I can write about?" I asked.
"Write about Americana," Mike replied.
"Americana. Everyone loves to hear about Americana in the summer time. You know -- hot dogs and house dresses."
He would give me nothing further on how house dresses and hot dogs (and I'm assuming cherry pie, fireworks, picnics and flags) could develop into a post. It is a shame though. I am sure he is right. Americana does seem right for summer and if I could turn this into a post about it, oh how lovely it would be. All I could think, however, was about a skirt I once saw in a catalog made out of patches of cute fabrics -- most of them in red, white and blues. It was a very cute "Americana" skirt and I regret not having purchased it. Instead, the best I can do is make this post have red and blue colored text.
So, enough of that. Last night I was watching "Lark Rise to Candleford." That's right, that show that is a BBC mini-series. KUED is replaying the episodes and I think it is season two, but I seem to be catching up to what is going on and who is who now.
Anyway, remember my dream of how I would be watching the DVD of it (which I couldn't get) while Mike watched with me? I mentioned he'd have the laptop in case he wanted to peruse some want ads? Well, that is just how it was. Mike was looking at motorcycles and four-wheelers online. He kept showing me different ones and asking my opinions.
Apparently my opinions were lacking proper enthusiasm and interest because Mike said, "You don't even care about these motorcycles."
And I defended with an equal accusation of, "You don't even want me to watch Lark Rise."
At which point Mike grumbled something like, "Fine, I'll just look up what you want." And, after a moment said, "Look, there aren't even any of those on here."
I looked over to see a screen that said, "No matches found." When I looked up to see what he'd searched for, I saw, "dumb couch." I guess that would be more along my lines than a motorcycle, but what is most along my lines is my Mike. I love him.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
So, maybe that is where it starts -- with the details of labor, its onset and full conclusion, but it certainly doesn't stop there. Oh noooo. That is far from the last of the unsettling images that will be placed in your mind. It is just that later it will come directly from your offspring.
Here were two conversations yesterday that were MILD -- very mild, but that made me slightly shudder all the same.
Abe: Daisy, did you know that people in China eat dogs with the hair and stuff still on.
Goldie (interrupting their conversation): I don't like to eat animals!
Daisy: Goldie, every time you eat meat you are eating animals.
Goldie: Well! I don't mean that. I mean I don't like to eat them when they're like alive.
Abe: Goldie, pretty much no one eats animals alive.
Goldie: I know, I don't!
Abe: Goldie! We mean that . . .
Me: Abe, maybe its best if we just sort of stop this conversation for now before anyone gets too upset.
Then, a few moments later Daisy calls in a tattle-tale sort of way, "Mom! Goldie thinks number two is alive!" (Yes, number two is what you think it is).
I looked at Goldie with eyebrows raised. She looked back, neither denying nor defending herself, just looking nervous. I smiled and shook my head and she just smiled too as if to say, "Mom, I know you would prefer we just drop this, and I would prefer it too because I may truly think what I think, and I don't know that I can properly defend my position or that you want me to have to."
As I said, those were two fairly mild things. There are oh so many questions and interesting bits of unasked for information regarding bathroom occurrences and on and on. Funny kids.
Also, I mentioned Abe explaining co-managers to Daisy the other day. It is also sadly funny to hear them discuss the harsh realities of life with one another. Here is what I heard coming from the front porch the other day (presumably they had discovered a bug caught in a spider's web):
Daisy: Abey! Let it go!
Abe (exasperated): I can't, Daisy! If spiders can't eat anything, bugs will take over the world!
Daisy: But that's only one single bug!
Abe (with loud frustration and annoyance): Daisy! (and then in a more quiet but sadly final tone)It's already dead.
I can't really explain this, but it is quite fascinating to me, when I look at my kids, and compare them to my baby Jesse, that they not only develop speech, but their minds actually grow to have their own thoughts and crazy unique ideas and ways of explaining the world -- things I never even put in their heads . . . and, of course, that is especially amazing when it is about more than just eating dogs with hair, and "number two," and the food chain, but even that stuff just reminds me all the more what a miracle these little people are. Somehow it almost seems impossible to me that the tiny little things I once carried inside of me are here making jokes and telling stories and creating their own assumptions and opinions.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I try to stifle those little annoyances. So, as I said, this isn't a pet peeve. I wasn't mad at anyone, but as I was running on the track yesterday I found myself wishing that more people knew track rules of etiquette. They don't, so it isn't their fault. It is like anything. I'm sure there are all types of activities that have rules I don't know so I ignore them. Just like the rules of where and when you should use cell phones. I have forgotten what proper etiquette says so I am sure I don't follow it.
Once a friend explained to me a "bowling rule of etiquette" which was -- you don't bowl at the exact same time as a person in the lane next to you. I was quite surprised to learn this because I hadn't realized there were certain good manners in bowling. Still, I have tried to observe that rule when, about every other year, I happen to be bowling -- just in case the people next to me are serious bowlers who recognize good etiquette and appreciate my observance of it.
On to the track. It is basically the same rule as driving -- if you are on the inside lane and someone comes up on you, it is always polite to move over a lane. Everyone who ever ran on a track team knows this rule. In fact, it was considered fine to call out, "track!" as you came upon someone so they would know to scoot over a lane for a moment. It made sense because sometimes someone would be practicing a precise time on a 200 meter run and naturally they would be coming much quicker than someone doing a warm up or the 2 mile. Alas, it would be considered rude or simply very strange to call, "track!" in the ordinary non-tracky world.
