Santa Shop

I walked into the small classroom ready to take on my assigned task. 

The school children had been given envelopes the week prior explaining Santa Shop. 

They could bring in a list of family and friends to buy for with their money. 

Their money that was taped up into the envelope they now had in their little hands. 

They could buy a pen that said MOM on it for fifty cents. 

Or a wooden back scratcher for grandpa that cost two dollars. 

I was assigned to stand behind the tables and if someone wanted that MOM pen, I could retrieve it for them from the large stock behind me. 

I was already at my station when she showed up. 

She being my neighbor. 

I don't really have neighbors where I live. 

We are surrounded by a wooded area and a cornfield. 

But the house that I can see from my side yard, the house down the road, is what I consider my neighbor. 

A few of the neighbor's dogs have wandered down into our yard in the past. 

The wife has a best friend. 

Who just happens to be the mother of one of my daughter's friends. 

They have a horse. 

We have a horse.

The husband told me once that his wife would be jealous that we have goats, since she wants goats. 

And the husband has picked up horse manure from us a few times since his side business was lawn and garden maintenance. 

I know things they probably wouldn't think I would know. 

We've chatted at Rural King a few times. 

They have two children. 

Two boys. 

Right in between the ages of my children. 

Once she was having a yard sale. 

I don't like yard sales. 

I have too much crap myself so I don't need to buy other people's crap. 

But I stopped and introduced myself as her neighbor. 

And my kids asked if they could play in her yard while we talked. 

I think her children were in the house sleeping. 

I remember thinking that it was a warm summer day and her kids were not outside. 

And I found that to be odd. 

They are seldom seen in their yard. 

Here's the thing. 

I know them. 

I know them simply because they live in the closest house to mine. 

But when she walked into that small classroom to help with the Santa Shop, she didn't seem to have any idea who I was. 

I went over to her, since she had made zero attempt to come over by me, and said  what came naturally. 

"Hello, how are you?  I'm your neighbor."

Silence. 

Stares and silence. 

"I live next to the horse trail."

Stares. 

So I join in with the stares. 

She finally spoke. 

"Umm, the horse trail?"

(My house is the ONLY house next to the horse trail)

"Yes, the horse trail" I replied. 

Waiting, I'm waiting. 

"Oh...oh...oh...uh...yes. I know you. My neighbor". 

You don't know me. 

It became evident that very moment. 

Either that or she's just very dull. 

In this modern age we now live in, it hit my like a brick thrown to my head...she didn't want to know her neighbor. 

How is it possible that I know you, yet you don't seem to know me. 

I've had similar situations arise with other parents at school. 

We have a small district. 

Each class has 60-85 kids in it. 

We've been in the district since our children were of age to attend school. 

And, through our childhood cancer advocacy, we've been on local television and in local newspapers since 2011. 

We aren't hermits. 

Yet, you don't seem to see me. 

I can look at you and know...that's Cleo's mom or that's Gavin's dad. 

Just because I have seen you at registration. 

Or a school assembly. 

I see things. 

My eyes are constantly scanning a room. 

Taking mental notes. 

Not quite as detailed as Sherlock Holmes, but I would be a good eyewitness if tragedy struck. 

I see details. 

In people. 

In places. 

In situations. 

I don't often miss a beat. 

I can pick out the gay guy in a room of men. 

I can find the couple who are having marital issues. 

But since I'm always "on" I see my own disappointment. 

I see people not seeing me. 

And then I'm put into situations like Santa Shop. 

Where my neighbor doesn't seem to know me. 

I often think about this particular circumstance. 

Did she really know me and just didn't want to acknowledge the fact because she didn't like me?

But, how could she not like me when she didn't seem to know me?

There was another mom in the Santa Shop that day who has a son in my daughter's class. 

We've known one another since the children were three years old. 

I'll never forget her because she slammed the school's front door on me one day as I was running up to it. 

It was a very cold day. 

My daughter was with me and we were heading into the building for afternoon preschool. 

You must be buzzed into the school. 

She saw us running for the stairs. 

She, with her toddler son's hand firmly grasped in her own. 

She opened the door (after being buzzed in) and just as we got to the first step, she did it. 

She closed the door on us. 

Pulled it shut tight. 

I just stood there. 

Looking into the building through the small window at my eye level. 

She wouldn't turn around.  

Wouldn't open the door for us. 

So I had to push the button to get buzzed in. 

When I finally entered so barely looked at me.

She mumbled something about "everyone needs to be buzzed in...I wasn't sure if you were coming in the door" 

All things that made no sense and I have never forgotten it. 

I spoke not one word to her that afternoon. 

