Because You Can't Give Them Away

I just did an experiment with Miss Ky.

She's tired.
She has hit her head a good three or four times already.
She drank half of a cup of soda with dinner.
She drank mine when I wasn't looking.

So needless to say, she's not coping well with life right now.

She started doing a puzzle.
She cried for my help.
I got up from the 25 birthday invitations that have not only NOT been filled out with the party information, but 10 of them still haven't even been made. (Yes, I have been working on them in my spare time for over a month, why do you ask?).

I moved to the floor and began sorting top pieces from bottom pieces, gave some color suggestions. "What color is this?"
"Pink."
"Do you see any other pink pieces?"
"That one."
"Why don't you try them together?"
"You do it."

I did.

Repeat, 2nd verse same as the first.

This time I said, "No way, I 'm working on something for your brother that has to be finished by morning, you can do this puzzle." and the water works began.

I suggested she go lie down.

I then turned my back to her and let her cry. She did so until she got bored and then left the room.

(insert evil laugh here) 1-0 Mommy! This event gives me such hope!


What beast have you slayed so far this week?

Potter Meets Austen

I'm baaaack.

My mini-holiday in search for Mr. Darcy wiped me out, so for now I'm sparing you the stories, just posting a few photos with captions...


On the first day, we went to the village of Lacock where the 1995 BBC production of Pride and Prejudice was filmed. Take away the cars and the paving and voila! you have Meryton.



Lacock has also been used in some of the Harry Potter films.


In 2007 scenes were shot here of the meeting between Dumbledore, Harry and Slughorn for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

Some interior sequences in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets were filmed at the Lacock Abbey.

A classroom

the cauldron from the Dark Arts

The Cloister(can be seen in the scene where Harry freed Dobby).

You may also recognize it as The Whitehall Palace (from the 2008 production of The Other Boleyn Girl) in the scene where the Royal Court is awaiting the return of the King. (The classroom above was also used as Queen Catherine's Royal Bedchamber).


Now, if you thought that first picture was of some quaint, random house in Wiltshire, think again. Imagine it on a very dark night with green bad-wizard flames lighting up the windows... it's Lily and Jame's Potter's house! In Harry Potter and the Philosopher's (Sorcerer's) Stone there's a flashback scene of Harry's childhood home.


Funny thing is, no one bothered to tell any of us about it. I found it wandering the streets and only shot a photo because I thought it looked cool. Serendipitous.

"We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be".--Jane Austen


Austen fans: Clear out the cobwebs, I have a give-away coming!

Purpura

We're having a war in my house. A contest of wills.

It's ridiculous and probably stems from years of being invisible, but the daughter and I are butting heads.

My favourite color is purple. Purple as in Purple People Eater, The Color Purple, Purple Rain. Purple as in:

"Roses are red, violets are purple

Sugar is sweet and so is maple surple"

It's never been a secret, remember the towel fiasco?



It may have been confusing to some because over the years I have changed my fav. a few times. Having a favourite colour doesn't mean my house is decorated in it and I may not even look good in it (I do), so maybe that would have someone doubt my sincerity.

But my bull-headed daughter has discovered Nanny (the grandmother she adopted here as a baby) has a favourite colour. Purple.

And so, every crayon, every sunset, every flower I hear a joyful shout, "Look! Purple! That's Nanny's favourite colour!"
One day I was dumb enough to say, "That's Mommy's favourite too".
She was having none of it and continued to last-word argue with me because apparently only one person can have purple.

She informed me that my colour is green (as in "with jealousy"? What is she trying to say?). Let's try it your way Miss Ky:

Roses are red, violets are GREEN

Sugar is sweet and so is MY SPLEEN

Yeah. Doesn't have the same catchy feel to it, does it?


The Hubby has learned some things over the years. He's especially trying to make up for blowing off Mothering Sunday a couple of weeks ago. This morning as I tried to catch up on some favourite (but not purple) blogs, I hear from the kitchen, Miss Ky declare, "Purple marker! Nanny's favourite."

