If Swallowed, Induce Vomiting

Something New

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Thu, 03 Jan 2008 15:55:00 +0000

I have been thinking of doing this for awhile....don't hate me.

I have transferred my blog to Wordpress. Will you still visit? Will you give me your opinion? Will you update any links and keep me on your Blogroll?

Please come...

ifswallowed.wordpress.com

The Best Year Yet

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Thu, 03 Jan 2008 03:31:00 +0000

It has been a long time since I mourned the passing of a new year.

For quite some time I have welcomed the new year with a "Man, I'm glad that's over. Hopefully it will be better this year" mentality.

Looking back on 2007 I feel nothing but sadness in seeing it retreat. It was the year that I finally clawed my way into a position (dare I say career?) that actually pays the bills. It was the year that my house really became MY HOUSE. It was the year that John (the ex) no longer had control of me. It was the year that the girls really came into their own in many ways. It was the year that I finally felt solid in my friendships.

I am sad to see it go.

What in the world can 2008 hold? I know one thing for sure...it will be the year of painting the kitchen red. It will be the year of ripping up the living room carpet to reveal the awesome old wood floor beneath. It will be the year I plant some sort of perennial in the yard. It will be the year that I let go of resentments that I have been holding for so long that they have become a safety net. It will be a year of adventure and laughter with my girls. And it will be the year that my only resolution is to blog more often.

I'm excited.

Little Christmas Eve

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 22:50:00 +0000

Today is Christmas Eve, but more importantly, yesterday was Little Christmas Eve. This is a holiday that I always thought my Grandpa Lars made up in order to have an excuse to eat lutefisk, pickled herring and fish eggs. But it seems like he came by it honestly, bringing it from the old country....

December 23rd: “Lille julaften” - “Little Christmas Eve”
Most Norwegians decorate their Christmas tree in the evening of Dec. 23. The decorating of the house and the tree is done by the entire family.
There is a start in the top of the tree, and electric candles-shaped lights on the branches. Tinsel, hearts, angels, nisser and sometimes flags are a part of the tree decoration. Heart shaped christmas baskets made of colored, glossy paper is a decoration which s widely used.

I decided to have a get together in honor of this most wondrous of holidays. Taking a page from Grandpa's book it would give me a reason to drink wine and take pictures of my friends in front of the Barbie tree. As you can see, the true reason for the holiday (the decorating of the tree and giving of baskets) was lost on both him and me.

Pickled herring. Bring it on.

Since my house is very small and I had invited 8 grownups and 6 children I made the executive decision to allow the girls to open up their biggest surprise gift last night. I have been working madly since Thanksgiving to convert this little outbuilding in the backyard into a super cool pre-teen hang-out room.

It all started when I found an air hockey table on Craigslist for $35. Soon after the lime green papasan chair was found using the same wonderful website (also $35). My boss donated a rug, my friend some beautiful drapery panels, I bought a double bean bag chair ($50) and we used the desk and an easel to "art-up" a corner of the room. Eric and Natalie, the best ever neighbors spent four hours on Saturday helping me pull it all together. Without them I could have never been able to do this......

We needed to do this as soon as possible into the night in order to off-load the numerous children that we had no room for in the main house. I love that video. I love Sophie's screams, but what I love most is Maya, at the very end, looks over at me with the I-am-going-to-cry-in-front-of-all-these-people face and shakes her hand at me. Maybe being her mother allows me to see how overwhelmed she is....if you didn't pick up on it watch again, it is wonderful.

The rest of the night was spent in the company of wonderful weird friends. The room was filled with laughter and craziness. Also? I received the most incredible gift I think I have ever received....

Sean made it! Isn't it breathtaking! Here is a closer picture....

Oh! We took prom pictures in front of the tree, too!!

The following picture really sums up the night for me......

Oh...I almost forgot. This party was brought to you by the letter "T" -

And the number pi -

Grandpa would be so proud.

Water, Water Everywhere But Not a Drop To Drink

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Wed, 12 Dec 2007 02:00:00 +0000

This last week saw the most rainfall in on day ever recorded for Seattle and surrounding area.

That's a lot of rain.

South of here in a town called Chehalis, Interstate 5 was under 8-10 feet of water. Here is an aerial photo to help illustrate the craziness:

Isn't that amazing? The Interstate is actually under the water - the road pieces that you see are the elevated exit ramps. Yikes.

The "God Clouds" lend a 40-days-and-40-nights sort of effect that I really like.

I remember learning from my Dad many things regarding rain and the weather in general while growing up on the ranch in Montana. He is the one that taught me that rain or blustery weather is coming about a day after you see the horsetail clouds high in the sky. I knew almost exactly how much time I had to get back to the house once the thunderclouds rolled over the mountains to the west of us. I knew how much rain it took to fill puddles to a certain level. One-tenth of an inch filled the regular small puddles, one-fifth of an inch overfilled the small puddles and surprising random puddles would show up. At one-half inch or more the possibility of a "gully-washer" loomed and I would excitedly monitor the end of the lane for gushing mini-rivers from the mountain.