But, she too, was working Santa Shop with me. 

Someone else who didn't seem to know me. 

But, I did what other adults should do with one another when placed into a group volunteer setting. 

I said "hello, how is Michael enjoying third grade?"

She seemed to know me on this day. 

And mumbled a few pleasantries in my direction. 

I am cordial even when I shouldn't be. 

I got right into my work. 

Passing out gifts that the children were buying their loved ones. 

It was the last Santa Shop I've volunteered at. 

The neighbor's children are in my care during recess now. 

And my children ride the bus home from school with them. 

I've introduced myself to them as they ask me for a basketball on the playground. 

And my children have sat next to them on the bus. 

They don't seem to know us either. 

My own children have said just this to me. 

"Mom, they won't talk to us on the bus...it's as if they don't know us."

Sigh...here we go again...

Paint Me A Sub!

Some things I need to do this spring and summer...

Paint our piano. 

It's brown and boring and brown. 

This blue color looks cheery and seems like it would fit right in at our house. 

Speaking of house, I need to scour the thrift stores and antiques shops for older wooden chairs for our dining room table. 

And I'll paint them. 

In different colors. 

Because it's fun. 

I think I also want to try doing a plate wall. 

Just like in the picture above. 

Currently our dining room walls hold an array of my childrens' drawings and artwork. 

I think we all need a change.

And a new coat of paint. 

Thrift stores again for those plates. 

I just called our regional office of education to inquire about becoming a substitute teacher once Gigi goes to school in the Fall. 

Wowzers!

There's a lot involved. 

It will cost about $240 to get on the sub list. 

I think. 

I was a bit confused. 

Maybe I'm not cut out to be a sub. 

I'll need to go online for a license. 

Get a physical.

A TB test (shouldn't this just be for someone who has recently been out of the country?)

A criminal background check.

Transcripts from my university. 

Geesh!

I just want to read off of the list the regular teacher leaves me on her desk the day she's gone and needs a sub. 

I'm not going to really teach ya know. 

Back to my dining room/kitchen. 

That sub stuff has me beat. 

I have no cute backsplash in my kitchen. 

It's a white wall. 

Blech. 

I want this...

Or this...

I think I like the top one better. 

The bottom seems too fancy for my country kitchen from 1960. 

I think I'll just go out and buy a few sheets of it at a time. 

Chad is going to have so much fun putting it up. 

I just know it. 

Dog Vs Girls

Some days it's a dog-eat-girl world...

I think the girls won this battle. 

Woodland Creatures

An afternoon hike in our woods...

The Wise Tree

            

The Handstand

           

Woodland Fungus

           

Butterfly Fungi

                 

 

A Tree Hugger

               

Moss Fur

                 

A Leftover Deer

             

Our Compass

         

The Hikers

                     

The Biker

My husband is a bit of an anomaly in this town. 

People don't use public transportation here unless you don't have a car and EVERYONE has a car. 

It's a *gasp* if you say you don't have a car. 

But this is a small town. 

People live on the outskirts of things and its hard to get around if you don't have a car. 

Well, he has a car. 

A truck, actually. 

An old little pick-up truck that used to belong to my dad then to my nephew before it was given to him. 

And he drives it. 

But, when its a warm weather season and school is out (he works at the local university) he doesn't drive. 

He bikes. 

As in bicycle. 

Two wheels only. 

Without a motor. 

He's the motor. 

It's a 12 mile journey, round trip. 

Here's some background on his biking...

He used to live in Chicago. 

He never had a driver's license until he moved to the country. 

He rode his bike or used public transportation (usually the EL, or elevated train, or just "the train") in Chicago. 

Or he used his feet to walk. 

He had a Trek bike in the city that he had found really, really cheap. 

Biking is a way of life in Chicago for many people.

They run all of their errands on their bike. 

They get to work on their bike. 

There are designated bike lanes on the streets to ride in. 

People don't freak out when they pass you (usually).  

It's a respected means of travel. 

Not here. 

Not in the country and small town he's living in these days. 

Back to the present...

We live in the country. 

But kind of close to town. 

My husband wears shorts and a t-shirt to ride his bike to work. 

With a bag around his shoulder that holds his work clothes that he changes into once he arrives. 

He has traded in the Trek for a new bike.

The Trek had bulkier tires and his new bike has road tires. 

Thinner and lighter. 

It's not a fancy $6000 bike. 

It's from Target. 

He doesn't wear tight shorts and a fitted tank like the bikers who "mean business" do. 

His objective is to get exercise. 

To not contribute gas exhaust into the environment. 

To feel the wind on his face and to get his endorphins going. 

To keep a part of his former life contained within his present life. 

