Over the past few months, I've taken up playing tennis again. I played in high school and was decent. By decent I mean that I was generally able to make contact with the ball, most of the time with the racket. But I more or less gave tennis up after graduating and so it's been 6 years since I've really played.
So I started playing again, against a wall at the park, and have been regularly for a while. It's amazing how quickly and exponentially one can improve when you start with bloody awful. I mean, it was bad. I was more than a little worried that I just didn't have it in me anymore. But I'd even venture to say that I'm better now than I was in high school. Maybe it comes with age, the ability to take direction and apply it. Because I hear all the lessons from my coach in my head, but the difference is that I can actually manage an effort to do it right. Or maybe it had something to do with the coordination issues of an already klutzy-by-nature teenager.
I like to fantasize that the firefighters at the station next to the courts have been watching me improve over the past months and are cheering me on. But in reality they probably just do firefightery things and never even notice I'm there. And if they do, it's more likely that they see my goofy ass chasing after a stray ball and wonder how it's possible that I ever manage to hit it with the racket at all.
The weather is, however, absurd. It's already been above 100 degrees. And you can practically drink the air. I love South Florida, but it's officially ridiculous how hot it is here. Oh, August, how I dread your coming.
But, aside from a general lack of harmony among my body parts and the commencement of a typically mad South Florida summer, it's fantastic to be playing again, to be active. To exhaust and drench and invigorate. It is one great joy in my life right now. But that damned wall talks some serious trash.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Paper Tigers
Sometimes I have too much to write about and end up intimidated by a nice blank text box. Here's a mash up. It may get longish.
First of all, I'd like to take this opportunity to commend myself on my excellence in chocolate abstinence. Saturday will mark me halfway. 50 days without it and 50 yet to endure. Although I'm happy to report that "endure" really is, at this point, too strong a word.
I'm also making some very small progress with the butterflies. I've neglected my picture looking, to be sure. But I have been making an effort to be generally closer to any butterflies that happen along my path. Sans freakout. I do feel obligated to admit to one panic attack, where I found myself trapped in my apartment with a moth, flying towards me. Suffice it to say that when my husband informed me of my horror's true identity, a bee, I was more than happy to get up off the floor and pull the blanket off my head.
I've also been brushing up on my classic literature. We've been frequenting the public library. In our year long absence from civilization, i.e. Mississippi, I'd forgotten how much I love a library. So far, I've been into Austen. I attempted Emma in middle school and found it pretty insufferable. I've now read Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park and am fairly certain Emma will hold more interest for me now. At first I felt like Austen's style of writing was strangely straightforward and a little dull. I ended up thoroughly enjoying Pride and Prejudice, although I assumed that I might because I was already familiar with the story. But actually preferred Mansfield Park, at least up until the end. While I really enjoy Elizabeth Bennet as a character, Fanny Price is pretty impossible not to like or at very least respect. I was all but cheering for Mr. Crawford, though, when that blew up in my face. I couldn't ever tell where the book would go, a happy point to me, though not uncommon. I'm a lovely audience, almost always unsuspecting and then afterward quick to forget and therefore likely to read/watch/listen again. But I don't care for the way Austen wraps up a story. So brief and indifferent. What's striking to me though, is to consider the stories rewritten for our time. It's almost impossible and would never work for a good story, I think. It's incredible what changes we've undergone as society as a whole. Really just bizarre to think about. I could get all anthropological here but no one wants that.
So back to the classics...I'm also reading Kipling right now. A Kipling Pageant, and currently Rikki Tikki Tavi, for which I've named a cat. And on the list are, well, the classics. The stuff we're all meant to read at some time or other. 20,000 Leagues, 1984, Animal Farm, Dickens, Shakespeare, Moby Dick, etc. Any suggestions welcome, and of course any suggestions that aren't necessarily considered to be "classic" literature.
I also have something to say on a few children's books. Sam and the Tigers by Julius Lester is undoubtedly one of my all time favourite kids' stories. It's apparently a retelling of another story, Little Black Sambo, which was thought racist. I read Little Black Sambo too, online, but Sam and the Tigers is so lovely and perfect to me. It's imaginative beyond the story itself, witty, with some fantastic similes and written in a great voice. Plus the illustrations, by Jerry Pinkney, are well done and you've got to love the tigers' expressions. We also checked out a cute little book of haikus about a Japanese garden with a little girl. Colson kept calling it the princess book because, to her, all little girls in books or stories are princesses. I love haikus.