He explained the differences in the soil. There was the clay and the sandy loam. They caused the water to behave differently. While flood irrigating (see "Surface Irrigation" in this Wikipedia article for explanation) I was always amazed that he knew the topography of every field and how the soil would accept the water. If you ran the water over one specific area of the field for a specific number of hours you could irrigate a totally different and separate part of the field just by understanding the geology involved in the water table.

Dry fields actually "boil" as water running over the dry ground absorbs into the ground around the alfalfa. The water replaces the air pockets in the ground and if you stand really still and listen you could hear the whispering agricultural hot-tub of bubbles.

I loved flood irrigating.

My Mom called to make sure that I was okay this weekend. I was explaining to her that I don't even need to watch the news anymore to know how much rain has fallen. We have had an inch of rain in 24 hours if I get a large puddle at the end of my driveway. We have had two inches of rain if I get a corresponding puddle in front of the steps.

This rain was different. Yes, first I got the end-of-the-driveway puddle, then the in-front-of-the-steps puddle - but I found out when we get 5+ inches of rain in a 24 hour period my entire driveway fills with about 1-2 inches of standing water.

"Well, now I know how to measure that kind of rain," I told her.

She was really quiet for a few seconds.

"Wow. You sound exactly like your Dad. He was always talking about how much rain filled up what puddles around here. I had forgotten about that," she said.

The above reminiscence would have never happened without her statement. I had forgotten all about it, too. It is amazingly comforting that silly things like rain vs. puddle measurement can be so deftly connected back to him. It assures me to think that in some ways I display something, anything, that was once his.

That is the best Christmas present of all for me.

Tis the Season

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Tue, 04 Dec 2007 04:59:00 +0000

The girls and I have been talking.

We've been talking their entire lives. About anything and everything. They are smart and well-rounded and funny as hell.

And they totally get it.

They brought up the conversation about how artificial Christmas is. It started with them laughing hysterically at some toy commercials. They are sharp enough to point out that Bratz dolls, Barbies and My Scene dolls are all one in the same. Sophie noticed that if parents aren't willing to buy Bratz, they will probably let their kids have My Scene dolls. And everyone seems pretty fine with Barbies.

"I bet they are all by the same company Mom. That way they get the money no matter what. I don't want any Barbies this year. Everyone buys them for us and we have a hundred. I don't even play with them. What a waste of money."

Then we discussed artificial Christmas trees versus real. I like the idea of real, but love the ease of use of artificial. Our old artificial tree was showing its age, so we "Freecycled" it. When out shopping for another I kept walking back and forth in front of this tree thinking, "Oh no. I can't. Can I? Is it ridiculous? Oh my god, I love it. But I can't. Can I?" and on and on.

Finally I did.

The whole Christmas theme was identified. And the girls came up with the final them out of a few different contenders. It is.....

"Have an Artificial Christmas!"

Playing Hobos

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 05:48:00 +0000

I was called home from work at 2 pm today due to the fact that Sophie was running a 102 degree fever. Again.

Now the last fever, although posted about yesterday, happened all the way back on Thursday.

I have been wondering....did she have this fever all weekend and I just didn't notice? I didn't take her temperature again after the throwing up night. She seem perky and cool to the touch.

Is this a re-occurrence or a continuance?

Damn. I hate to think she was feeling puny all weekend. It is hard to tell with her. Sometimes she just won't complain. If something better comes along than feeling sick, I swear that girl will just up and choose it. Can't fool those school nurses, though. They are tough hombres (or hombrecitas).

The funniest thing about fevers are the delusions. (That is written purely sarcastically, by the way.) Earlier this evening Sophie piped up from her pillow propped place on the couch with this gem...

"Mom? When I'm in 5th grade and can take band, I want to play the hobo."

It's Not Thanksgiving Until Somebody Throws Up

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Mon, 26 Nov 2007 05:46:00 +0000

Ah...Thanksgiving.

Once again, the day held may things to be grateful for....

John, the girls' Dad came. Sophie got in a bit of trouble when she adamantly refused to walk with him the few blocks to the store for dish soap. I could not figure out why she was so unwilling to do this. It was a beautiful day...we walk to the store all the time....but the day went on after a time out and a large amount of grumpiness from John.

It is a tradition at our house to get our tired and over-stuffed butts in the car and drive a few miles to see "Fantasy Lights" (a Christmas light extravaganza in a local park - not some weird porn-esque lighting store). Thanksgiving day is the first day that it opens, and it runs through New Year's. For $13 you can stuff as many people in one car as possible and drive through the park with your headlights off to view the crazy and random light displays. Some are beautiful. Some are funny. And some are just plain weird. I submit the following for your enjoyment....