He gets cursed at on a daily basis.

People yell at him to get off of the road. 

They honk at him.

They flip him the bird.

He's almost been run over a few times.

But he still rides. 

Everyday. 

Even when it's 90 degrees out. 

His kids think it's a normal way to get to work. 

He's an anomaly around here. 

And I couldn't be more proud of him. 

Letter of the Day

The Letter of the day is F...

Float

Friends

Flags

Fondness

Fuzz

Family

Farm

Forever

Swooning For Lark Rise

Ah, the BBC Dramas. 

First, there was Downton Abbey. 

Then I found Call The Midwife. 

Mr. Selfridge found his way into my life and I'm sure glad he did. 

Now, it's a tale of two villages. 

It's the late 1800's in rural England. 

One poor village, one not.  

Farm hands, postal workers, seamstresses, children, mamas and papas, and a local laze-about all mixed together. 

I have fallen in love with the show Lark Rise to Candleford. 

It's not currently on, but I've found the show on DVD. 

The show began in 2008 and from what I've read, it had much promise. 

People loved it. 

But after four seasons, it just stopped. 

I have all four seasons on DVD and I'm obsessed. 

Obsessed with the sets, the landscapes, the costumes. 

Obsessed with finding out if Dorcas Lane will ever find love. 

The most influential character is rather unfortunately named Dorcas. 

But, the awkwardly named Dorcas is brought to life by Julia Sawalha. 

Julia is best known for playing Saffy on Absolutley Fabulous. 

People, it's Saffy from Ab Fab!!!

Right there as Post Mistress in Candleford!

And kooky Thomas Brown who lives for God, but needs to find something more than God to really live. 

Twister is the Lark Rise goof-lover of the drink. 

The sweet, loved by Queenie, top hat wearing quirk of a man who can throw back an ale like he's 20 and still dole out sage wisdom. 

Twister is my favorite. 

As is his wife Queenie. 

She talks to her bees, reads tea leaves, and cares for anyone who needs carin'. 

As they say on the show, she's a real Lark Riser.

And, to get my Downton fix met at the same time, Mr Bates aka Brendan Coyle is on the show!

He plays the lead character's father, Robert Timmins.  

The only down side to the show for me is in fact the main character. 

Well, not really the character. 

I like the character of Laura. 

It's the actress that bugs me. 

She does this twisty mouth thing and shakes and bobbles her head constantly when she talks. 

Very distracting for this lady. 

But I'll deal with her rattles. 

If it means I get get to disappear into the villages and peer into the lives of Emma, Minnie, Alf, and the Pratt sisters. 

If it means I get a BBC fix and can walk around my house speaking in my British accent, I'm good. 

Time for afternoon tea!

A Marriage

I've been married for thirteen years this month.
Thirteen glorious, funny, heartbreaking, amazing years.
All because I've taught my husband the rights from the wrongs of our married life.
And throw in two kids and the teaching keeps on comin' on.

Here are some things that my husband has learned about living in our life...

Do NOT give your wife a dust buster as an anniversary gift.

If Gigi ever asks you if we have some rope, always answer no.

Yes, popcorn and fried foods can be acceptable dinner entrees if mom is tired.

The Real Housewives of Orange County really ARE funny if you watch them long enough.

My friends are your friends.

Zoe does well in math because of her inherited dad-math smarties.

Don't let your math smarties go to your head.

It's great that you have a love for horror movies, but the children should not watch them at night until the years 2016-2018.

Having a child with cancer brought out the best in you that I don't think you knew existed.

Make all of the hot sauce that you want as long as you are alone in the house. Please don't asphyxiate the family.

Happy wife, happy life.





Parents Say The Darndest Things

When you have kids you hear yourself saying some strange things.
And we have had our share of strange things said around here.
Not just the regular parent things like "because I said so!" or "don't put that in the toliet!"
We have said the following things to our kids lately...

"Take that cat back outside Zoe!"
"Why?"
"Because that's not our cat!"
"It's not?!"

"Please do NOT spray air freshener into your hair so it smells like apples and do NOT spray it on the dog because he smells like a horse."

"Somebody get a spatula!"
"There's something strange in the crabitat and I'm not gonna touch it!"

"You may NOT put a potty seat in the living room so that you can pee and not have to miss watching Max and Ruby!"

"We do not put food up our nose that we will then put in our mouth!"

"Yes, that is a good hiding spot, but don't hide in the dryer with the door closed again."

"If you think the Orange Dreamsicle yogurt tastes like barf, then stop eating it!"

"Hold you head still or I'll never get these little pliers around your tooth!"

These things have all been said to my kids in the past two weeks.