Sexy Guy's deep, Daddy voice says, "Yes it is. You know purple is Mommy's favourite colour too."

"Noooo, it's Nanny's."


Good luck Hubby. Welcome to my invisible, colourless world.

You're Invited

BBC Radio 2 has this wonderful segment in the morning called "Pause for Thought".

It was that very segment that helped me come up with my blog title, the quote by Oscar Wilde. On a day when I was wondering what the heck I was doing with my life and why I bothered to continue to get out of bed, one of the "Pause For Thought"s was by a woman religious leader who had struggled to pull herself up out of the depression caused by the death of her father... at least I think that was what caused her sadness-- regardless, the message stayed with me.



So today, rather than offer up my incoherent ramblings, I will share the thought for last Friday: (all quoted from the BBC website)

Pause for Thought From Andy Puddicombe, Meditation expert and former Buddhist monk.
"Have you ever had one of those moments when you’re driving along and you suddenly catch yourself, you’ve been driving on auto-pilot for the last few miles? There’s that split second moment of being acutely aware of everything around you - followed quickly by a cold sweat and a sigh of relief.
As scary as it sounds, I think we’ve probably all done this at some time or another. And in many ways it’s a reflection of how we live our lives - on auto-pilot.

I was reminded of this the other day when a client came to see me at the clinic. He said he was feeling increasingly disconnected from the world around him, increasingly caught up in thoughts about work.

So I gave him an exercise to do, which involved him going for a short walk whilst applying a particular meditation technique. Ten minutes later he came back from the walk and said:
'I’ve lived just round the corner from here for 15 years, and I walk down this same street nearly every single day. But that’s the first time I’ve ever actually seen the street. It’s the first time I’ve noticed the colour of the houses, the smell of the flowers and the sounds of the birds'. But it’s what he said next that really struck me. He said 'Where have I been all my life?'

And I wonder just how many of us live our lives in this way; swept away by memories of the past, plans for the future. So preoccupied with thinking that we’re completely unaware of what’s actually taking place right now - oblivious to life unfolding around us.

I guess the present moment just feels so ordinary that we take it for granted; we forget to turn up for it. And yet it’s so extraordinary, a unique moment of time, untainted by concept, judgment or belief. Its life, laid bare, exactly as it is. And quite unlike anything else in life, we don’t need to go anywhere to get it, or do anything to create it. It’s right here, just waiting to be discovered. It’s in the eating of a sandwich, the drinking of a cup of tea, the washing of the dishes, ordinary, everyday activities.

Life’s short enough as it is. Shouldn’t we at least turn up for the event?"

Don't Stop Believing... that a good post may come

The depth of my blog content is revealed today.

This is the post that will cement this blog in the Blogs That Make a Difference Hall.



Can I just say that Shue has made Geek sexy?


Can I also say, which one of you got me watching Glee when I already do too much TV like it is?

Do I need to mention that these are so obviously NOT my own photographs and I don't know who to credit them to other than Fox?

Before you people who fear that my eyes seem to do a little too much wandering begin inundating my mailbox with all of the qualities my very own Sexy Guy has, please know that I am an artist. I see beauty and acknowledge it. I will be the first to stare at a female and exclaim, "Wow! She is STUNNING" to the Hubby.

And the man (Hubby) can do 416 push ups in 20 minutes. I don't need reminding of The Man.

I'd also like to give credit the the auditorily challenged Americans who voted off Alex Lambert. I have regained 2 lost evenings per week by removing American Idol from my viewing schedule.
Alex, if you're reading this you should get a life I will purchase whatever you record. Whatever. Even if it's country.

Maybe not rap... we'll see.



Regarding this guy and my search for him.

And again... no clue who to credit for this photo. If you are the photographer, please let me know so that I can tell all ten of my readers.

I'm a little bit apprehensive.

I'm giving up the Norwich V Leeds game for this trip and last night at the briefing there was a large group traveling together that completely monopolized the entire brief.