The rest of these are very short videos. It seemed easier than blinding everyone that was driving in the dark with my camera flash. Please ignore the blasting heater and random conversations....

Since we do live by one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world, why not celebrate that fact with Christmas lights!

Santa is going a bit more high-tech this year...

You can't catch me...

Santa-Hog....

And these were REALLY cool in person...and HUGE!

When we got home Sophie was complaining of a pounding headache. I reached out to rub her forehead and realized that she was absolutely burning up. She had a fever of 103 degrees and spent the rest of the evening in bed with me throwing up. It's a wonderful life. Amazingly, she was completely recovered by 6:00 am and we went about as everything was normal for the rest of the weekend.

No wonder she didn't want to walk to the store with her Dad, eh?

Stay tuned for day-after Christmas decorations and theme explanation!

Thanks.

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Thu, 22 Nov 2007 05:29:00 +0000

Not to be too dorky, but I really am thankful for everything in my life.

I am so lucky to have my girls, my house, my friends (that means you, too!). I love this time of the year and can't wait to get it all officially kick started tomorrow. Today, Maya made the pumpkin pie, Sophie made the homemade cranberry sauce, I brined the turkey....All is exactly as it should be.

I love you guys.

Here are some funny recipes from kindergartner's that you should read, but maybe not try out on the relatives tomorrow...

Ivette - Banana Pie:
You buy some bananas and crust. Then you mash them up and put them in the pie. Then you eat it.

Geremy - Turkey
You buy the turkey and take the paper off. Then you put it in the refrigerator and take it back out and cut it with a knife and make sure all the wires are out and take out the neck and heart. Then you put it in a big pan and cook it for half an hour at 80 degrees. Then you invite people over and eat.

Shelby - Applesauce
Go to the store and buy some apples, and then you squish them up. Then you put them in a jar that says, "Applesauce." Then you eat it.

Christa - Cookies
Buy some dough and smash it and cut them out. Then put them in the oven for 2 hours at 100 degrees. Then take them out and dry them off. Then it's time to eat them.

Grace - Turkey
First you add some salt. Then you put it in a bowl. Then you put brown sugar on it. Then you mix it all together with a spoon and then you add some milk and mix it again. And then you put it in a pan. Then you put it in the oven for 15 minutes and 16 degrees. Then you take it out of the oven and then you eat it.

Jordan Si. - Chocolate Pudding
Buy some chocolate pudding mix. Then you add the milk. Then you add the pudding mix. Then you stir it. Then you put it in the refrigerator and wait for it to get hard. Then you eat it.

Jennie - Corn
My mom buys it. Then you throw it. Then you cook it. Then you eat it.

Nicholas - White and Brown Pudding
First you read the wrapper. Get a piece of water. Stir. Then you eat it.

Wai - Pumpkin Pie
Get a pumpkin. Cook it. Eat it.

Lauren - Turkey
First you find a turkey and kill it. Cut it open. Put it in a pan. Pour milk in the pan. Put a little chicken with it. Put salsa on it. Take out of pan. Put it on the board. Cut into little pieces. Put on a rack. Put in the oven for 7 minutes at 10 degrees. Take out of the oven and put eensy weensy bit of sugar on it. Put a little more salsa on it. Then you eat it.

The Secret to Holiday Stress

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Wed, 21 Nov 2007 05:03:00 +0000

No, it's not yoga. Or volunteering. Or spending time with family and friends.

It's choosing a smart-ass theme.

This year the girls and I are really on the same page. We were discussing how ridiculous people get around Thanksgiving and Christmas. I have been hearing the "Oh my God, I'm so stressed out!" crap already. It is really just a state of mind - a choice.

If you don't want to stress out, don't. Tell everyone you know, "You know, this year I am refusing to stress out over the holidays. Therefore, I am not going to be able to attend your holiday party, Thanksgiving feast, shopping expedition, etc."

I have been doing this for the past five years and it is amazing how many people are not put off by this demand for no stress and personal space. They are so stressed themselves that your refusal is immediately replaced in their minds with little Johnny's Christmas list and the latest grocery necessities.

It may even insult you a bit, realizing how completely unimportant you really are in the hustle and bustle of another person's "holiday". Oh....but it is worth it!

I can't give my theme away until it is finished and ready to be posted with pictures, but I can tell you that the following picture has something to do with it.

Leave your "Shari's Holiday Theme" guess in the comments....

You Better Be Careful Or Your Face Will Stick Like That

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Wed, 14 Nov 2007 05:11:00 +0000

This picture of Maya (circa 2003 and first grade) always makes me gasp. A first grade girls should not look like that. I remember buying her that dress. It was cotton with embroidered butterflies. It had long sleeves that came down over the tops of her hands in little V's. The skirt was also in a V shape in the front and back. On the rack the dress looked so adorable. So little-girl.