It's going to be a looooooong summer...

I'm Perpetually Soggy

This has got to be the worst start to summer that I've ever been alive to witness.

It's been raining steadily since February.

It became snow at the end of March and left us with 16 inches of joyous white crap to deal with for a week.

It quickly melted back into the earth because the rain returned.

"Oh, hey rain. Where have you been these past 48 hours?"

"Bowling? You don't say?"

"Maybe you should have joined a traveling league and hightailed it out if here for the next 8 months...jackass."

So, I'm sure you can tell that this rain has bothered me a bit.

I have been trying to stay busy, though.

My laundry is caught up and I've sharpened all of the pencils in the antique Mexican bowl in case anyone wants to poke out their eyes from looking at the dismal weather radar again.

I can't believe the suicide rate isn't up in this area because of it.

Unemployment has nothing on dreary, rainy weather.

I have a friend who's the local news anchor and I can't believe she hasn't done a story on this yet.

But, then again, she's lost her mind for a totally different reason.

She has a growing baby sucking her brain away in what many moms call "baby is sucking my brain away syndrome."

i.e. she's pregnant.

I feel bad for the farmers around here.

I feel bad about all of mankind really.

Without the crops that the farmers around me are trying to grow, y'all are gonna starve this fall.

These crops of soy and corn that block my views at rural stop signs in July and that the deer like to munch on are this country's (as well as the world's) bread and butter.

But this rain is preventing crops from being planted and then what does get planted can get washed directly back out of the soil.

There goes the bread and butter.

I may have to eat my goats soon.

When you are a parent and it is constantly raining you get two scenarios to deal with.

Scenario One:

The kids are inside too much and in your hair.

Like, really in your hair.

I have been "the lady who visits Zoe and Gigi's hair salon which is really the kitchen table" one too many times.

I can feel the hairs being pulled put of my scalp from super pointy bobby pins being plucked out by chubby 4 year old hands in my sleep.

Not to mention the makeup job I get from my makeup artist daughter who runs Tramps By Zoe.

Scenario Two:

If you keep sending kids out in the rain you get children with foot rot and it starts to smell like wet dog in every room.

Yes, wet kid and wet dog smell the same after awhile.

Especially if it's been raining since February.

I'm half expecting the Cullens to move in next door.

Check out my friend Dawn's blog as she chronicles being pregnant with her second kid.

Music and My Kids

Part three in the series "Music Mondays in May" from my blog group

Homesteaders & Homeschoolers.

I  try to listen to music more than have the television on in my house.

I want my kids to have the background noise of lyrics, melody, and toe tappin' beats instead of dialogue, infomercials, and all of that other tv crap in their heads.

I like music that has a story to tell.

While listening to the lyrics, you get a piece out of the story that's being told that you can carry around with you. 

My kids listen to a variety of music because of me.

And because of them, I listen to artists that I didn't think I would (isn't that the case with all parents?)

When my girls were really young we would pop in Dan Zanes and bop away in the kitchen or in the car.

His style is so eclectic, he mixes traditional themes with international tones and we just love him.  

I like having my girls listen to a song arranged for the 21st century, but whose lyrics are decades upon decades old.

Think of a Woody Guthrie song played with a trombone and a congo drum. 
That's Dan Zanes.

As they have gotten older (yes, the whopping ages of 8 and 4) we are listening to more and more mainstream stuff.

Katy Perry, Adele, Bridgit Mendler, Zac Brown Band, Florence and the Machine.

I also throw on the classical music channel on the kitchen radio everyday.

I recently had Zoe sit quietly and really listen to Jeff Buckley sing Hallelujah.

To hear his first breath and to amaze at the way his voice just floats.

And we listen to traditional Irish music in the Chieftains.

And to a slighting different extent, The Pogues.

Zoe and Gigi get a real kick out of listening to our friend Lincoln's album, Murderize, that we have on our iPod.  

I've known his wife Tina (Hey T Sapp!!) since 1989 (she's one of my besties!) and our kids are great friends.

They LOVE it that someone they know has an album out!

Of course I'm sure they don't use the word "album" because they have no idea what an album is and that's just what I say.

Sigh...isn't that sad?

When we are playing his songs they just belt out "IT'S LINCOLN SINGING!  YAAAAAY!" 

One of my greatest joys, though, is when I'm playing a Steve Earle CD and Gigi is singing along to "Sparkle and Shine" ...it's one of her favorite songs.

Or when Lyle Lovett's voice is wafting through the rooms of our house and Zoe is quietly singing along to "If I Had a Boat" just because it's about a pony.

Music is a very important part of my life.