So, I've been worrying about our water play. See, we have fountains for kids to play in at the park we frequent, and also at the zoo. Now, at the zoo, we don't have control over whether or not the fountains are turned on, so on one hand I feel less guilty about letting the girls play in it. At the park, we turn them on ourselves and they spout for an amount of time and then shut off until turned on again. So, at the park we're intentionally bringing about the water wasteage and at the zoo only condoning it. What am I to do? It's such a highlight of fun for the kids...Does it drain into a pool and reuse itself? I wonder if that's not the case at the zoo because of the strong smell of chlorine to the water...at the park I'm less sure. Thoughts?
And to conclude, while we're on the subject of zoos. I'm often wondering how the animals feel. I know that a lot of the time zoo animals, for some reason or another, can't live in the wild. But I can't help but wonder about the quality of life of a wild animal kept caged. Heck, I even worry about my house cats being too much confined.
"Oh, restless are we all, until true freedom is realized." -Jupiter Sunrise, "Master Susuki"
First of all, I'd like to take this opportunity to commend myself on my excellence in chocolate abstinence. Saturday will mark me halfway. 50 days without it and 50 yet to endure. Although I'm happy to report that "endure" really is, at this point, too strong a word.
I'm also making some very small progress with the butterflies. I've neglected my picture looking, to be sure. But I have been making an effort to be generally closer to any butterflies that happen along my path. Sans freakout. I do feel obligated to admit to one panic attack, where I found myself trapped in my apartment with a moth, flying towards me. Suffice it to say that when my husband informed me of my horror's true identity, a bee, I was more than happy to get up off the floor and pull the blanket off my head.
I've also been brushing up on my classic literature. We've been frequenting the public library. In our year long absence from civilization, i.e. Mississippi, I'd forgotten how much I love a library. So far, I've been into Austen. I attempted Emma in middle school and found it pretty insufferable. I've now read Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park and am fairly certain Emma will hold more interest for me now. At first I felt like Austen's style of writing was strangely straightforward and a little dull. I ended up thoroughly enjoying Pride and Prejudice, although I assumed that I might because I was already familiar with the story. But actually preferred Mansfield Park, at least up until the end. While I really enjoy Elizabeth Bennet as a character, Fanny Price is pretty impossible not to like or at very least respect. I was all but cheering for Mr. Crawford, though, when that blew up in my face. I couldn't ever tell where the book would go, a happy point to me, though not uncommon. I'm a lovely audience, almost always unsuspecting and then afterward quick to forget and therefore likely to read/watch/listen again. But I don't care for the way Austen wraps up a story. So brief and indifferent. What's striking to me though, is to consider the stories rewritten for our time. It's almost impossible and would never work for a good story, I think. It's incredible what changes we've undergone as society as a whole. Really just bizarre to think about. I could get all anthropological here but no one wants that.
So back to the classics...I'm also reading Kipling right now. A Kipling Pageant, and currently Rikki Tikki Tavi, for which I've named a cat. And on the list are, well, the classics. The stuff we're all meant to read at some time or other. 20,000 Leagues, 1984, Animal Farm, Dickens, Shakespeare, Moby Dick, etc. Any suggestions welcome, and of course any suggestions that aren't necessarily considered to be "classic" literature.
I also have something to say on a few children's books. Sam and the Tigers by Julius Lester is undoubtedly one of my all time favourite kids' stories. It's apparently a retelling of another story, Little Black Sambo, which was thought racist. I read Little Black Sambo too, online, but Sam and the Tigers is so lovely and perfect to me. It's imaginative beyond the story itself, witty, with some fantastic similes and written in a great voice. Plus the illustrations, by Jerry Pinkney, are well done and you've got to love the tigers' expressions. We also checked out a cute little book of haikus about a Japanese garden with a little girl. Colson kept calling it the princess book because, to her, all little girls in books or stories are princesses. I love haikus.
