I'm a Picker and a Grinner

I went to the out picking on Sunday and found:
- Two designer dresses one vinatge  = $30.00  --- VALUED $150.00 & $320.00
- One antique two-pint pottery bed warmer = $6.00 --- VALUED $80.00
- One tall mocha coffee = $0.00* --- VALUED $3.30

Total spent $39.30 TOTAL VALUE --- $403.30
I came out $364.00 ahead!

Mike and Frank would be proud.

*They keep messing up my order and giving it to me free! Best coffee place ever.

Take Your Medicine!

Day three of antibiotic slinging and I have no idea if any of it is making it to the designated target.  I do know Amoxicillin smooths fly-aways when applied directly to the head after scraping it off one's tongue with flailing panicked hands. I just hope the pharmacist puts a little extra in there.

Wonder Child

Happy 8th birthday to my green eyed baby.  

Striped

A Bad Case of the Stripes
By David Shannon

For a bout of Bronchitis, I managed to cajole the children through a round of Godzillomiacin.  Just in time for them to contract what Ella refers to as striped throat.  Since Jack never eats what I cook; but only what he can find on the floor of his sisters room or bite off the end of a writing utensil (see pencil eraser, crayon, and marker felt,) I've given up on making antibiotic frosting and have opted for going in quick.  I get that dropper in there and squeeze with as much force as one can exert whence pinching a squishy little rubber dropper into a squirmy toddler's mouth.  Then I blow in his face, hard, until he swallows and offer his bewildered demeanor an M&M.   After I've used my super ninja medicine giving skills, to get ten days of Pinkacyllin into Jack's tightly pursed lips, we're going to pretend we're cowboys for a while and wear bandannas over our faces when we go out.

Santorum? I Barely Even Know 'Em.

Quick facts:

Budget busting tax plan
Pro foreign aid, including troops
Against gay marriage
Intelligent design
Wife and seven children
Pro life
Google rank problems


Thirty year time line:

Graduated High School 1976
BA in Political Science at Penn State in  (Tau Epsilon Phi Frat) 1980
Master of Business Admin 1981
Law degree, Pennsylvania Bar, Kirkpatrick & Lockhart 1986
Married 1987
House of Representatives 1990
US Senate 1995
Re elected US Senate 2000
Google Bombed 2003
First Book 2005
Unseated 2006
Second Book 2006

Changes

Blowing my ACL and giving up skating was a shock to the psyche. Unlike when I was just pregnant, I needed to be cautious with my leg and let it heal, I had to relearn how to walk up and down steps and make it to physical therapy three times a week.  It takes up all of my energy chasing a fraggle haired, little danger man around the house while also being mindful of the gentle feelings of a drama loving seven year old.  Hiring a sitter and going to derby practice once a week over November and December to stand in the middle of the track I so desperately wanted to be on, seemed like it would be torturous, both physically and mentally even though I missed it so much.

In January I hope to be cleared for endurance skating and would like to start attending Houston Roller Derby's Recreational League on Tuesday nights. I want to have a little of it back, with less of a commitment, at least until I'm done healing.  Then I'll reassess my situation and think about what is next.  I'd like time to plan and dream and anticipate what's next.  I'd like to be able to have a little control back even though I don't know what will come of it.  I just want it to be on my terms.

I miss skating until my legs are numb, my lungs burning with lactic acid and ego. I miss celebrating and being proud about the little accomplishments, both my team mates and mine.  I miss being soaking wet with sweat and delirious with happy.  I miss having all sorts of interesting people in my life every week and knowing who is ill, in love, has a blister and what people are seeing, eating, reading and listening to, what their goals are. I wasn't ready to give it up so abruptly.

I am used to living along side an army of diverse, tough women. It's hard when life changes without permission. Sometimes it takes a long time to adjust. I'm just now feeling like I live in Texas, despite my third Christmas in the Bayou.  I still feel like I can't buy expensive jeans because I just had a baby, though Jack is looking towards age two and riding a trike. Though I don't see my skatey-mates enough to tell you what color their hair is any more, letting go of these women and the derby community may take a lifetime.