Seriously people, do we really care FOUR DAYS OUT who you are going to sit by or who is rooming with whom? There's nine of you. Couldn't you work that out on your own?
Oh, and come on, ALL of you get car sick so you need the front of both vans?

I know. It will be fine. Just don't be upset if my Face Book updates are filled with Turrets moments.
Kind of like my blog posts.

Let's sing (like we're in Glee)!

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through for you

Need a Lift

Do you ever have one of those weeks days when you're just agitated and don't know why?

Here's a tip: Do not watch "The Fourth Kind" during those moments. Not sure if the movie was good or not, all I know is it really pee$$'d me off... excuse my toilet language. If you've seen it, email me and tell me if I just watched it at the wrong time of my hormonal swing.

Something else that nearly sent me postal:
Commissary bagger boy? Do NOT make small chit chat with me while you crush my grapes, plums and bread. Your tip which began as very generous began dwindling as you set heavy bag after heavy bag on top of my burger buns. The fact that you crammed as many heavy items into my bag as possible in order to try to rip the handles off (and then just agreed with me as I exclaimed how ridiculously heavy it was) cost you a few more dollars.
Next time, watch the hand in my coat pocket. When it begins to flutter, you've rubbed me the wrong way.


But I'm not all venom and sting, tonight I get to go to my Mr. Darcy trip briefing. I'm excited. And anxious. Do you suppose they were kidding when they said, "Victorian dress optional"?

Andy, one of my favourite coach drivers. He's dressed for the year 6's Victorian trip. These are our school busses! And can you see the poor car blocked while I get my picture with Andy? I'm considerate like that.

Dear H

If I were ten, I would punch you.
Yes, I'm advocating violence, because my sweet boy is involved.

Don't you understand? A1 treasures you as his friend, despite our initial misgivings when you first christened our doorstep (subsequently "christening" our bathroom floor because you thought it was funny).
We have opened our house to you.
We cheered you on when you had your Canary Mascot experience, waving our flags like lunatics from the stands and cheering loudly when your name was called.

You have been at every party A1 has had-- we didn't complain when you brought several pounds of sweets and marshmallows that we were still finding months after the party--and he has attended everyone of yours.

So why is it that you have been giving him a bad time every. single. day since his Mascot experience?
Why do you feel the need to make fun of what he was wearing, who he ran out onto the pitch with and how he waved to the crowd?
Why do you have to antagonize him-- saying his favorite player is rubbish and you hope he leaves the team (which he won't you little moron, he is being praised throughout Football Land for his abilities)?

What do you gain from this?

I could understand the other kids acting this way. I could get the envy... but you? You had the experience, and most importantly, you are his best friend.

Thursday A1 came home with the sparkle missing from his eyes. He tells me you were "stroppy" all day. I know this is really hurting him when he says, "Well something good happened" and he hands me his award certificate for good writing.

Do you see that as far as he is concerned, when there is conflict between the two of you there is not much to celebrate?

Children have conflicts. Children should be left to sort them out. Even when it drags on for weeks.

But hear me now you little gremlin, all Americans are NOT fat. If I had been there when you said it (and ten years old), I would've punched you right in the gob with my chubby little fist.


Just sayin'

It Starts So Young

Yesterday was another one of "those" days... you know the kind:

Wake up with big ideas of getting the house whipped into shape for dinner guests and have THAT be the day the toddler can NOT do anything on her own (ie, watch 30 minutes of Dora without moving and don't pretend you've never done it).

My fingers were prunes from all of the hand washing I did after the 5000 announcements, "I'M DONE!" from the bathroom. Holy cow this child's kidneys work great.

Her 2nd set of clothes were hanging by the aga to dry (don't ask) and the floor was cleared of the dish soap, sudsy mess when I plopped in front of the computer out of desperation to do at least ONE thing without being interrupted.


In she saunters...

"I can't finish my soup mumblemumblesmumblebig".

I give her my undivided attention, "What?"

"I can't finish my soup because my bottom is getting big".

Oh.


Maybe that's my problem. Too much soup.