So, I've been worrying about our water play. See, we have fountains for kids to play in at the park we frequent, and also at the zoo. Now, at the zoo, we don't have control over whether or not the fountains are turned on, so on one hand I feel less guilty about letting the girls play in it. At the park, we turn them on ourselves and they spout for an amount of time and then shut off until turned on again. So, at the park we're intentionally bringing about the water wasteage and at the zoo only condoning it. What am I to do? It's such a highlight of fun for the kids...Does it drain into a pool and reuse itself? I wonder if that's not the case at the zoo because of the strong smell of chlorine to the water...at the park I'm less sure. Thoughts?
And to conclude, while we're on the subject of zoos. I'm often wondering how the animals feel. I know that a lot of the time zoo animals, for some reason or another, can't live in the wild. But I can't help but wonder about the quality of life of a wild animal kept caged. Heck, I even worry about my house cats being too much confined.
"Oh, restless are we all, until true freedom is realized." -Jupiter Sunrise, "Master Susuki"
Sunday, May 16, 2010
How to be an activist:
It's been a while. And I've had a lot buzzing around in my head over the past week and a half...trying to figure out how to put it down into coherent thought pieces. Here goes.
In a nutshell, I flipped out a little. And my flipping out led me to a lot of questions. And some more convictions. This started when Sausage told me about the oil spill in the Gulf. First of all, it had happened two weeks prior to her mentioning it and I had no idea. This isn't the first time I've been behind on things outside my own life. I don't have television and even when we did I never bothered with the news. I don't, or rather didn't, ever check newspapers or online stories either. Didn't. I'm working on it, paying attention, finding some good internet sources. I'm not naive enough to think I'll find anything unbiased, but I'd like to get my news from the biases of different persuasions at least. Anyhow, I've got my eyes open now, world.
Second, the oil spill itself. I didn't have much of an opinion about the Exxon-Valdez spill, being 2 at the time. I've heard about it from my mom, who still refuses to buy her gas from Exxon. But reading about this spill...well, it horrified me. Cue flipping out. I went into some hysterics telling my husband about it. All I could...and can still...think was what are we doing here? Why do we do these things and not realize the consequences? We thunder onward with our eyes shut, it seems...taking and raping this planet. Perhaps this sounds dramatic. But isn't it? This is what is getting to me...that these thoughts are often considered outrageous or radical. Is it so radical? Is it not radical the things humans do, the things we get ourselves into? Is it not radical that thousands of gallons of oil were spilling out into the ocean unchecked? Knowing as we do what damage this causes, how was it allowed to happen? And further, how do we change it?
That's basically the question that's been ringing in my thoughts over and over through the last week and I'm not just talking oil spills. How do we change? How can we live in the world we've made this into and respect what it was before we were here? I don't have an answer. But I'm going to look for it. I'm going to try to do more than just my part. Because I no longer think that just my part will be enough. I don't know how to be an activist. But I'm going to learn.
In a nutshell, I flipped out a little. And my flipping out led me to a lot of questions. And some more convictions. This started when Sausage told me about the oil spill in the Gulf. First of all, it had happened two weeks prior to her mentioning it and I had no idea. This isn't the first time I've been behind on things outside my own life. I don't have television and even when we did I never bothered with the news. I don't, or rather didn't, ever check newspapers or online stories either. Didn't. I'm working on it, paying attention, finding some good internet sources. I'm not naive enough to think I'll find anything unbiased, but I'd like to get my news from the biases of different persuasions at least. Anyhow, I've got my eyes open now, world.
Second, the oil spill itself. I didn't have much of an opinion about the Exxon-Valdez spill, being 2 at the time. I've heard about it from my mom, who still refuses to buy her gas from Exxon. But reading about this spill...well, it horrified me. Cue flipping out. I went into some hysterics telling my husband about it. All I could...and can still...think was what are we doing here? Why do we do these things and not realize the consequences? We thunder onward with our eyes shut, it seems...taking and raping this planet. Perhaps this sounds dramatic. But isn't it? This is what is getting to me...that these thoughts are often considered outrageous or radical. Is it so radical? Is it not radical the things humans do, the things we get ourselves into? Is it not radical that thousands of gallons of oil were spilling out into the ocean unchecked? Knowing as we do what damage this causes, how was it allowed to happen? And further, how do we change it?