Middle of Book

Woody Guthrie's New Years Resolutions 1942, stolen from Boing Boing.  

Merry Merry

I  hope whatever it is you celebrate this time of year was as awesome as ours.

What is Art?

Do you think accessibility to material dilutes art or inspires new talent?

I say both.  And sometimes one has to sit down and play Heart and Soul with their best pal to realise the genius of Bach.

***

Need to find out who did that peice of work you grabbed from timblr, pintrest, facebook but can't find the original?  Check this awesome tool out!    ?¿ src-img

***

Improv Everywhere is making a film.

Whiff

I smelled the live oaks on cool humid air and was reminded of vacations in New Orleans. If I had a recording of it I'd hit play, right along with the radio on Saturday mornings.  I'd invite listeners to take a breath while I am retelling about visiting the City of the Dead.  I'd play it on quiet nights when it is too much to open the windows.      

Bleachable Moments

I've gone on before about gender in casting and this commercial surprised me enough to share.

Oh My Darlin'

Tonight I was peeling another clementine for Jack when he started playing with the peel.  Because he has the ability to find the most dangerous thing in the room in three seconds or less, I was powerless when he maced himself in the eye with the twist of the rind.  I'm sure it stung, as I look into it on wiki, I see those oils are used for stripping varnish and garnishing things that have vodka in them.  I washed his eye out and put some saline in it, which also pissed him off, but I figured the more he cried the better it would be for his eyeball.

From the Daily Painting Blog
Postcard from Provence
by Julian Merrow-Smith

This Bird is Half Empty

Some folks miss the magic in life, it goes right over their heads.
(Listen up at 48 seconds)

Wish List

Dear Santa,

For Christmas this year, please bring toys that occupy my kids.  Also I'd like a black cover for my phone, booze, and a very expensive hair cut.

Love,
Jenny

One and a Half Jack

Jack is sleeping or he is a whirlwind of chaos.  He likes all things little boys are supposed to like; cars, sports, playing ball, whacking things with a sword, running after women with his wolf claws out and growling,  climbing and jumping from the top of things and most of all pretending to be big.  His dark eyes glower when he's told "no" in a way that assures me he'll have to get some sort of fight training in life, both to back up his uncontrollable glare and to rein it in. His laugh starts with squinched up eyes, and a wide smile full of pearly teeth, one already chipped from a mishap while running on cement.  He'll give you five if he likes you and he feels like it, and sometimes he'll put his whole open mouth on your face and give you a kiss.  He speaks in song; though he doesn't always get the consonants or the vowels right, he does match syllables, cadence and melody.  We have a joke we tell when we're in the middle of a project and Jack runs into the next room, you say "What can he possibly get into in ten seconds?" and you laugh maniacally while setting the project aside in a hurry and giving chase.  Because soon he will be naked and shaking a lamp, or moving the dog food, or buttering someone on the head.  He's hopelessly devoted to his big sister who loves him enough to afford him all the patience a seven year old can muster.  Under a layer of baby chub, he's sinewy, independent and determined.  He's almost one and a half.

Important Link

SWAT Raids, Stun Guns, And Pepper Spray: Why The Government Is Ramping Up The Use Of Force By Radley BalkoSenior Writer and Investigative Reporter The Huffington Post 