Just as there are some who stubbornly refuse to move out of the fast driving lane because "they are going the speed limit" there will be those of you who like to use the track and feel it a violation of your rights to have to move to lane two just because someone else is running faster. And if that is how you feel, so be it. No one will arrest you, but if, perhaps, like me with bowling, you want to know good etiquette, there it is. Inside lane is for whoever is running the fastest. You are under no obligation to move if you are already in an outer lane, and you can walk at a snails pace in lane one if you don't mind simply walking over a tiny bit for a moment when you hear faster steps approaching.
I don't even like to run on a track. I'm surprised how many people do. I always prefer to be out enjoying different scenery on the roads (or preferably trails), but when I am training for something, I try to throw intervals into my weekly runs. Intervals are basically speed work. So, instead of running for distance, you run miles, 800's, 400's, etc. at an uncomfortably fast pace. The idea being that it will help increase your normal running pace. A track is nice for these simply because you can so easily keep track (no pun intended) of your distance.
Anyway, yesterday I was nearly killing myself trying to sprint 400's (once around the track) and 800's. And at every lap I had to run out and around groups of mom's moseying along with strollers along the inside lane. Occasionally even just standing and chatting in groups along the inside lane. I know they weren't intending to be rude. But I was seriously barely making each sprint and it seemed oh so difficult to have to interrupt my goal each time running out and around. I just found myself wishing they knew and ever so grateful to the occasional runner that knowingly stepped to the side to let me pass.
So, now you all know. Now maybe I need a more interesting post seeing as this was boooooring. Probably none of you ever run on a track and have no real need of knowing this tid bit of information. I will tell you this though: "Track!" was such a great word to be able to yell. I find myself wishing I could use it all of the time -- in the grocery store when carts are blocking the isle and not realizing someone is behind them, "track!" I'd simply call and they'd scoot right over. On campus I was always one that preferred to walk quickly to my destination. How convenient to have called, "track!" all along the crowded sidewalks.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The same thing happened occasionally as a semester would be ending in college. There would be papers due and finals to take. The flu would be knocking, but it simply had to wait until the day after all was done -- then I could hold off no longer and it would claim me.
Something similar (only slightly different) seems to be happening to me now. My knees were beginning to hurt running (as they have before) so I got some new pronation control running shoes (my ankle turns in too much during my heel toe strike -- which stresses your knees), but now my right ankle is developing tendonitis and hurts all the time (my sister-in-law Missy -- champion runner and Physical Therapist -- thinks these shoes have too much pronation control and are now stressing my outer ankles). I know my poor joints are trying to give out -- trying to be sore and have a good long rest, but there is NO time!! How can I let my injuries take over and expect to complete the training I need to for this Sept. marathon? I can't. No time now for such weakness. I just keep barring the door as best I can and hoping the latch will hold until after the race. Then the injuries can go ahead and claim me if they must.
Whatever happened to the old days when, if an unexpected rainstorm began during a mere stroll to a nearby manor, you would be immediately taken with a raging fever? You would most likely not even be able to finish your walk before such a life threatening condition would set in.
I guess it was probably best that women were all so frail back then. What other chance would there have been for some rich and noble bachelor to chance upon a woman in her moment of despair and carry her to safety? How else could he be expected to court her so devotedly and lovingly as he might whilst she lie in tremors and tossings on her sick bed? Eventually the fever would break, he would bring flowers, she would gaze serenely into his eyes, and a wedding would be forthcoming.
I suppose it would never have done for her to have been running about the countryside, miserable and sweaty with an aching knee and a sprained ankle. I can't imagine what kind of prospects that might have produced for any woman.
I guess it is lucky that I have already been courted and wed. Now Mike doesn't even have to send for the local doctor and bring me flowers and wait patiently night and day at my bedside. He just might have to buy me a new pair of running shoes . . . again . . . like he surprised me with only a month ago . . . because it would immediately fix all my knee problems (I'd assured him) . . . and there certainly wouldn't be more problems.
So, it actually might be easier for Mike if he could just toss me -- soaking wet, and in a feverish delirium -- over the back of his horse and trot me to safety. Maybe we are supposed to be frail after all. Who went changing things?
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
But, while I have been putting off reading the rest of those pages, I read Princess Academy by Shannon Hale. She wrote The Goose Girl -- which I've heard of but never read. Anyway, it is a quick young reader type of book, but just a fun and happy thing to read. Thanks Marnie for lending it to me (when it wasn't even yours to rightfully lend).
But, the other night I happened to turn the TV on one of the public broadcasting stations to find a little show called "From Lark to Castleford" coming on. It only lasted an hour and was as charming and good as most any English countryside show I've ever watched, but I wasn't sure if I'd just seen the end of a mini series or what. I looked it up and it turns out it is an entire BBC series. It has already had two seasons. I was so excited to watch them every now and then, so I looked on Amazon only to discover they were priced in "pounds" equivalent to about 46 bucks in American money. And that, just for one season! To add insult to injury, it said that the discs wouldn't work in most US DVD players. What?? Do we have different DVD players than the Britts? What is going on here? Since when are good English shows made exclusively for the English? I was so happy thinking of myself cozying up on my couch at night to watch an episode or two. Mike would be with me -- and while I might let him have the laptop handy to peruse classifieds when bored, he would mostly enjoy them with me. What has this world come to? Somehow I really can't accept that there can be NO "From Lark to Castleford" for me.