That's basically the question that's been ringing in my thoughts over and over through the last week and I'm not just talking oil spills. How do we change? How can we live in the world we've made this into and respect what it was before we were here? I don't have an answer. But I'm going to look for it. I'm going to try to do more than just my part. Because I no longer think that just my part will be enough. I don't know how to be an activist. But I'm going to learn.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
One Mortar, One Pestle, and Presto! It's Pesto!
It's a recent goal of mine to learn to cook a bit. I don't have any crazy aspirations...I'm married to a chef. I'm complacent. But now that said chef husband is working nights, that leaves supper up to mom. And though I'd be satisfied with peanut butter sandwiches and cereal, I should probably instill better eating habits in my children right? Wait...Can one instill good eating habits in a toddler? Eh, debatable. I digress.
So the other night I made dinner. Breaded pan-fried orange roughy with fancy chef butter that my husband makes. For those of you who are thinking right now that having a pat of butter on fish sounds a bit odd, I'm with ya. Or was until I tried it. This is something Danny usually makes and it's simply perfect. But in an attempt to give him a relaxing evening, I took on putting food on the table. Anyway, fish and corn and spinach balls. Spinach balls is a fantastic little recipe from my stepmom. Delish. Okay, so the icing on the cake? My two year old, Colson...LOVED IT. How great is that? She ate probably as much fish as I did, scarfed the corn and even tried a spinach ball and said it was good...and they're green.
And last night I made baked chicken with pesto and havarti with dill. But here's the cool part. I made the pesto! Okay, perhaps this is less exciting to others than it is to me. I used a mortar and pestle too. Old school. It was lovely. And I was beaming with pride.
Alright, enough success stories. Let's have today's fail. I forgot to pay the rent. This has never happened to me. Well, our rent is considered late on the 4th and I didn't realize my oversight until 7ish o'clock on...the 4th. Great. And while I was hoping to plead insanity, I was still charged the extra $75. Rules are rules. Real life, you suck.
I had other, probably more interesting and important, things to blog about, but I'm just not feeling it tonight. And hubby's on the way home. So, Mexicans, celebrate history and heritage and victories over greater forces...Americans, go get wasted. ¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo!
So the other night I made dinner. Breaded pan-fried orange roughy with fancy chef butter that my husband makes. For those of you who are thinking right now that having a pat of butter on fish sounds a bit odd, I'm with ya. Or was until I tried it. This is something Danny usually makes and it's simply perfect. But in an attempt to give him a relaxing evening, I took on putting food on the table. Anyway, fish and corn and spinach balls. Spinach balls is a fantastic little recipe from my stepmom. Delish. Okay, so the icing on the cake? My two year old, Colson...LOVED IT. How great is that? She ate probably as much fish as I did, scarfed the corn and even tried a spinach ball and said it was good...and they're green.
And last night I made baked chicken with pesto and havarti with dill. But here's the cool part. I made the pesto! Okay, perhaps this is less exciting to others than it is to me. I used a mortar and pestle too. Old school. It was lovely. And I was beaming with pride.
Alright, enough success stories. Let's have today's fail. I forgot to pay the rent. This has never happened to me. Well, our rent is considered late on the 4th and I didn't realize my oversight until 7ish o'clock on...the 4th. Great. And while I was hoping to plead insanity, I was still charged the extra $75. Rules are rules. Real life, you suck.
I had other, probably more interesting and important, things to blog about, but I'm just not feeling it tonight. And hubby's on the way home. So, Mexicans, celebrate history and heritage and victories over greater forces...Americans, go get wasted. ¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo!
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Lepidoptera...Phobic!
I've mentioned before the fear of moths and butterflies. When I was pregnant with Finley, I started a some-number-of-steps self-made and -inforced program to rid myself of this phobia. I quit. Because me being pregnant means that I'm a crazy person. Yes, more crazy than a person scared of a butterfly.