And I want it to be a very important aspect of my kids' lives.

I hope that they can appreciate every form that's out there.

The old stuff as well as the new stuff.

They listen to The Beatles, Mozart, Amy Winehouse, and One Direction. 

I want well rounded musical kids.

And one day I hope to hear Zoe playing a Patsy Cline song on the piano.

With Gigi singing along...

Check out these other Music on Monday posts...
Carla
Melissa
Laura

    

Thinking About...

Just thinking about...

That pig in the Geico commercials, you know the one that drives a convertible and a jet ski.
He always has a witty comeback and gets the hot skinny blonde.
He uses the Geico app to make faster claims when his car gets damaged.
NO WAY would his fat pig "hands" be able to use that app!
I'm not buying it.
At.
All.
Pigs are smart, don't get me wrong.
But use the little app features with those hooves?
Not never.

Currently my children believe in Santa, the Easter Bunny, mermaids, Bigfoot, the Tooth Fairy, and the man in the moon.
The jury is still out on God.

We have seen life and death on the farm in the past few weeks.
Wrens have grown and left the nest in the barn.
Tadpoles are using the animal water trough as their growing grounds.
The neighbor's cat who comes over to bully our cats was found dead at the edge of our yard.
A toad (that Gigi had named Toad- Toad) was found dead in the water trough.
A large male rabbit was found in our pasture fence.
Stuck with one half of it's body not able to get through the small wire squares.
Saddest thing I've ever seen.
We held two funerals.
One for Toad-Toad and one for that poor rabbit.
Life and death on the farm.

Zoe participated in the third piano recital of her piano career.
I was a nervous wreck.
I told her after it was all over that I get sooooo nervous before she plays.
She didn't understand why since, "I'm the one playing with everyone staring, mom! Not you!"
I told her it's the mom-gene.
Can't be helped.

Shows I don't watch and have zero desire to watch...
Modern Family
Duck Dynasty
Fox News
How I Met Your Mother
American Idol

Shows I do watch and can't get enough of...
Call The Midwife
Mr. Selfridge
River Monsters...just 'cause I have a thing for extreme sporting guys with accents who are tan and have silver hair.
Good Luck Charlie
Roseanne reruns...as I've gotten older and married and become a mother I've realized something.
I'm Roseanne Connor.
Wow.

Day to Day

There are many life lessons to be learned when living the farm life.
You see birth and death.
Seasons change, sometimes too slowly and other times too fast.
The children grow up as quick as weeds in the tomato patch.
All of this fresh air really grows 'em tall.
While I do often miss the city; the scuttle of persons all out to do something, eating ethnic food, museums and culture...I have really grown to love the quiet and solitude that the farm gives me.

The sun rises and as it gets warmer out it's nice to go out very early with a cup of coffee and hear the birds waking up, singing to find their mates and their families.
There are always chores to do outside and this has become my exercise routine...pushing wheelbarrows, dragging tree limbs to the burn pile, mowing, weeding.
It's a dirty life, but it's my life.

We have dirty paw prints and boot prints in the living room.
We eat berries straight off of their branches.
We grow our own food and let our dogs run free through the woods.
We watch the sun set off of the front porch and marvel at the pinks, oranges, and reds that the sky displays for us.
We marvel at the bats when they come out at dusk.
My kids look with wonder at bugs, turtles, fawns, and crayfish at the creek.
It's a different life than we used to have, but it's our norm now.
And it's a fabulous norm. 

Hermit Crab Joy

Hermit crabs.

They are boring.

Those are Zoe's words.

And I would have to agree.

They burrow into the dirt in their tank and we don't see them for days.

They don't eat.

They don't drink.

Are they pooping?

Who knows.

The only way we know if they are still alive and breathing their little crab breaths is to dig them out and put them on mom's kitchen table.

Nice.

Then they are all like "here we are!"  

They are rather gross to look at up close.

And I like gross, but it's almost too alien for me. 

This is Gigi's hermit crab.

Her name is Jesse.

And this is how she usually stays when she's on the table.

She even stayed like this when she pinched the crap out of Gigi's hand a few weeks ago.

Do you know how hard it is to get a hermit crab to release it's pinch from a four year old's hand?

Hard.

All Gigi cared about was this..."why doesn't Jesse like me?"

Gigi was wearing a hooded sweatshirt at the time and I told her that Jesse just didn't recognize her with her hood on.

She bought it.

And doesn't wear a hood around the crabs anymore.

Jesse did eventually come out of her shell when we had them on the table the other day.

Took her about 35 minutes, though.

   

Hermit crabs.
They are so interesting.
Not.
Really, we should have gotten a guinea pig.