On Maya, it looked completely different.

She takes my breath away to this day with her beauty. The thing about it, though, is she always backs it up in spirit.

Tonight I came home to two breathless girls begging me to go to their schools "Skate Night". It is held a Tiffany's Skate Inn Roller Rink here in town, and it is always horrible (for me). It's cold in there - unless you are skating - crowded, loud, and lasts from 6:30 - 8:30, rendering the entire evening useless for anything else.

I am mean and I said "No".

The begged and pleaded more. The finished their homework without me asking. They offered to pay their own way in. There was nothing to do but relent.

I knew immediately why it was so important for Maya to be there the minute I pulled up. See that kid in the upper left corner of the picture making the crazy face? Yeah? That's Mikey. Maya loves Mikey and always has. This year (5th grade) it is something a little more than just thinking he is really funny and wanting to sit by him because he tells good jokes.

This year she wants to skate with him.

Oh God.

Of all the kids in her class, if forced to choose, I would also choose Mikey for Maya to have her first little crush on. Mikey is funny. He is fast in races. He is actually polite. He came to Maya's violin recital last year even though he played no instrument. Mikey is okay in my book.

So far.

As I was walking out of Tiffany's Skate Inn last night Mikey's Mom tapped me on the shoulder. I have always liked her, but don't really know her. I know that she volunteers in the class a lot. I know that she is quiet and reserved and has a kind face. These things make a good first impression as far as I am concerned.

Mikey's Mom said, "I just wanted to tell you something. If I had a daughter, I would want her to be just like Maya. I see the girls in her class starting to really play some mean games with each other this year, and Maya doesn't do it. She is so caring and good. If Mikey ever brings someone like Maya home someday, I will be the happiest Mother in the world."

Wow. That is some good stuff for a parent to hear.

I am so proud to know that my daughter comes across to the world as I have always felt she comes across to me....

But Mikey better not get to friendly or I will make his face stick like that.

Piano Practice

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Sun, 11 Nov 2007 04:29:00 +0000

The girls have started practicing their pieces for the December recitals. I am so proud of how far they have come since they started piano. I wanted a before and after for them to compare their early practice with their recital playing...

Sorry about the lighting and shakiness....

Extreme Personal Hygeine

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Mon, 05 Nov 2007 04:46:00 +0000

It was Sophie's turn to go grocery shopping with her Dad this Sunday. He comes every Sunday EARLY in the morning (7 AM for Chrissakes) and takes them alternately to the store. This is his contribution, I suppose. It could be worse, it could be better. It is what it is.

Every time each girls seems to talk him into something. A DVD. A Nintendo DS game. Shoes. Something. It gets a bit ridiculous, but who am I to judge what he spends his money on? I just don't want them spoiled - but it seems I'm poor enough to offset any spoilage that might happen on his end.

This Sunday Sophie came bursting through the door with her latest prize. You would have thought it was a puppy as breathlessly over-stimulated as she was. No. It was not a puppy. It was a nose-hair trimmer.

(Thanks to the nose-hair trimming people for the image.)

Yes. A nose-hair trimmer. For nose hair. For old man nose-hair (and the occasional stubborn ear beard, I suppose).

I do admit that Sophie has a prodigious amount of hair in her nose. But it is IN HER NOSE. It is not visible. It is normal.

I don't know if she was teased at school, but if she was I would have thought it would follow normal Sophie patterns. She would cry. She would pound on her pillow. She would be dramatic. But this nose hair thing came in completely under the radar. And she wasn't at all shy about wanting this thing. She ripped it from the box and started explaining all of it's features.

It was silver and shiny.
It trimmed nose AND ear hair.
It came with a little brush that you could clean the nose hairs off after trimming was over.
It was washable.

It was insane.

For the next 30 minutes Sophie was in the bathroom giggling uproariously and trimming like crazy. Every now and then I'd hear, "It tickles!" and "Whoa! That was a good one!".

I could not get her to stop following me around the rest of the day begging to be allowed the chance to trim my nose hair. I refused and touted all the wonders of nose hair. She looked up my nostrils and said, "Mom, it's a jungle up there. C'mon. Can I?"

It has not happened, but I don't put it past her to do it while I'm sleeping.

Boo

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 04:13:00 +0000

Diabetic sugar coma encroaching....

Can't write...can't think straight.....4 hours of trick or treating....

Speaking of a Drawer Full of Toys....

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 02:32:00 +0000

Wonderful Christine's comment on the previous post made me realize that I have a story that I have not shared with hardly anyone....and would not have necessarily wanted to share. Unfortunately, a few years ago I made a vow to never keep anything secret that anyone could possibly hold over my head.

Sometimes that vow really sucks. But I suppose I would rather just tell everyone now before Sophie decides to blog about it when she gets a bit older and realizes just how funny the story really is....