Anyhow, I'm at it again. For anyone who isn't anything-phobic...this is a big deal. This isn't scared. It's panic and terror and sickness. Yuck. No one likes all that right? So, let's be done with it! I'm starting with pictures. Sounds lame, but a lot of the time seeing pictures of moths and butterflies makes me physically sick. Chills and nausea sick. So that's the starting point, then hopefully I can get my hands on...or eyes on...or be in the general vicinity of some dead ones. A science museum exhibit or something like. And then move on to live fluttering monstrosities. The culmination of this project will be immersion. Butterfly conservatory. If I do this, I'm getting a tattoo of this guy...
Okay, that's probably a negative.
I'm giving myself a whole year for this. I figure one year is a sufficient amount of time to rid someone of twenty-something years of psychosis. So, save the date. Family and friends, this time next year there's a party happening here.
There will be cake.
Anyhow, I'm at it again. For anyone who isn't anything-phobic...this is a big deal. This isn't scared. It's panic and terror and sickness. Yuck. No one likes all that right? So, let's be done with it! I'm starting with pictures. Sounds lame, but a lot of the time seeing pictures of moths and butterflies makes me physically sick. Chills and nausea sick. So that's the starting point, then hopefully I can get my hands on...or eyes on...or be in the general vicinity of some dead ones. A science museum exhibit or something like. And then move on to live fluttering monstrosities. The culmination of this project will be immersion. Butterfly conservatory. If I do this, I'm getting a tattoo of this guy...
Okay, that's probably a negative.
I'm giving myself a whole year for this. I figure one year is a sufficient amount of time to rid someone of twenty-something years of psychosis. So, save the date. Family and friends, this time next year there's a party happening here.
There will be cake.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Indecision and Spoilage
I've just spent the last hour to hour and a half of my life trying to decide on a cloth diaper, where to buy it, whether to try more than one, what bloody colour. I cannot make a swift decision to save my life. God help me if my life actually did depend on it. Anyhow, I'm nearly checking out at diapers.com with some Happy Heinys and a bumGenius 3.0...Yikes, this makes my head hurt.
This is a constant issue in my life. Indecision is part of the reason I have yet to try cloth diapers at all. Or that it took so long to start feeding my kitties raw food. My husband is a jump in and go sort of guy. Just try it. If it doesn't work...oh well. Me? I just relentlessly research something until I've found so many contradicting information that I want to combust.
Also, diapers.com is not letting me use my promo code. Not cool. Anyhow, for all you cloth diapering mamas...I was reading reviews and got a good tip. Instead of buying those washable baby wipes, cut up receiving blankets. What else would you do with them anyway? Well, barring future babies.
So, jumped on that bandwagon and saw Avatar. I'm not entirely sure what constitutes a spoiler. I'm not planning on writing anything that I feel would give away anything central to the story or that you couldn't most likely deem from watching previews. And certainly not much, if any, more than I knew prior to watching the movie myself. But just to be safe...spoilage commencing now.
...
Basically, the storyline is pretty classic. It's like Dances With Wolves meets Fern Gully. Why is it that in these movies, the person doing the betraying never fesses up until it's (almost) too late? I like to think I'd say something sooner. Anyhow, the saddest part about this movie is the measure of truth it holds. And I'm not even just talking tree-hugger talk. People are so savage to other people, different people. But the movie was stunningly beautiful. I thought the soundtrack and occasionally the acting was a bit lacking. Not bad, just not in keeping with the visual aspect of the movie. All in all, I liked it. I could probably watch the first half over and over. It did go all Lord of the Rings about halfway thru and my lack of a Y chromosome started kicking in. "Just stop fighting already!" Make no mistake, I love LOTR. But I'd be lying if I said excessive battleage didn't tire me just a bit. Favourite: the size ratio of the Otimacaya (hoping I got that right...) to their surroundings.
...
I called 1-800-diapers to find out why my promo code for $10 off your first purchase of diapers wasn't working. Turns out cloth diapers don't count, but the guy I spoke with gave me the discount anyway, plus $5. Cool, eh? He also thanked me for the laugh...I ended up spelling my ridiculous email address to him something like 5 times.
Mission accomplished.
This is a constant issue in my life. Indecision is part of the reason I have yet to try cloth diapers at all. Or that it took so long to start feeding my kitties raw food. My husband is a jump in and go sort of guy. Just try it. If it doesn't work...oh well. Me? I just relentlessly research something until I've found so many contradicting information that I want to combust.