Trophies of 2011

I gold medaled in momming.  I silvered in housewifing. I got the bronze for getting crayon off the wall of a rented house.   After winning the UHaul-Grand Prix for moving an entire household while eight months pregnant, in June, in Texas last year, I went on to win the Illini-1000 in November, when I drove to Rockford for Thanksgiving with two children, a dog and a hip to ankle leg brace.  I got the Rubberband Prize for outstanding efforts in the categories of super cute hair braids and piggy tails that aren't lopsided and I was awarded the Mrs. Mathews Sash and Crown.  Consistantly when I wake up in the morning, the Worlds Best Cup of Coffee is found in my kitchen.  I got the Runneth Over Cup for breast feeding Jack back to sleep, Rookie of the Year for chasing ten month olds who can run, and of course the Hindend Trophy for changing a poopy diaper in a truck stop with one baby wipe.  I was MVP of derby skaters named Bombadee.  I swept the National Championships of Long Black Dog Hair Removal from the floor and couch. I garnered a blue ribbon in Tiny Drawings for the second year in a row and I think I won some sort of certificate for being consistently under-rated and under-collected in the art world, but I'm sure it got lost in the mail. I got my merit badges in grocery shopping with a toddler, reupholstering an ottoman, repairing laptop keys pulled off by children, and blowing out a tire at 75 mph on I-290 as well as waiting two hours for a tow truck by myself on a Saturday night. I also made employee of the month at ZLP at least twice this year and for the seventh time in a row I received Blogger of the Year from Bombadee's Garden. Also, I was gifted the Star of Gratitude for having amazing family and friends. I did not win any awards in modesty nor can I seem to land a spot on My Morning Hair.

Seven Weeks After ACL Surgery

Doctor Lowe said I have the knees of a teenager.  I'm healing up nicely and should be back to at least endurance skating in January.  I still have some swelling and some bruising and my thighs are different sizes, though I don't think it's terribly obvious.  I'm doing physical therapy twice a week and I'm able to stationary bike and get on the elliptical and some basic squats and stair step things.  I have a little spot that remains numb and the scar isn't terrible, you can click on the pic and zoom in to see.  I'm able to get around pretty well and I no longer have to wear what affectionately became known as the iron maiden on my leg.  I'll get a smaller one just for exercising, late next week.

Projects from the Home Sick Department

She put  four stuffed animals under the cardboard box on the living room floor, a cat, a whale, a frog and Charlie peacock.  She put a sign on the box that said "Chaos" and then announced to the room there was a terrible animal fight going down inside the box.

Adventures in Momming

My very good pal Kiki over at I Still Hate Pickles said "Sharing struggles doesn't mean that your struggles don't matter. It helps to know that you aren't alone, and that you always have things to be thankful for!"  I am thankful she said it, because here I go sharing:

Today, I am home with two sick kids, a fever, no voice or groceries and a dog with a flea.  When a toddler that is still nursing gets a sore throat, do you know what happens? He wants to nurse non-stop.  So while I am trying to clean up the dog barf resulting from the hair ball the dog pulled from the spot in her hind quarter where the single flea that she's very allergic to bit her, my son is frantically yanking on my shirt trying to get things out, and the harder he cries the more snot pours from his face.  I am thankful Ella is content to lay about on the couch and overdose on cartoons, but a few times she's had some odd requests; "I need to put pockets on the inside of my robe so I can whip out tools and weapons like a spy, where's the tape?"

At some point this afternoon, I need to pack everyone up and their snot and venture out to the grocery store because we were in Illinois last week and the ice box has in it: tortillas, clementines, old lunch meat, pickles, a half bottle of wine and ketchup. If I can get my boob back in my shirt long enough to get shoes on we'll go get supplies and maybe plumber will finally call me back.  While we were gone, the odd smell in the master bathroom's toilet room, that didn't go away when we bleached everything in there, got worse.  I think an animal expired in the exhaust vent, Dan thinks there could be something wrong with the pipes, so I need a plumber who knows ducts and won't hang up on me when I say "dead animal." So far I've called six and only one called me back.  He wants $120.00 to walk in the door.  Also before he walks in  the door, I need to put the dirty laundry away, empty the diaper pail and wipe the toothpaste off the mirror. In the mean time, I've shut the door and am pretending that room no longer exists. Which brings me to being thankful for having a second commode.