In my first long period of celibacy (yes, this is my second period of celibacy thank-you-very-much) I was coming up on my second year anniversary of no sex. I decided right then that I would either need to lay myself right down and have a big ole cry OR....I could have a party. That was that day that my Celibacy Celebration was born. My period of celibacy lasted three years, enough to have two Celibacy Celebrations AND a Shari Got Her Groove Back Party.

The first party was met with some confusion and embarrassment by my friends. But enough Margaritas into it, they begun to understand. One of my "friends" went up to the DJ in the club we were in and had him announce to all present that it was my second year of celibacy and everyone should congratulate me, etc. Amazingly enough, the intelligence level at this particular establishment was such that for the rest of the evening, really drunk men kept slurring "Happy Birfday Sweetheart"'s. I was not impressed. And the celibacy thing started really making a whole lot of sense right about then.

The second year people were really ready. There were gifts. There was food (Penis-shaped Pasta Salad, mini wieners, plastic cutlery with anatomically correct handles....). One of the gag gifts was a tiny vibrator in a case about the size of a Life Savers package. It (the package) had the multi-colored rings and the words "It's a Lifesaver!" on the outside.

The "Lifesaver" has resided in my underwear drawer ever since.

Ahem. Moving on.....

This summer, during one of the many barbecues, Sophie came running out onto the deck with the Lifesaver package in her hand.

"Mom! What's this? I thought it was candy, but look! What is it?" she said as she took the vibrator out of the package.

I moved very, very fast.

Amazingly enough, everyone who was at the party had been distracted only moments earlier by my neighbor Eric, and had gone over to his house. The only person who witnessed the disaster was Natalie (neighbor and wife to Eric).

Oh my God we laughed hard. And Sophie knew that what she had done was incredibly funny, although she didn't know why. She also recognized immediately that this incident had the miraculous power to make me immediately embarrassed and willing to threaten her with horrific bodily injury if she tried to tell the story to anyone.

I suppose that I didn't threaten the correct person in this situation. The other evening as I was leaving Natalie and Eric's house (the girls were spending the night over there with their friend Grace) I heard words that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Eric said, "Good night. Maybe you can spend your evening with a roll of Lifesavers."

Natalie is totally going to get it.

Go Kiss Yourself

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 01:02:00 +0000

Grrr....

I think that Autumn has the same effect on me that Spring has on most people. Hmmmm....I'm impatient. I want to travel. I want to be surrounded by people. I want....I want to have crazy anonymous monkey sex with almost any random passer-by.

Don't worry I won't actually do it. Its just that I want to.

In reality, I can have perfectly good sex with myself. It is even more likely to be more satisfying. I can handle that. I could maybe go for the rest of my life not having sex with anyone - but I miss kissing.

You can't kiss yourself.

It Takes A Village To Get My Children To Piano Lessons

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 03:16:00 +0000

My old car, as some of you know, was the Minty Squirrel.

There has been a man who has been actually knocking on my door to get me to sell it to him for the last few months. I just have to get the paperwork together and the deed will be done.

I'm dragging my feet a bit....

I don't drive much. We live close enough to things in the downtown area of our small town that we walk most of the places we go. I take the train to work. We even take the bus on the weekends most places.

But we always drive to piano lessons.

I have taken the bus a few times. But piano lessons are on Monday at 6 pm. The girls are tired. I am tired. The last thing we really feel like doing is hoofing it to the bus and waiting, going through lessons, hoofing it back to the stop - waiting, then walking home. And it rains here. Sometimes pretty hard. Sometimes all winter.

Our "newer" car (actually a pretty old and very high-mileage Honda Accord) has a few, shall we say, issues. It does not like to start on sunny days. Or exceptionally hot days. Or relatively humid, cloudy days.

Or piano-lesson Mondays.

I have tried everything. For awhile, it seemed if I backed it into the driveway, there was a higher probability that it would start. If not, I opened the hood and turned on the AC or heater fan for a few minutes and it would start. Sometimes jiggling the battery cable connections would seem to get it to go. And, if the battery was corroded, a little Diet Coke dribbled on them would occasionally help start the engine.

I admit it, in my mind, I have even begun to "sneak up" on the car pretending to only need to get a CD out of the stereo, then quickly and much to its surprise (I'm sure) turn the key in the ignition and smash down spastically on the gas pedal.

Amazingly, all of these techniques have worked at some time or another. I must admit now that the myriad of techniques and the sporadic nature of their efficacy really just means that the damn car starts only when it wants to.

Natalie is used to my angry 5:30 pm on Monday calls requesting an hour's use of her car. She has never failed to be there when it is at all possible. This Monday she was gone, but offered the use of her old Mercedes.

The old Mercedes did not start.