Also, diapers.com is not letting me use my promo code. Not cool. Anyhow, for all you cloth diapering mamas...I was reading reviews and got a good tip. Instead of buying those washable baby wipes, cut up receiving blankets. What else would you do with them anyway? Well, barring future babies.
So, jumped on that bandwagon and saw Avatar. I'm not entirely sure what constitutes a spoiler. I'm not planning on writing anything that I feel would give away anything central to the story or that you couldn't most likely deem from watching previews. And certainly not much, if any, more than I knew prior to watching the movie myself. But just to be safe...spoilage commencing now.
...
Basically, the storyline is pretty classic. It's like Dances With Wolves meets Fern Gully. Why is it that in these movies, the person doing the betraying never fesses up until it's (almost) too late? I like to think I'd say something sooner. Anyhow, the saddest part about this movie is the measure of truth it holds. And I'm not even just talking tree-hugger talk. People are so savage to other people, different people. But the movie was stunningly beautiful. I thought the soundtrack and occasionally the acting was a bit lacking. Not bad, just not in keeping with the visual aspect of the movie. All in all, I liked it. I could probably watch the first half over and over. It did go all Lord of the Rings about halfway thru and my lack of a Y chromosome started kicking in. "Just stop fighting already!" Make no mistake, I love LOTR. But I'd be lying if I said excessive battleage didn't tire me just a bit. Favourite: the size ratio of the Otimacaya (hoping I got that right...) to their surroundings.
...
I called 1-800-diapers to find out why my promo code for $10 off your first purchase of diapers wasn't working. Turns out cloth diapers don't count, but the guy I spoke with gave me the discount anyway, plus $5. Cool, eh? He also thanked me for the laugh...I ended up spelling my ridiculous email address to him something like 5 times.
Mission accomplished.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Baby Dinosaurs
Yesterday, I was about to start writing about camping when my baby girl woke up. Oh, and while we're on the subject of babies...I apparently missed the memo that you are to refer to your spawn as the first letter of their first name. Am I possibly the only mom on here careless enough to go with the whole first name? No, I know I'm not...but still, I just did a bit of blog surfing and realized there are an awful lot of J's and G's out there.
So, camping. Ever been camping? You know, the real sort. In a tent, cooking over fires and wiping with leaves? (Side note...I watch too many kid movies and now quote them in my head all day long. Just now I thought to myself, "Who wipes?!" Random useless 10 points to anyone out there in blogland that knows who doesn't wipe.) I'd say that I've been camping on 3 levels. The grandparents' RV...tents with little public restrooms a fair walk away...and the camping trip that stands out above the rest. The real sort. But we had toilet paper.
I always hated camping. Some hippie, eh? No, my hatred is almost entirely based upon my fear of moths. And butterflies. Creepy boogers, no? Anyhow, the blasted things frequent campsite bathrooms like you would not believe. You would not believe it because I'd wager the average sane person doesn't even notice they're there. But the tiniest sleepy winged fuzzball will set my heart racing and my stomach lurching even when I'm not expected to shower with it. That said, camping never much got me excited.
But once I went on a weekend camping trip with a friend of mine during my freshman year of high school in Georgia. Her family had property up in the north part of the state somewhere, I forget the name of the place. I can't honestly remember why I decided to go in the first place. Guilt, possibly. A general inability to state my own opinion in the face of someone else's wishes. Not sure. But I was dreading it...right up until the moment we drove into a lovely little clearing surrounded by sun dappled woods. There was a creek, complete with silky, sparkling rocks. Little hills all about. I have a terribly flawed remembering mechanism so I only recall bits of the trip. One bit, I refused to poo, worried that the boys along with us would "walk in" on me. When pooing in the woods there's no doors, you see. And when you're 15 there's no way in hell you're going to risk getting caught defecating by a load of boys, even if they are younger and you have to suffer a bit of discomfort from holding in. But aside from this charming recollection, I remember cramming into a tent with something like 8 people and waking up wet from rain and/or dew that had made it inside. I remember the freshness of the air. The purity of being there like we were. And I remember an afternoon sitting beside, and eventually in, the creek with the girl. I do not remember any moths.
Ah, reminiscing. Way to bore the bloglings.