As much as I chase this little girl around, you'd think I'd be a twig, but apparently it's the soup that has been sabotaging me!


Dear Hubby, forget the chicken stew/soup on the cooker, we're having something else tonight.

Worthy News

Are you ready?





Really ready?


You sure?



Ta Daaaaaaaa! Guess what today is...



Oh... ok then. Guess what my newspaper looked like yesterday...

Picture: Michael Sedgwick / Focus Images
The Pink 'Un

Why does a life so rich suddenly look so trivial when it's blogged?

I've visited blogs of people who are serving or have served humanitarian missions to third world countries, blogs of people training for worthy marathons and charity fundraisers. There's blogs documenting the creative processes--art, theater (that's you PM), cooking. Blogs shouting the triumphs of weight loss or family budgeting.
But here?
Real quality folks.


yeah. Maybe next week I can blog something riveting about my love for Dorritos...

Colin Firth, Where Are You?

I'm packing for my "In Search of Mr. Darcy" trip.
Yes, it's only a two-day trip, but I must be prepared for any weather and any off-chance that I may run into Colin Firth. Yes, it's not for another couple of weeks, but I need to be prepared.

We'll be touring Jane's home-- and this time I will not have to plead my way in as they are closing, so I will have time to savor the tour.

Part of my itinerary says this:

"A visit to the Jane Austen experience in Bath" "Guide walk around Jane Austen's Bath. A setting for many of her novels".

I have the information stuck to the front of the fridge -- which means Colin Firth is watching me every time I sneak into the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream. He has that look like he's judging me for doing it, but it doesn't stop me. I can still picture him very clearly emerging from his dip in the lake and this judgemental look means nothing...
It also means my family is reminded every day that I am going somewhere all by myself soon.

Tonight at dinner after Miss Ky made a big production about wanting milk to drink as well as not liking the food on her plate and the three boys were scolded for the umpteenth time (for what I can't remember), I was at the limit of my witching hour (Dad's working nights again).

It was at THAT moment, the moment they all could end up duct taped to the front door until their dad came home that the silly 11 year-old mentioned my upcoming trip.

"Where you'll be able to walk around Jane Austen's amazing bath", he flourished with pomposity and flair.

For a few short seconds I stared at him in disbelief.
I couldn't help it. I tried.
I covered my face with my hands, but the laughter rolled out over my fingertips and was soon followed by the tears when I couldn't stop laughing. I realized that my kid has seriously been thinking I was going to get a grand tour of some dead person's bathroom.

It really makes me appreciate the fact that he asked if he could go with me when the trip was first booked. He must really like me to want to go tour people's toilets for a weekend.

Excuses for My Absence

I've had an AMAZING week and have been dying to get out here to share it!

You know it was A1's birthday and he had that fab gift from his fab 'rents (that would be us) to be a mascot for the day for our favourite footy team, right? Well it gets even better!


The day he was said mascot (a huge grin covered his entire face), the hubby ran into one of our favourite players-who just happened to remember us because as stalkers a large American family, we sort of stand out.

He mentioned to "our good friend" (cracking myself up over here) that I was up in a box looking down on the event because the kid picked Dad over me (not bitter).

The pictures may have been a little clearer if I wasn't waving and telling the kids, "Look! There's Daddy, he's talking to Darel Russell".

Sexy Guy mentioned that I might be disappointed to have been rejected because I own a Simon Lappin training shirt and I wanted to wear it in a photo with him.
"Rusty" told him, "We can fix that" and set off to get Simon for a photo with me.


I mentioned I was up in a box, right?


It was a box I wasn't supposed to be in, but being that I'm from another country and don't speak the language over here, I took a wrong turn and went into the wrong place. I was in the "posh" area with a fantabulous view, but inaccessible to dreamy players looking for a photo opportunity with moi.


So sad for Simon.
Anyway, when we were discovered to be in the wrong place, they moved me and the two sons to the room we were supposed to be in-- the room with no windows. We quickly got bored with that and went to our seats a little early.