I was about to give up when my other fantastic across-the-street neighbor, Adam, walked up to me and tossed me the keys to his truck. AND THEN, he carried three huge pumpkins across the street and began arranging them on my front step as we drove hurriedly away yelling, "Thank you! I'll make you cookies!"

I made cookies the next day, all the while thinking that I came incredibly close to not living on this street....to not living next to the car-lending neighbors....to not having the chance of speeding away in a strange vehicle watching someone decorate my front step with huge gourds.

Wow. That was a close one.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Tue, 23 Oct 2007 23:03:00 +0000

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells

- John Keats "To Autumn"

I Was Visited By The Establishment

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Sat, 20 Oct 2007 15:18:00 +0000

The title of this post could actually properly capture two different visits I had this week.

First, my Mom came out to visit for 4 days. It was wonderful. We went window shopping (for real windows) and looked at endless paint samples. We went to the beach. We went to the Pumpkin Patch. I have pictures.

The title of this post, however, points to a different visit.....my second visit from ANT (all the way from Scotland)!

Last year I was lucky enough to be able to have him over for a barbecue at my house. It was type of visit that was surrounded with friends and food and music and craziness - a good first "meet your blogger friend" meeting. Meeting him this time was in a more one-on-one setting at the Six Arms pub in Seattle:

It was so fun. It is a strange feeling to be meeting someone for only the second time, but know the majority of the main stories of their life. Much of the evening was spent saying, "I blogged about this, but..." and "Oh yeah! I read about that...". I suppose it is no surprise that two bloggers never ran out things to talk about. The first time I asked about the time, it was 5 hours into the conversation, and I felt cheated that it hadn't been long enough.

I'm already starting to look for the next meeting place for when he comes back next time.

Haunted

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 15:32:00 +0000

I have started riding the last car of the train on the way in to work. I found that I can just walk around the end of the train and then directly to the parking garage without the ordeal of going up and over the walkway. Vertigo and stairs do not go well together.

The last car is an interesting place. It seems that many old people ride on the last car. Today, I found a seat across from two women – one who was doing the “I am sitting here with my eyes closed and ignoring you and pretending to sleep” thing, and another who had an inordinate amount of makeup on. The makeup lady decided to do the “sleep” thing, too, so I was sitting there – wide awake – staring at her eye makeup and super shiny lipstick.

You might think this is bad enough…but it gets worse. The lady by the window decided to prove my “pretend” sleeping theory wrong by beginning to snore. Not dainty little snores, but rattlely, snorty and somewhat horribly embarrasing snores. And nobody acknowleged it. Everyone just keep doing what they were doing. Not one person was willing to look at her or even smirk at her sad situation. I felt very alone. And eventually irritated at the snoring.

I moved. Just across the aisle to a group of seats that was only occupied by a middle aged man – a completely awake man – reading a book. I felt he looked alert enough to possibly make it all the way to Kent without snoring and drooling all over the place. Amazingly enough, snoring woman slept soundly (no pun intended) through both the Sumner and the Auburn stops without once being roused from her slumber. At Auburn my area of seats filled up with a woman (sitting next to me) that smelled strongly of cigarettes and beer (freshly drunk beer – not the “I got drunk last night on beer and didn’t brush my teeth this morning” beer smell) and a woman who – I kid you not – was a witch.

The witch wasn’t wearing a pointy hat and carrying a broom, she was partially disguised as a librarian. She was very tall and painfully thin with a large hooked nose. She carried a big umbrella, the kind that looks like a cane, and wore an orange Halloween sweatshirt with a black sequined cat on the front. I was a little bit scared. She had a long black coat on with a fur collar (probably black cat fur harvested during a full moon) and pointy black witchy shoes. She had a large black bag, the contents of which I can only imagine.

As I disembarked, I had to wonder if this last car thing is really a good idea. Maybe falling down the stairs would be less painful, overall.

Enough!

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Thu, 04 Oct 2007 14:26:00 +0000

After another scary dream about Sophie being hit by a car and bumping her head really hard on a curb - I have decided that I am internalizing way too much of her elementary school angst.

Monday at dinner she completely broke down at the table and cried, telling me that she no longer wanted to be tall. Considering that I am 6 feet tall and her father is 6'5" - I don't think she has much choice in the matter.

Apparently, her friend Kayla gets a lot of attention when she falls down. Kayla is tiny. Really, really tiny. Disturbingly small in an almost unhealthy way. She is one of those kids that has translucent skin - you can see that big vein that runs over her jaw line. Sophie said that everyone worries so much about Kayla if she hurts herself, but no one really rushes to Sophie if she has some sort of schoolyard wreck.

The entire time I am thinking..."That's because you are bouncy and happy and the healthiest looking kid I have ever seen - and, you can laugh at yourself."

Please, please don't let her start hating her height. Or anything about herself. It is too soon.