In other news, one week going strong chocolate free! Exciting until one realizes that it's still 93 days to the finish line. My husband, D (wink), is not much help. He tried to convince me that chocolate milk is somehow not classified as chocolate and that I should have some. He's given up his beverage of choice, the dreaded Coca-Cola, until I can have chocolate again. His logic was that his drinking of chocolate milk is like a substitute for Coke so therefore it would serve as a substitute for my chocolate. This is very flawed, as I pointed out to him, because chocolate milk does indeed contain...well, chocolate. But my will triumphed, I'm glad to say. And ladies, those of you who can no doubt sympathize (or empathize?), it is that time when resisting is most difficult. Ahem. As I've already discussed poo, I'll not go into such an indelicate subject. But hear me, girls. I know you do.
Alright. I'll wrap up with a bit of nature's cuteness. No fuzzy bunnies here. On our walk this evening I found this...I also stumbled upon a decapitated yellow bird. By stumbled upon I mean that my daughter nearly sat on it. It looked the work of pussycats. But this little treasure lit up my day. When I showed it to Colson, she said "Baby dinosaurs?"
So, camping. Ever been camping? You know, the real sort. In a tent, cooking over fires and wiping with leaves? (Side note...I watch too many kid movies and now quote them in my head all day long. Just now I thought to myself, "Who wipes?!" Random useless 10 points to anyone out there in blogland that knows who doesn't wipe.) I'd say that I've been camping on 3 levels. The grandparents' RV...tents with little public restrooms a fair walk away...and the camping trip that stands out above the rest. The real sort. But we had toilet paper.
I always hated camping. Some hippie, eh? No, my hatred is almost entirely based upon my fear of moths. And butterflies. Creepy boogers, no? Anyhow, the blasted things frequent campsite bathrooms like you would not believe. You would not believe it because I'd wager the average sane person doesn't even notice they're there. But the tiniest sleepy winged fuzzball will set my heart racing and my stomach lurching even when I'm not expected to shower with it. That said, camping never much got me excited.
But once I went on a weekend camping trip with a friend of mine during my freshman year of high school in Georgia. Her family had property up in the north part of the state somewhere, I forget the name of the place. I can't honestly remember why I decided to go in the first place. Guilt, possibly. A general inability to state my own opinion in the face of someone else's wishes. Not sure. But I was dreading it...right up until the moment we drove into a lovely little clearing surrounded by sun dappled woods. There was a creek, complete with silky, sparkling rocks. Little hills all about. I have a terribly flawed remembering mechanism so I only recall bits of the trip. One bit, I refused to poo, worried that the boys along with us would "walk in" on me. When pooing in the woods there's no doors, you see. And when you're 15 there's no way in hell you're going to risk getting caught defecating by a load of boys, even if they are younger and you have to suffer a bit of discomfort from holding in. But aside from this charming recollection, I remember cramming into a tent with something like 8 people and waking up wet from rain and/or dew that had made it inside. I remember the freshness of the air. The purity of being there like we were. And I remember an afternoon sitting beside, and eventually in, the creek with the girl. I do not remember any moths.
Ah, reminiscing. Way to bore the bloglings.
In other news, one week going strong chocolate free! Exciting until one realizes that it's still 93 days to the finish line. My husband, D (wink), is not much help. He tried to convince me that chocolate milk is somehow not classified as chocolate and that I should have some. He's given up his beverage of choice, the dreaded Coca-Cola, until I can have chocolate again. His logic was that his drinking of chocolate milk is like a substitute for Coke so therefore it would serve as a substitute for my chocolate. This is very flawed, as I pointed out to him, because chocolate milk does indeed contain...well, chocolate. But my will triumphed, I'm glad to say. And ladies, those of you who can no doubt sympathize (or empathize?), it is that time when resisting is most difficult. Ahem. As I've already discussed poo, I'll not go into such an indelicate subject. But hear me, girls. I know you do.
Alright. I'll wrap up with a bit of nature's cuteness. No fuzzy bunnies here. On our walk this evening I found this...I also stumbled upon a decapitated yellow bird. By stumbled upon I mean that my daughter nearly sat on it. It looked the work of pussycats. But this little treasure lit up my day. When I showed it to Colson, she said "Baby dinosaurs?"
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