A1 had his spotlight moment kicking around with the players in front of 25,000 people and then he and his dad joined us to watch Norwich City win.

Great day all around.




BUT, it gets better.

We got a phone call the next day-- you won't believe this! Simon Lappin rang MY house!! He wanted to come out and meet me and MY family. He wanted to come kick a football around in my garden after taking a picture with me.




and then I woke up.



THIS is a testament to why one should get the appropriate amount of sleep. What a life we can have in dreamland.
Sleep, it does a body good.

THAT is why I'm not blogging. Kind of.

Perfect 10

TEN.


As in TEN Million Fireflies...

A decade.

As in ten commandments: thou shalt love thy mother for eternity...

Ten. When one becomes eligible for a child's military dependent ID.


1/10th of 100.



Ten. My "sweet, sweet Petunia".

Aren't you glad we stopped calling you that now that you're such a big guy?
It's from Veggie Tales, Larry-Boy and the Rumor Weed which is the 12th movie, not the 10th-- sorry.

Ten. The amount of letters in your first and last name combined.

Here's a thought:

Ten. If a woman was due to give birth to a baby girl in say, two months, and you were to follow in my footsteps? That baby girl would one day be your wife...

Yeah, maybe that fact is better left un-blogged (something that could be said for most of the posts actually)...

Ten words to describe you:

sweet,
kind, sensitive,
smart, sporty, silly,
loving, compassionate, daring, trustworthy.

You ARE sweet. We adore you. Happy TENTH Birthday A1. I hope your day is full of magic, surprise and a sense of how wonderful it is to know you.

One Day You'll Pay

The hedge has become an entity all it's own. My back garden grows darker with each passing month. The apple trees have passed the pruning deadline, as have the (peculiar) plum-like trees that bore fruit for the first time ever last year. The ivy has taken over most trees lining the drive and my husband's hand-saw method is falling further and further behind the growth.

Aaaaaagh!

Monday, knowing the landlord was coming to fix the crater in our driveway (that's what a couple of crazy, icy winters will do), I cleaned like a manic woman. My laundry room sparkled. I'm sure he could have cared less, but I felt better. When he laid on the floor to fix the burned outlet, I knew when he would get up, there would be no crusty clothes stuck to his legs or dryer lint in his hair.
On Friday, I walked into the laundry area and could have cried.

There sat full hampers of clothes, towels, coats and blankets. Wet football boots had a green, musty cloud floating around them and swim gear hung from the radiators.
I will still be doing that laundry into the middle of the week.

Aaaaaagh!

This is ridiculous, this trying to keep up. How do people do it? You, you over there with your hundreds of followers, hundreds of comments, beautiful photos of your happy children in clean clothes, how do you do it? Are those even your children, or did you hire them for the day?

I'm flailing.
For example: even though there is plenty of shutter snapping going on, I'm not killing myself over the 365 any more. Too many 11.59 pm photos of my keyboard, a potted plant, stacks of muddy shoes. I could feel the joy for photography dissipating as each week progressed. I had to know when to say "enough".


There's certain warning behaviour that appears just before I teeter on the edge of crazy (some of you long-time followers may have already spotted it)-- I start buying things I don't need and don't have time to use. I drool over scrapbook sales and go all dizzy smelling a new book. A new hobby? Sure, I'd love to, let's stock up on supplies. The thing is, what I really want isn't for sale on Ebay, Amazon, BooKoo or at the local shops.

No one will mail it to me.


I want a big, shiny box of time. One I can pull out and inhale the sweetness of it. Big enough to allow me to be crafty, toy with Photoshop and Picnik, make beautiful cards, just play and still allow me to have quality time with my Hubby and kids.

Who makes time? Where can I get it?

Today, I'm looking at it in the form of a young man on a tractor.

It smells like freshly cut evergreen and rich, damp earth. It's going to cost me in pounds, but what I will reap is a few hours of my husband that would have otherwise been spent up on a ladder.



Maybe paying someone to do the things I can't keep up with is worth giving up what I never needed to afford it...