Why is "fragile" so attractive? For once I would love to see kids on the school yard (or hell even adults in life) demand a little strength from their friends. A little daring. Some spark for Christ's sake! Isn't picking yourself up, dusting yourself off and moving on with a laugh a hell of a lot more interesting than laying in a puddle of your own weakness?

It's time for a seriously goofy family outing. The beach, or a cabin in the San Juans - and a bit of daring, devil-may-care adventure.

For my girls, living a good life will never mean needing to have someone there to pick them up, if I have anything to say about it!

Lions and Tigers and Bears and Mothers

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Mon, 01 Oct 2007 18:19:00 +0000

I tend to get mean every Sunday at 5:00 pm.

It seems to come as a surprise every damn weekend that I have put off laundry, floor mopping, vacuuming, etc. until that time. It's not like I really put them off....but it's just that is is never finished. Although I might clean the kitchen 6 times throughout the span of a weekend, it is inevitably a mess at 5:00 pm on Sunday.

And then I start nagging the girls.

"Why don't you guys ever voluntarily help me?"

"Why do I always have to ask you to pick up your dirty clothes?"

"Have you practiced the piano?"

"Have you done your homework?"

"I let you play ALL weekend, don't you dare give me any lip about helping me now!"

It is all true. I have valid points. But it is only valid if I try something different to change the outcome of my weekend, and I haven't. I am usually very good about putting things in perspective - realizing that they have never done this thing called "growing up" before and I am there to help them through. But...on Sunday nights I wish they just already knew how.

After putting them to bed last night I felt awful. I went back in when they were sleeping to whisper apologies and smell their hair. And I went to bed a guilt-laden mother. The guilt manifested itself into a terrible dream that still has me on the verge of tears.

I was on the ranch in Montana, standing at the edge of the field. My Dad walked up to the girls and me and told me that a mountain lion was trying to kill all of the baby calves. I looked out over the field of grazing cattle to see them morph into mothers and children.

Then I saw the mountain lion. But it was actually a female African lion - and it was slipping up to the kids that were far away in the field. The panic hit me and I turned to tell the girls to get back to the house. That's when a huge male lion jumped on Sophie and grabbed her in his mouth. She was screaming, "Mom! The pain!" and there was nothing that I could do.

Holy crap.

I went into her room and after checking her for marks and evidence of breathing, lay down on the floor of her room to pass the rest of the night in fitful sleep.

Amazing Allison

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 14:28:00 +0000

I have changed my schedule a bit a work to accommodate a new train that they added to the "Sounder Commuter Train". I love the Sounder.

The 15 miles from my home to work can take 45 minutes in the morning and an hour or more in the evening if driving by car. On the train it takes 20 minutes. 20 MINUTES! Not only that, but my (MY!) house is a 10 minute brisk walk from the station.

Usually, due to the limited train schedule, I would be off work at 4 pm and would need to wait until 4:45 pm to catch the first train home. This would get me home around 5:20.

Not. Any. More.

Without having to change my schedule my more than 15 minutes in the morning, I can now catch this new run at 4:00 PM. Yesterday was the first day.....I jumped in the work vanpool, zoomed to the station, boarded the train, arrived in my hometown 20 minutes later, walked home, and arrived at 4:30. FOUR. THIRTY.

THIRTY MINUTES AFTER FOUR.

This is over an hour earlier! Does anyone understand?

Oh, I am sooooo happy.

Anyway, this post is actually not about the train (kind of hard to tell at this point, isn't it?). It is really about the time and what I can do with it. I was very excited about this extra hour because, especially on piano lesson Mondays, I really need this time to prepare dinner, help with homework, take then neighbor's dog for a walk, etc. I was actually so enamoured of my extra dinner-fixing time that I kind of forgot to make dinner before piano lessons last night.

Oops.

It actually worked out fine. We got home after lessons and I whipped up dinner and the girls and I sat around the table talking about boys and uteruses (uteri?) and if human twins can have two separate fathers.

I said no. I let the girls know that I wasn't so sure - that if the twins were two separate eggs that I might be wrong. But having sex with two different people within the ovulation time was more than likely a really bad idea anyway.

I love our talks. Have I mentioned that we are very open about these things?

This, as it always does, opened to the dinner table conversation up to sex and boys. They myth that I had sex with their father only twice was finally debunked. They laughed. Sophie showed us her best "make out with yourself by crossing your arms over your own shoulders while your back is turned to the audience" move. It was good.

Then she sat down and said, "Do you know what?". (Sophie starts almost all of her sentences this way.) "Maddie says that Jackson (7-year-old twins that live down the street) sometimes kisses and humps her Amazing Allison doll." Insert relatively lengthy silence here. "I don't play with Amazing Allison anymore when I'm over there."

Inappropriate touching was the next subject of conversation.

Without that extra hour, would I have ever learned of Amazing Allison and her fall from grace?

I think not.

Movin' On

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Thu, 20 Sep 2007 14:47:00 +0000

After I got this news, the prospect of leaving my house and moving once again, had paralyzed me this summer.

I was attached to that house for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because it seemed to signify a big turning point in my life.

I was in trouble in my old place - it had been sold and the rent greatly increased ($300 more a month). I had only my self-employment to get me by, and I was not doing very well. I had just come to the decision that the only way I was going to survive was to move into a much smaller (and less expensive) place and get a job in the real world.

I had been working at home and supplementing (quite heftily) my income with some money that I received when my Dad passed away. I supplemented my income so much that it only took me a matter of a few years to blow through it. It was enough, that if I would have been a better manager of my money, it could have lasted a very long time.

But I wasn't. And I wasn't on a pretty big scale.

I wasn't as if I was completely frivolous. I bought a reliable vehicle. I bought new furniture. I stayed home with my kids until they got in school - and that is the part that I least regret. But it was humiliating to have to admit to my family that the money I had been given was all gone and I was, once again, in crisis.

My mother was horrified.

I had hidden things from her for as long as was humanly possible. But there are only so many times that the phone company can "mess up" and disconnect your phone. There are only so many times that you can tell your kids that the TV doesn't work and they can just watch DVD's. And it was truly my own damn fault.

I was driving home from work at my new "seasonal" position at REI (I'm still here 3 years later) when I decided to take a new route home and look for rentals. The first street I turned down there was a "For Rent" sign in the lawn of this adorable little green house with white shutters. I called on it immediately and saw it the next day. As horrified as she was at my money management skills, my Mom helped me with the first and last month's rent and security deposit.

As you all know....things have greatly improved since I set foot in that house.

My job has allowed me to get back on my feet and truly improve my life from the bottom up. I feel like I can conquer the world, and it all started with that little green house. Everything has changed, but most importantly how I look at the world. My Mom and I still can fight, but I can honestly say that I feel that she would always back me up, no matter how bad I've screwed up in the past. I can be more honest with people than I ever felt I could. Pride no longer limits me.

Everyone deserves a second chance, I know. Sometimes that chance is so huge, though, that sometimes you can't imagine anyone with enough hutzpah to be willing to put themselves out there when your track record is so....awful.

My Mom bought the house.

Yep. She bought it. I will be paying her "rent" (at a reduced rate, even) and earning a certain percentage of ownership each year. I won't be strapped for the full cost of the mortgage payment and my lack of credit will not force me into a high interest rate.

And as far as I'm concerned, that's the least wonderful part about it. Communication between my Mom and I is sometimes hard, but I really feel like this is more of a quiet nod of approval to how hard I have worked the last few years.

Surprisingly, her approval means more to me than I ever would have thought possible.

Hello There Everyone!

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 00:56:00 +0000

Holy crap!

Well, that last month was a bit insane. I will be working on stories that include some of the shenanigans I have participated in. They will include, but not be limited by, this list of subjects:

Moving
Old Job vs. New Job
State Fairs
School
Head Lice
Fumigation techniques
Scented Tampon Usage

I bet you can't wait....

Sophilina Jolie

noreply@blogger.com (Shari) — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 18:46:00 +0000

I am so busy right now that the option of taking time out for a blog entry is not really there.

Occasionally, however, something happens that is just too good -so amazingly blog-worthy that one must stop everything that they are doing in order to tell the world.

Last night, after I came home from work, I sat talking to Mickey (the nanny) before she went home. It is always good to have a recap of the day and find out ahead of time if there were any issues that need to be addressed right away. Maya was down the street playing at a friend's house and Sophie was in the bedroom watching a movie.

I am used to always being interrupted by the girls when I get home. The hugs! The kisses! This time I didn't get a hug or a kiss from Sophie. She just walked up to my chair with her hand over her mouth, holding out the digital thermometer that had registered her internal temperature at 99.0. I distractedly assured her that she would live through this horrific low grade fever and waved her off to continue talking with Mickey.

After Mickey left Sophie removed her hand from in front of her mouth and then asked me, “Do my lips look really big?”

Oh my God, her lips were so huge that I thought she had been stung by a bee or was having a horrible allergic reaction. They were easily 4-5 times larger than normal and stuck out beyond her nose. HUGE. It was like Angelina Jolie with a terrible collagen job.

Apparently she had been watching a movie in Maya’s room and had finished drinking her glass of juice. Throughout the 1 ½ hours of the movie she had been doing the “suction the juice glass to your face” thing – over and over and over again. Not only did it suction itself to her face, but it sucked most of the blood from the rest of her body into her lips. She must have been pretty aggressive about it because she has some hickey-like broken capillaries all over her chin to top it all off.

She was so embarrassed that she wouldn’t let anyone in her room as she iced her gargantuan lips down. It took almost two hours for them to return to a semi-normal state.

Before:

After: