Onward Paradiddle!

Music soothes savage beasts.

That's the logic I'm using in insisting that my sons take an instrument, ANY instrument...

Drama Girl had taken Cello unhappily for three years, so we've got experience!

Turbo has wanted to play 'acoustic guitar, not the electric' since he was 4. He had an acoustic guitar when he was 4, and he loved it. 

But then, one day, Bear came along, and smashed it, like a rock-n-roll star. 

Because that's what Bear is going to be when he grows up. It's why he's growing his hair long. 

Turbo hasn't forgotten this, apparently, because when we were discussing the choices of instruments, Turbo explained to us, anyone who spoke to him in the guitar shop, and his new guitar instructor that he DID have a guitar that he loved, until his brother destroyed it, but this blue one is sooo much awesomer.

He's  now practicing on his blue acoustic guitar every day, while hanging out with his dad, without much fuss, because he genuinely wanted to play the guitar from the beginning, and is interested in getting better.

I'm sure he's going to stick with it and be good. I know he is. It's because he sits like I imagine folksy acoustic guitar players sit, all lanky legs crossed with quizzical expressions of curiosity and gentleness aimed at their audience as they prepare to sing out the truth of love, dogs, mothers and life in general. That's what I see when I see him attempting to fret without looking or strum without mixing up the strings.

Bear.

Bear, Bear Bear.

Oh Dear. Bear.

He chose drums.

This is not a surprise, the idea of just taking two sticks and beating the crap out of some surface and making a lot of noise is very appealing. He is hoping for one of those drums with skin, like a djembe.



However, (can you believe I just started a sentence with however? I think that's horrid, I'm personally an anti-however-sentence-starting person) however, drums are one of the hardest instruments to start on. I got that from my band director brother who explained it's all repetition at first and not very exciting. It takes longer to get to a point where you can play an actual song or tune than most other instruments. 

There are also the exercises in holding the drumsticks right. 

And paradiddles, oh paradiddles.

Yes, yes I know the drumsticks aren't being held right. Just focus
on the tiny circle of despair and the lines that lead you there.
Also, note, this is not a djembe drum.

His homework consisted of 12 minutes of slow repetitions of holding the drumsticks right and making the 'drumming motion' from point 0 to point 1 or point 1 to point 0, I don't know, it's written in his book... and all he had to do was make sure the tips of the drumstick met in the middle of a circle. A circle... of doom, despair, and the collected tears of every child forced to do a repetitive exercise that held no instantaneous reward...

R, L, R, L or was it R, L, R, R, L, R, L, L or was it R, L, L, R, L, R, R, oh well, regardless, it was repetitive. Oh the tears, the woe of being forced to pay attention to posture (try to get any child under 14 to sit up straight for more than 30 seconds... it's not possible, they slump into themselves, like they have no muscular structure or spine at all) so I did what any reasonable mom would do.

I Tiger Mom'd.

"Son," I said. "You can cry through your paradiddle, but paradiddle you will."

"NOooo it's toooo haaaarrddd"

"I know, Bear, sit up straight."

"There are flames in the oven! I can't work when our oven is on fire!"

"No, Bear, that was last night. Paradiddle. Or I'll reset the timer and you'll have to start again." 

(To clarify:  It wasn't even a real fire, though technically, I suppose flames = fire, but this was inside a shut oven, and ovens are meant for fire, or high heat, close enough. Baking soda, okay, baking soda took care of it, and I didn't make him finish his work that night, because I can see how flames would be distracting.)

"It's too hard."

Timer Set: GO: Paradiddle. Tears. Paradiddle. Tears and Paradiddle. Paraddidle. Good Form! Posture! Ahhrgh now we have to start over! Paradiddle. Point 0! Point 0 wait Point 1! Pause Timer, Tiger Mom needs a drink. Timer, Go... You can doooo this.... look at your awesome paradiddling....

Thirty minutes later, we had a solid 12 minutes of practice (maybe 8, but it was solid man!) and Bear, though he collapsed in my bed from the sheer exhaustion, and suffered from a tired left wrist, did not spend time in despair, but merely explained to his brother how much HARDER drums were than guitar. I concurred.

Paradiddle on, peeps, paradiddle on.

Truth sometimes ends conversations

Big long discussion... and somewhere in it:

Me:

"It was weird, I was watching this weird, quirky British movie and in the ending..."

Boss:

"There is nothing weird about you watching a weird, quirky British movie. You were probably in it."

Conversation:

Over.

Laundry intelligence, aka Not much of a post

I had an entire post written about my typical night. Re-reading it utterly exhausted me, so I deleted it. Then I wrote a post about how one could successfully balance a life with a family of five, and then realized I had nothing.

Turns out I lack the organizational and executive functioning skills required. We're just living in utter chaos here.

The sentient intelligence known loosely as 'The Laundry' agrees. 

The Laundry is speaking to me now, mainly because it knows its won, and sees no point in pretending I have a chance. The Laundry tells me the cats also agree. Apparently, they've made great friends, The Laundry intelligence and the cats. All agree, though, that the growing horde of 'project materials' by one of the nine-year-old boys needs to go: it's an odd assortment of cardboard boxes and plastic empty bottles. He's going to 'be green' and 're-use.' I told him that's how hoarding starts.

Voice of The Laundry

The Friday Post

I came up with this great idea, that I'd update the blog daily. DAILY. But we know that is not true. By we, I mean, me, my alter-ego who lives in my head complaining to me that I don't live up to my potential as a writer, my faithful reader (Hi Auntie!) and my sister, who won't actually read this, but, would totally agree.

Today I'm home because Bear is having an issue with this Colorado weather and for the first time in a year and a half needed his emergency inhaler - not due to an all-out attack, he gets sneaky ones that build up slowly - but because breathing just wasn't really going all that well yesterday afternoon. Essentially, this:

Today is May 3, and the snow from the May 1st snow has just about melted. I mean, April is the second snowiest month in Colorado, and this isn't uncommon, but April in Colorado just feels confusing. Confusing weather is a trigger for Bear's asthma. So we're home today just chilling while Colorado toys with ending this spring winter.

Husbear suggested I need to stay home with him, because if we sent him to school, he'd last half a day before I had to take him home, and then there'd be judging on why I brought him in the first place, since I work at said school. Also, we want him to get better.

Here's a useful photo of my desk, because blogs should have photos:

I got a really useful memo that noted I only had 8 hours of vacation time left (thank you, children, aka vacation thieves) and also, could I post some things on the web. Of course, I'm being charged vacation time for being home, so why I am also expected to update things on the web while being charged vacation time is a bit foggy to me. It's one of those illogical expectations that only make people grumpy when you point it out, so you don't, because grumpy people make grumpy co-workers. Just take those extra-long lunches every now and again and call it even. Or you could do this:

"Why yes, I'd love to put these postings up, will Monday do, as I am currently being charged time for not working, and would hate to waste my charged vacation on working."

Then delete it and re-read the point about grumpy co-workers.

It's the problem with human resources today. They haven't adapted their policies to handle the modern world. We're so connected that a day off isn't really fully a day off - people can find you and expect things from you. You're not safe from expectations unless you protect yourself with an out-of-office message. "Dear Peoples, I am out today, and will not be responding to e-mails, or fulfilling any expectations given today. I will respond to e-mails, and fulfill all last-minute expectations on Monday. Thank you."

I'm totally going to do that the next time I take a day off. Except, next year, seeing as I only have one day left and I need to save it.

Also, I texted my sister three weeks (days) ago and she hasn't responded. You'd think a scientist would be more tech-savvy and plugged in. I think she's ignoring me. Someone should call her and tell her to call me. 


Also, also, I tried explaining to Husbear that my e-mails didn't automagically go to his junk folder. Automagically isn't a real thing. It's not even a real word. Clearly, he's evil.

Also, also, also, he didn't sympathize at all with my only having one day of vacation left because he is evil.

Happy Thursday

Today has been a Happy day, brought about by the annoyingly productive week I've had at home, while on Spring Break, not at all doing Spring Break things.

I had a to-do list and went through it methodically, knowing that if I stayed to my schedule, by Thursday, today, I'd have Nothing Required of Me To Do. And I did stay to it. And today, having Nothing Required of Me To Do, meant a free, relaxing, day which I filled with nonsensical things like buying new flip flops, hanging out on the circle's lawn with other 'hood peeps talking about being happy, the state of happiness, Buddhism, and funny documentaries not related to Buddhism or happiness at all.

Today was quite relaxing.

As I type this, for instance, I'm so relaxed, that I find my husband's cat Sir Cogsley's, fascination with the clicking of the keyboard and the cursor moving on the screen  amusing, so amusing that I'm not even bothered by the fact his curiosity means he sat his big fluffy butt right in front of the computer screen and I can't really see what I'm typing, unless I cock my head to the right and peer around his extraordinarily long whiskers. 

I managed to write a paltry 852 or so words today, which is better than Monday's paltry 502 or so words. This is fine, it's always like this for me at the beginning of a story or book. The first week or two into it drags ridiculously, and suddenly, about three weeks in, the story really just takes off, and I can write for much longer, mindful, of course, that I only have limited time to write. Gone, for now, are the days when I could write for three or four hours at a stint and not need to be up til midnight to accomplish it. I do dream though! The best writing advice I ever got, and will ever give, is the only thing required of a writer to write, to truly be successful, is to show up at the page. That's it. Show up at the page. Write. Go from there. Once you show up to the page, and put words on it, the story begins to unfold, and, if you know what it is the story means to accomplish,  it will write itself.

I did accomplish something on my Nothing Required of Me To Do day, though. I accomplished getting instruments for Turbo and Bear, and lessons. All in under 40 minutes. See how ridiculously efficient I can be?

I'd already scoped out the instruments, and knew that Turbo was getting an acoustic guitar. I knew, also, that Bear would most likely gravitate to drums, which he did, despite his going on randomly about the violin. I just don't think a violin is a good instrument for a kid who wants to be in a rock-n-roll band. He really wanted the African-style drums, but I told him to start with the normal snare drum, and then if he's still interested in three to six months, we'll pick up the other style drum. We rented his drums, but bought the guitar. Drums are... priccceeeyyyy. He then spent most of the time playing the xylophone bit of the drum kit. Hilarious.

We had our first gorgeous spring day today, well, okay, second. April is a month of wacky weather here. We'll have gorgeous days that tease you into thinking the days of warmth are here to stay, followed by cold rainy days, and occasionally, a snow storm. April. Such a tease.

Ah writing. I find the more I write, then the more I write. How... something! 

What I'd write in a letter to my sister (and aunt) if we all still wrote letters

This eye belongs to a teenager. I rarely see this eye. It's usually rolled into the back of her head when I'm speaking to her. It's blue, I think I'd forgotten that.







Dear (Sister), (Aunt)

How is life on the other side of the Oregon Trail? Raining still? Has your Hans eaten any more socks, headbands or swim shorts? Is your son learning to ignore the rain? Has he seen the sun yet? (Okay, to be fair that was low, of course the sun comes out in Oregon, I believe, in September?)

For my aunt, I'd write: 

How is life Back East? Is it snowing still? Did everyone wear cute spring dresses under big burly winter coats and lacey, brimmed spring hats under umbrellas Easter Sunday? Then I'd ask about Daughter, and see if she had begun to exhibit any pre-teen like qualities such as, shopping preferences, eye-rolling to mom and sleeping in late.

No proper letter is without a weather report:

Colorado is below-normal levels of precipitation. We have sunshine, plenty of it, but none of the snows or rains we so needed. We'll probably be on fire this summer again. I don't believe you've ever tasted fire and ash. Last year, there were a few days when that was what our air tasted like. We could see the smoke and haze in the air, even if we couldn't see the flames. The taste burned our throats. It was a constant reminder, as you walked around accomplishing your daily day to day life, that not far off, forests were burning.  It was surreal sometimes, and sad, but an act of nature, cleaning up and preparing for new growth. But of course, we need snow and rain for that. The children (must point out how they fared and suffered)  had to stay indoors for a couple of days at summer camp last year, and I couldn't run or swim (Poor me!) because of the air quality. I hope we don't have so many fires this year, but with the dryness of this year's winter, I'm not optimistic.

Moving on to the lovely children. All letters discuss children:

The kids are doing mostly well. Teenagers are just difficult, and even though she knows everything and I don't know anything, somehow, somehow she can't figure out how to do the laundry properly. She's currently without any sort of electronics whatsoever - we're hoping it's a positive motivator to actually clean her room and do  her schoolwork. She is quite beautiful, however, and has mastered styling ridiculously long, thick hair, and eye make up, something none of us have ever fully achieved successfully: the cat eye look.

Note in this next paragraph how I am clearly a fan of music. Clearly, I'm a believer in music education, and by default, the arts. In your mind, I'm wearing a breezy skirt and eyelet cap-sleeved shirt sitting under a tree by a creek listening to nature. I'm not, but after I post this, I'm going to shop for breezy skirts and eyelet cap-sleeved shirts.

I'm taking each of the boys to the music store on Main. There's two music stores on Main right next to each other. I'm taking Turbo to the guitar store so he can pick up a classical guitar and play around, to see if that's the instrument he wishes to learn. The next day, I'm taking Bear to the music store with a greater variety of instruments. He has expressed interest in a Flute, Drums, a French Horn and a Tuba. I'm hoping he chooses Drums or Flute. Why I'm hoping for drums, I'm unsure.

I'm having a nice break from work this week, though mostly I'm doing a lot of little odds and ends that need to get done around the house. Steam clean carpets anyone? Anyone? Well, it's got to be done.

My writing's going well, though no one will see or hear of any of it for at least three months. I'm a big fan now of keeping my stories between my head and the page. It's too easy to 'write' the book in conversation.

That's all that's going on here in Colorado.

Hope your having a great spring in (Oregon) (New Hampshire),

All the best,

La La

Spring Break, Day 2

I have this little list of things I want to accomplish over spring break.

Thing 1: Door for daughter's room.
Accomplished - picking it up tomorrow, and some new hinges.
Installation - Husbear.

Thing 2: Steam clean carpets and mop floors.
HOW EXCITING! This is the biggest plan for Spring Break.
Yeah, I know how to live it up.

Thing 3: Empty out boys room and reorganize it. Buy blinds for their room. They knocked their curtains down, again, and for good. /sigh /boys.

Thing 4: Fill up Bear's bike tires.

See, this is my spring break.

It's not as much of a break as I would like, and not nearly as springy out as I would hope, but I leave my afternoons and evenings open, so it's been very relaxing. It's Day 2, but the weather just is rainy. Yesterday, it was chilly. Certainly not, get on a bike and go on a ride weather. Or, go strolling about aimlessly with your friends weather.  Tomorrow's supposed to get nice, so I'll get everything done early. Then I'll go on a run! Then, I"ll hang outside with the kids!

Thursday and Friday are my  play days. I'm determined to have Thing 2 and 3 done by Thursday/Friday. I'll fill up Bear's tires when ti's gorgeous out.

I'm publishing this post, but I'm not tweeting it. It's more a dreary to do list than a blog.

Ah well.

Time to write!

When Irish eyes are smiling

Then it usually means they're crying, that's what my mom used to say. The Irish are really happy, but really, they're really really sad, and their happiness is born from accepting that they're all very sad. I have a childhood school friend who, if she's reading this, will laugh at me.

But of course she would. She's Irish.

My mom loved being Irish, and everything about Ireland and the Irish. I think she resonated more with that side of her than any other. Her maiden name was Fair, I suppose that helped.

She used to sing tons of Irish songs to us all, I only remember the main lines... my favorite, aside from Danny Boy, was the one about... something about someone dropping something down stairs... yah, I know, I should have paid more attention. But the old classics were all there. You take the high road... etc

Today, normally, we'd have boiled cabbage and corn beef. I say boiled cabbage, but I think it was boiled corned beef, too, I have distinctive memories of everything being boiled in a big pot together, however, I may not be remembering correctly. Boiled corned beef doesn't sound appetizing. I may be misremembering.

I tossed around the notion multiple times yesterday and today of having Corned Beef and Cabbage. It was always important to my mother to celebrate the small holidays, as well as the big, to remember cultures, to break up the seasons, to just have fun... but I don't recall really enjoying corned beef and cabbage. Not really. I even tried some at a local Irish pub (our one and only local Irish pub, mind you) and... mmm... not so much.

My sister has dodged this by deciding to make 'Irish Stew' which remarkably resembles many other non-Irish stews, but hey, she's making an effort. I bet she's even wearing green.

The one thing I do miss though, are the St. Patrick Day festivities. We don't have a small-town parade with streets lined with people drinking green shakes from McDonalds, or a fun day of you know, Irish fun stuff...

Nope, the only thing we got going on round these parts is that the local Irish Pub will probably be packed, and my son is wearing a green shirt. He went out of his way to find one, because it's St. Patrick's Day -- there be Irish in that boy, I do swear.

Not his brother, though, he's not even wearing a shirt yet and will, at some point today, ask me what day it is... as in.. day of the week... like is it Saturday or Sunday?....

So wherever you be in the land, Happy St. Patrick's Day!

p.s. if you haven't heard Cmdr. Hadfield sing Danny Boy from space, you're missing out.

The day I don't write

Really, I should know by now.

I have this lovely routine of writing in my journal every morning. It helps get the junk out of my head, sets me up for the day, and helps me stay in the present.

I missed today.

Now it's 11 p.m., I need to be wide awake and up and at em and early tomorrow, but instead I'm writing on my blog, because the junk in my head from this morning saturated with junk in my head from this afternoon.

Oh the thinking about work, the thinking about this, that, the other thing, all the things that don't matter. The things that will be forgotten, the things that won't be, the things I did, the things I didn't do, the things I may have not done quite right, things things things... in my mind.

So I'm trying to regain a sense of presence, of moment.

All I can come up with so far is I'm annoyed that I'm letting things get to me, knowing full well those things are small, petty and shall pass, as most things do. I'm annoyed I didn't write in my journal. I have a goal with that journal, a destination, a journey!

So how to get rid of the things roaming in my head, to stay in the present?

Lets see.

My Mermaid teal colored nails are just long enough now that most of my typing is by nail rather than fingertip. They look cool,  because they are polished this sea-green color apparently found in Mermaid's tears, however, it's exceptionally impractical, and annoying, so clearly, I am not a person who enjoys long nails. I don't even enjoy the sound. I prefer the sound of actual finger pads on keys rather than nails. There is a subtle difference! It's in the strike. The strike of a nail is harder. This matters people, this matters. I shall be visiting my local nail salon to rectify the matter this weekend, I hope.

That is my moment, my present. My daughter is upstairs not in bed, but cleaning her room, in hopes of being able to spend some of her time off with this boy that lingers outside our house with her in the afternoon, after school. Hmmm......

I hear the sounds of a house settling at night. A snoring husband. The ever-present noise of the heater pumping out air or heat or, when it's feeling impish, what seems like cold air, but I'm assured by the thermometer is heat. Water running through pipes from teenager who's not in bed. Cats. I don't hear cats. This is because my cats are ninjas.

All of this is my now, my present. The recessed lights in the dining area are on, but the lights here in the living room are off. It's really just one room, but whatever. Townhome living, it'll do.

I'm on my green couch, which we've had since right before the boys were born, and it's well worn! I'm wearing a shirt that may, possibly, be just as old. It's comfortable.

I'm contemplating going to bed now because this has relaxed me, and reminded me that things pass and after they pass, they are often forgotten, and that this present, this moment, matters.

So, g'night, all, sleep tight.

Teal colored nails clacking on a keyboard - who would have thought that would put me to sleep?

Last night's gift

I fell asleep to the images of the frozen creek bed from yesterday. The creek  played in my mind. I was either back at the creek, or it came to me. Seeing the creek in the shadows of the boulders and winding through the ponderosa pines (I think that's what they are) through the filter of my mind's memory was amazing. It was meditative and calming, restorative and mindful. It made the day worth the sprained knee!

Winter trails

I swore I wouldn't let winter stop me from enjoying the area I live in, and I swore I wouldn't lock myself in. I then, of course, hibernated most of December and all of January, but really, who likes January? It's my hibernation month. I can't bear most January's, and am perfectly happy hibernating. My goal for next January is to get over my dislike of January. But, today...

We went on our first trail-hike of the 2013 year! The Ann U. White Trail that was all dry and bare in September is now a frozen winter wonderland!

Smile, no matter what, smile. If we smile, eventually
she'll put the  )#*)*  camera away and leave us alone.

Yes, that is snow, and yes, the high today was 39 degrees. But really, altitude seems to make things feel 'warmer' ... except in the shade, and whatever, these are Colorado boys - if it's 20 degrees or higher, than coats are optional.

The important thing is, we have conquered Creek.

One of the shade-dappled areas.

We were the only ones on the trail, and it was kinda eerie. Very little sunlight broke through the shaded areas, which landed it a sort of meditative quality, a particularly cold one combined with the snow and ice on the ground. It was beautiful. 

Bear declared "Isn't Nature amazing?" Why yes, son, yes it is.

Face in the rock, wishing
the wind would talk less.

We heard the wind talking, not a gentle whisper but a constant, urgent conversation through the trees and creek. I always wonder what it is the wind tells the boulders and the creeks and the trees, what is it the wind says? The wind must be important, because with its urging, trees bend, creeks flow faster and rocks take notice.

The boys got to cross this creek many times, traversing the ice, jumping across rocks and leaping through the running water. Its winter coverings made it more interesting than our September visit.

Battles. Every. Single. Trail. There has
to be battles... and lava.

It was a great day out, and it's why I appreciate these days off from work and school so much - they allow for adventure and some freedom. Well, and to be honest, who doesn't appreciate days off from work and school?

I also feel I'm doing a good thing - teaching the boys to just go out and 'be' in nature. They're walking, playing, imagining, running, sliding, battling (always the battling), climbing and exploring. 

They're spontaneously curious about the dark spaces under boulders (no... no don't go in...aack), the water flowing under the ice, the sapling growing in the middle of the creek (poor planning) and the sounds - the wind, the birds.  

They're exploring, and connecting with nature, and how fortunate are they to live in a place surrounded by nature, and such nature it is! 

Here's the full photo album. 

February! Hide the Groundhog!

So it's February!

Yesterday,  I believe, is Groundhog Day.

He didn't see his shadow. I've set up mirror.

It's really silly, though.

But February! Yay! The last month before spring peeks in and tempts us in March.

The season to look out at the dead, messy, not-properly-cleared-out-for-the-winter garden and start thinking that this next spring, THIS NEXT SPRING, the garden will be magnificent - it will look like it does in your mind in February when you're planning it.

Am I planning it?

Of course I am! I'm going to attempt a cutting garden in the weed patch! I'm going to plant Turnips, because I know they'll grow!

I am going to pick one of those 'pre-planned, can't accidentally mix/match bad things' Better Homes and Gardens gardens. Maybe this year, we'll go with 'oriental spice mix' or 'strawberries and pumpkins forever' I don't know.

I'm going to be sooo much better this year!
I'm going to take that week of spring break, and prepare the gardens!

See? See why February is so amazing! It's the month of dreaming.

Oh, you thought it was the month of love.

Well, if you must. But I have to say, I'm kinda over Feb. 14. I did, however, in a nod to love, Red Roses and the traditional colors of red, pink and white that seem to permeate the first half of February,  purchase flowers of red, pink, and white for the house.

I still believe in flowers. I love flowers.

I want to live in an English Cottage with an English Cottage Garden, but I digress.

I associate February, for some bizarre reason, with brilliant blue and frost white, with a sharp red. All cold and frosty and bright.

This is the point where I should put a picture in my post. People like pictures.

I call it: Sunday Morning Mug O' Coffee on Journal 

I'm hoping to be better with my writing this month. I was beating myself up until I realized I had created a plan in my head, and had been inadvertently following it. I dedicated the entire month of January (Okay, Okay, OKAAAAYYY one of my bestest best friends and I dedicated the entire month of January to clearing out my house and cleaning it...) and I've mostly done that. I've got electronics in the basement, my daughter's room to hit today with a tornado (a slow tornado, I've got a cold and am sneezy) and only have the boys room and garage (Ha, ONLY!).

I'm really motivated for the boys' room, because we'll be getting new beds, a canvas for Ashton (to test my -  he acts like an artist, therefore he is an artist - theory) to paint whatever color he wants on it, and some cheapie desks whose destruction won't offend me.

I can't wait til the summer, we're going to paint the bedrooms! FUN! (wait...)

See, I digressed again.. the point is, I've done that. Diligently. In my head, February was the month where I'd have time to write and work on my February quilt, which I call 'inspirations of Lavender' (I just made that up) and lo and behold, I do! I DO have time! Because I'm not cleaning all the time! Weeee... so February, you can judge my writing by my blogging. When I write I blog. If I'm not blogging, and you know me, remind me.

Now, I just need to find a way to slip out to coffee shops EVERY DAY... ha ha ahh..

And yes, I've started the Artists Way, because I always write when I do it. And, also, for my friend who's like, hey, um COUGH COUGH AHEM RUNNING... yes, yes it's time to pretend it's warm enough to run.... aaaaaannnnndddd can you tell I have spring fever? The boys and I planned a February hike. And the biking, oh, the bike rides!

The thing is, February is a short month. Spring, for all intents and purposes, is tomorrow.

Buh-bye winter. Buh-bye cold. I heartily dismiss you.

**Note: When I dismiss winter, I tend to dress in spring clothes, so if it's just snowed six-10 inches, but I'm wearing canvas sneakers, some khakis and a light spring-y sweater, it's my way of pretending winter's not here. And while I'll pretend I"m not cold, I assure you, I'll be freezing.

Flowers in January

I love fresh flowers.
I used to buy myself fresh flowers as a treat, just because.

They're pretty, they brighten every room, and they are, well, cheery.

Flowers are Cheery!

After the break, a friend who was watching my cats offered to help me completely gut my house of all excess clutter -- so that my life, that of a mom with three kids, before we get all judgey and wonder why a friend would feel such a strong desire to help clean out a house... how messy could it be! -- and for the price of some still-owed dinners, spent a few weekends (and a few more to come, yay!) helping me gut and purge.

Purged: I have made four or five trips to Good Will since returning from Oregon after Christmas. Four or five trips where my truck has been filled with donations. Filled, to overflowing. Filled to the point of 'okay, remember, no backing up because you can't see out the back window.'

Gutted: Lets just say no one has a need for Tumeric, expiration date 2007, a dusty Pampered Chef gingerbread train mold from pre-2000 and a bag of flax, circa 2006.

The entire first level of my house is clutter free. Everything has a place. There's room. My cabinets, oh the room!

So, being thrilled (who wouldn't be) at how not cluttered/messy/crazy my living areas appeared to be, I've introduced flowers.


At first, the flowers were just on the table, but then I realized, they are even cheerier, and make the room and spaces even brighter, when they are spread out a bit.

Just a bit of color

The downstairs sewing/working desk.The counter.

My biggest motivation to finish the upstairs is the smallest of reasons.

I want to add flowers upstairs, too.

It's the smallest things that bring the greatest moments. And just looking at the flowers makes me feel a bit better, a bit cheerier.

Yes, even the bathroom

Saturday night, with the cats

It's been a full week practically since I rambled!

It's been a crazy week. People are crazy, I'm thermonuclear, apparently, (alas, every day, I work to be the river. Rivveeer, I'm a river...)

I'd tell you all about how much fun I'm having with my fat cat on my lap and the other cat all leaned up against me, because that's exciting, being all cuddled up on the couch with the cats. I mean, what else would you rather be doing?

This is my weekend.

It's a bit sad, right?

That's my Saturday night. I've got Walking Dead on, because it's kinda addicting, and some tea, because I'm seriously coming down with a cold from the IT guy who came to work with the plague on a day when our co-workers were acting like crazed asylum inmates, so despite his plagueness, we locked ourselves in our shared-office.  Umm, or perhaps we were the crazed asylum inmates locked in... either way, I can feel this cold coming.

Happily, my cats are keeping me warm, because it's January.

January.

Still.

Can't. Take. It. Need. Spring.

Flowers!

I'll buy flowers!

And, sadly, I'm so tired, because of this cold thing that's coming, I can't even talk about all the excitement about getting rid of six years of boxes with the help of my friends. Six years of boxes... take up a lot of room. Okay, they were empty, but there were a lot, and we had to break them down, and we took them to the recycling place. It was kinda liberating. I dislike having so much clutter, so much 'stuff.' I'm so excited that I've de-cluttered and tossed so much 'excess' out. I'm excited to keep going. Except tonight.

Tonight, not so much.

Tonight, I'm on the couch with cats drinking tea, cuz it's Saturday night.

It was all going well... until

The garbage disposal stopped disposing.

The beans simmering on the ovens had no matching hot dogs.

The milk for the cereal, which replaced the not-hot-dogs-and-beans ran out.

Everyone wanted eggs when I just wanted to eat my beans-on-toast-with eggs.

The game on the computer crashed.

There weren't enough blankets and the bed wasn't fluffy enough... what do you mean, the bed wasn't fluffy enough, you're a nine year old boy!

The overtired boy who wanted to sleep alone left only to have the other overtired boy who never wants to sleep alone follow him.

At least the teenage girl fixed the garbage disposal and did her homework!

And, and at least I wasn't Edith, on Downton Abbey, to be left at the altar, /omgiosh.

So it was every one for themselves and in the end, in the end, the teen girl chilled and didn't fight with the boys, and the boys did what all little boys do, even little boys who are nine years old and big boys do, they crawled into mom's bed.

And I, the mom,  am doing what all moms do, giving up on any notion of an actual good night's sleep!

Sometimes... sometimes the little boys win.

Most Boring Post Ever

This will be a boring post.

Do not read if you expect or desire to be entertained.

I've successfully spent gift card money finally!

I didn't want to purchase anything with you know, my money, and I didn't want to spend any of the gift cards I had until after I'd fully purged my closet, and ensured I didn't gain 20 pounds over the holiday!

Success! But I've seen a preview of spring fashion, and I'm pastel-erized. Pastels. All. Pastels. How horrifying! I dislike pastels. Especially springs' favorite new shade, 'mint-doesn't-look-good-on-anyone-but-we-keep-bringing-it-back.'

It's been a quiet Saturday, there may have been a nap.

A three hour nap.

It happens. We Skyped with Husbear, which always cheers the kiddos up, and I'm doing my best to not look at Oxfords online, since I have no more gift cards and a great weakness for Oxford-style shoes and boots. Now that I own a pair of awesomely epic boots, my sights are turning to Oxfords, despite the no-budget-for-Oxfords thing.

Le Sigh.

Time for some Rick Grimes, because nothing makes a Saturday night like a good Zombie fest.

Rick Grimes zombie tests are seldom boring, unlike my posts, which oftentimes are.

G'Night.

Huszombieland Day 8

Don't know what happened to the past few days - it all seemed to flow into one long day.

It was Tuesday, now it's Friday night.

All sorts of High School drama unfolded at Drama Girl's school - a threat, and it was all under control but then they cancelled school and some kid is going to have his life seriously ruined once they find him.

Was a zombie at work, seems to have worked out well. There isn't enough coffee on some days!
But then Husbear, the moment I opened my personal computer at work, skyped in! He had a bottle of wine and was relaxing in his hotel room.

I was four hours of work left to go at 3:30 on a Friday night with children at home waiting to be fed and entertained, and he's reposeful with wine and no children and a wine trip tomorrow!

.....ARGH. Days like this, I want to join the Zombies.

Or at least go hang with Rick Grimes...

 It's been exactly one week.

Two more to go...

Huszombieland Day 5

The cats made their first attempt last night. On the stairs. Barely escaped. The white fur of the young Cogs gleamed in the moonlight and gave them away. Still haven't located Queen Ninja. She is far more clever than the rest.

Dry shampoo not the miracle elixir promised to so many... hair is limp, lifeless and may drown in its oiliness. Will see what effect it has on my abilities to survive the day.  Drank extra-strong brew to compensate. How long can I live on extended dosages of dark brewed coffee?

The boys are dressed and ready to go. Not sure what they're up to, can't get to the bottom of their maniacal scheming... they are being so good, but, the question lingers... why? Why now, when never before?

One of them is singing, I can hear it, a happy, joyful voice - it's eerie.

Huszombieland: all is calm

Husbear is off for three weeks to another country where there's great cheese, wine and scarves. Yes, France.

I'm home with the horde. It's like I've entered an apocalyptic wasteland where my only chance of survival is to give up and turn into a zombie. 

Wait, that may have been last week.

Day 1, a Friday, and this is important to note, a non-school day:  went like this:

Daddy gets on plane. Same ole same ole.
Mommy distracts everyone with rad viewing of Indiana Jones and Raiders of the Lost Ark. Pizza and soda for all!

Day 2: Weekend

K kids, go play video games.
All day.
Victory! Go parenting!

Day 3: Weekend

Grocery shopped, cooked a dinner and successfully achieved bath time. 
I'm awesome at this mom thing. I rock.

Day 4: 

Monday.
We know weekends are easy. Open the door, and let the kids go. Parenting lite. But this is serious. This is a school day in January with no sign of vacation until Martin Luther King Day.

Okay, lets keep it calm, peeps. Lets not do anything crazy. Lets pretend everything is normal, nothing has changed, and Daddy's home, he's just upstairs on his computer, invisible.

/whistle.

Get Drama Girl up and out door on time, make grumbly noises at the amount of sugar teen girl dumps in her coffee.
Get boys up.
Shower. (A win for all!)
Boys are ready and out door and at school on time...
Look around for signs of alternate universes colliding.. nope, it's really true.
Day goes by. Smoothly.

As of right now, Dinner is simmering on the stove waiting on rice, the boys are calm and everything is mellow. All is calm and quiet.
.....

Day 4 - smooth sailing... too smooth, too quiet...
I shudder for the days to come...

But, as a lovely angel said, appearing in front of me on my way out the door after work -- be calm, for maybe, maybe it will be smooth sailing, and will be calm. For. Three. Whole. Weeks. 

No one will meltdown. The routines of waking, school, homework, dinner and bed will be maintained in an orderly, routine, non-yelly, non-shouty fashion.

All will be calm. All will be bright....

January the 1st, of the Year 2013

The year is starting off mellow, and that's always a good sign. No need to jump right into change, turmoil, drama, etc etc. I finished up Project Life (that photo album/journaling thing) for the year, and am continuing with it, since it's such an easy way to manage well, memories.

I'm going to focus on the every day moments this time, and see how that works! I love photographing random moments that would normally pass, where no one's posing, the face and cheesy grin isn't the center of the picture, and there's no 'event,' just... life. I am not doing 'resolutions' since they're silly. I am instead refocusing. November through December is always a rough time for my routine, because I've got birthdays right before Turkey Week, right before the holidays.

 I look forward to January as a 'chill' month, where mostly I hibernate a bit, get in shape for spring running, gardening, and outdoorsing, as I like to refer to it, and dreaming, oh the dreaming in January of the months of March, April and May. How I love to dream of spring! I'll be doing that shortly! 

This year, you'll (my invisible readers, my four friends-who-read-my-blog, and the random family member that logs in to check the blog) see a lot of comments on my writing, my 'the artist's' way'ing, running and exercising and random pics of every day moments.

 I'm looking forward to 2013, and the months ahead. Though it's a new year, it feels like a continuation of the best of 2012.

 Happy New Year - this year, live as well as you can, laugh often, mind less and, above all, most importantly of all, do carry on.

Happy 2013!

It's hard to believe that another year has passed, only it's not, really.

It's even less harder to believe that my last post was Nov. 21.

Where does time go?

It just flies....

This Christmas we traveled to Oregon to see my sister and her husband, and Ty, lovely, hilarious, chatty, Ty.

I think the boys might have been a bit much for him, but he was a true sport!

Here are the pics from the trip!

On any given Wednesday

I was going to take the boys on a hike today to Button Rock, but, um, I slept through the alarm.

I love hiking in the morning, when everyone has energy. We postponed it til Saturday or Sunday, depending. Probably Saturday.

Anyone wanna come?

Today, I'm going to finish my coffee, and escape to a coffee shop to write.

Yep. I'm livin' the dream today! In an ideal world, that would be my every day ha, but hey, what can one do?

I'm lucky enough to have a job this year that lets me have time off.

I feel every blog post should have a photo, something that captures and inspires. So here you are:

My morning inspiration:

So I've been doing the creative journal, and have discovered that writing three pages daily helps me write later, because I think, oh, man, I wrote three pages, but none of the words are toward my stories (I have a short story and a novel I'm working on at the moment). So then I have to carve out time to write words toward my stories. I can't stand the thought of having written, but not having any of the words progress. Whatever works!

My artist hour is going to involve finally sewing the binding. Husbear wants his quilt, as does my sister. She doesn't have a name in the blog. I'll have to name her so I can continue writing about her.

Lets call her "Wispy Rain Mist" because she's living in Portland, Or.

So Wispy Rain Mist has been bugging me about her quilt that I'm making. I doubt I'll finish it by Christmas, but I'm going to try to get both her top and Husbear's top done by then.

It really depends on how good I am at managing my me-time.

**Someone, please help me find some me-time.

Oh, and some good book pics:

Raising Happiness - great book, I'll have to write about our first family meeting and failed custard tart dessert maybe... maybe not.

City of Bone, Angels, Glass, CatNip... whatever, I made it through the first two and a half before being annoyed by 17 year olds that are really 60 year olds in 17 year old bodies. Think I may be done with YA for a while. BUT, they are good reads if you're not yet jaded, cynical and raising a teenager the same age as the heroes and heroines because then you'd know how ridiculously fantastical the stories are.

p.s. This post is dedicated to Awesome Aunt, who tells me that she reads my writing, and thinks I'm funny.

Pre-Thanksgiving No-Plans

This week, as in you know, the first day and a morning of the week, we haven't done much. Mostly, I'm taking time to enjoy the not-work I'm at, catch up on some writing, hang with the family and prepare for Turkey Day and the post-turkey-day-black-friday morning.

These shots were taken on Sunday. I totally adore them.

This was taken on a Sunday bike ride with my friend. We had a crazy day of biking and coffee and fun. Turbo loves his bike rides and the coffee shop.
In case there isn't anyone who doesn't know, this guy is a quirky fellow. I took some candid shots while we were conversing at Red Frog. Eight is a very serious age. And giant cookies are very important.

If you're wondering where Bear is, well, once we get Bear on a bike, we can enjoy his company at Red Frog. In the meantime, I'm planning a nice hike with the kids tomorrow, and we'll see some candid Bear shots.

Colorado Fall

This is where I run, bike, and live.

It's so gorgeous!
I didn't have to drive anywhere for any of it. It's just, where I am...

Beauty in the every day places should be appreciated every day.

Upper left, part of my running trail. Upper right, a resting point on my bike trip.
Bottom picture, view of the briddge, part of our bike path. 

Saturday night write - Clack

Clackety clack Husbear reminded me that to do what I need to do, what I want to do, I need to put the time in.

That being said, I believe for Christmas, he's going to buy me a clackety mechanical keyboard that makes a lot less clackety noise than my clackety keyboard that I have now.

I love mechanical keyboards. For me, it's helpful, to have to put some weight on the keys, to feel them clack clack clack...

I've started a writing once a day challenge with me, myself and I, think I might have mentioned that. I count any type of writing if it's with some purpose for form, and the clackety clackness of typing on a mechanical keyboard helps. I love the clack sounds.

Clack clack... it makes me want to type more. I'm a much faster typist with the clackety keyboards. What I'm really hoping for is a ninja keyboard, it has a kinda pure clackety sound, but never mind my geeky obsession with keyboards, back to the point.

Because Husbear is right, it's about the time. I know how to write, how to put words together, I'm clever with some of my words, funny with others. I've been told my words make people laugh. A few times, I've been told, my words made people cry. I can evoke emotion. I have succeeded, then, for the words I write cause people to react, to feel, to gain something from the thoughts I express in the form of written expression. It's been too long, too long since I focused on a single project and wrote, daily. The last time I wrote daily, I wrote a book. Clackety clack every day, and I turned out a novel. No, it's not published, or been sent out, for various reasons. Mainly, for me, it was a rough draft of the process of writing. No, that one is not meant for the world. Maybe some day. But not now.

My brilliant goal, my brilliant idea, my highest achieving self, says, get up early at 5 a.m. and use that hour and a half you usually waste away in sleep! Why sleep! You can get so much done if you just dont' sleep, as Turbo and Bear explained to me when I found them at 4 a.m. playing on their computer...

The problem is I like sleep. It's a good thing there are other hours in the day.

I typed that last line, and this one, JUST because my keyboard is so clackety. It's why the desktop is better for writing for me. MacTops don't have clackety keyboards.

It irritates Husbear that I call my Mac ProBook a MacTop, but really, that's what it is.

Admittedly, this post is a bit clack clack clack, clackety clackish.

Originally, I was going to write about the mediation cushions for Turbo I've been compelled to purchase. Maybe I'll save that one for another day.

Happy 16th

She's 16 today.

Sixteen years ago, she, my first daughter, was born. Her.

This one. The one above, in the photo. That one.

Her daddy came home just in time for her to be born. He left later, and came home six months later. We met him at the airport, late at night. She laughed.

We moved to England, and tried to figure out the whole parenting thing.

She doesn't remember, but there were walks in British parks. Trips to the market in Bury St. Edmunds. Strolls through Cambridge's cobbled streets. I went mad with British child fashion for a while. She can't remember.

We moved and spent a winter in North Dakota. I took her for a walk on a sunny cold day where the snow glittered - we slipped and slided on the ice. I wrote a lovely story in a loft there, and she went to preschool for the first time. She didn't like it.

 We moved to Virginia and she played with our friends'  ferrets and hung out at work while we made games and hung out with other kids who's parents made games.

We moved to Washington, where she was a big sister, and, as a sort of consolation for being forced to be the big sister of two babies, got her a kitten, Ariel, who is still around: her cat and no one else's.

Somewhere, through it all, she kept growing. Now, here we are, five years in Colorado, and she's 16.

Six. Teen.

We took her to Outback Steakhouse - our family tradition is to go out to eat to the kids' favorite restaurant on their birthdays (we're crap at parties). She had a nice steak, because she's 16.

I had two glasses of wine. Because she's 16.

Seriously.

How did 16 happen? All those years, 16 years. Oh dear, dear.

So, happy 16th to my 16 year old. Happy 16th to me.

I may just have another glass of wine.

It's November NaNoWriMo

I'm not doing NaNoWriMo, but I am doing everyday writing.

I've sort of done the NaNo writing, but I decided it's best to get into the practice of writing, more than it is to eek out something amazing. Though, I am sure some of the works do become amazing. If you're purely writing something, it will come across as pure, unless, of course, you can't write.

In which case, drawing or painting is always an option.

Although, the truth is, if you love doing something, but do it poorly, it's okay. As long as you're income isn't dependent on it. For instance, I love drawing and painting. I love pretending my drawing and paintings are good, too, however, I'm awful at it. The random studies on chairs and my kitchen will never see any light, ever. I'm not an artist, though, I'm a writer.  The daily writing is why I'm blogging at 7 a.m. instead of getting ready for work. I find I'll write more throughout the day if I write a bit in the morning.

Plus, it's hard to get ready for work when Husbear is hogging the bathroom. The myth about women taking longer showers is debunked by this singularly, excessively scrubbed and groomed red bear.

Normally, I'll attach a picture that goes along with the theme of the post. Today, all I have is this:

Husbear, modeling the quilt my friend made for me.

It's my B-day and I'll Gogh if I want to...

Monday is my birthday really, but my friends and I had a day out in Denver.

We went to this fabulous breakfast place, Snooze Eatery, in Denver, and it was pretty much the only food we needed all day, because... yum... Of course, it would be ridiculous to let the fact we had eaten this huge breakfast to stop us from getting dessert later... 

We went to see Van Gogh's exhibit, which I thought was great, and, to show my appreciation for his honest art, I will be purchasing two mugs depicting two of his most famous paintings. And who says I can't appreciate art?

That's not fair, though, I found the exhibit inspiring, and now I'm searching for a biography on van Gogh, because now I'm utterly fascinated, but not by his life, but his works and his words. I found some of his quotes wonderful, and words that every artist, writer, person seeking for more, should become familiar with. One of my favorites;

“I am always doing what I cannot do yet, in order to learn how to do it.”

― Vincent van Gogh

My friends are awesome, and I always enjoy spending time with them. I've claimed them as my friends shortly after I moved to Colorado (to their dismay), and I can't imagine a world without them. This isn't true, I can imagine my life without them. I've always relied on my friends to keep me here, to not allow me to drift in the natural direction my mind tends to drift, which is, last time I drifted, somewhere just past the outer moons of Saturn, I believe.... I need my friends, they are my anchors. I always dread my drifting, my difference, my not-always-here-ness will bore them, but so far, they're still here, anchoring.  

And they are ridiculously silly. One accepts what one must...

This is at the Denver Art Museum, on our way out. The real surprise at the Denver Art Museum was the El Anutsui exhibit. They called it a retrospective, and going through it, I was amazed at his ability to capture history in such an amazing, unique way. He used bottle caps and wood and clay and glass and normal materials heaped in trash piles or found all around, and told stories! Anyhow, it was a pleasant surprise, and I enjoyed that exhibit as much as the Van Gogh exhibit. Of course I would, I am always interested in how stories are told, whatever the medium. I am, I think, more interested in telling stories than simply just writing, and I love the stories his art spoke.

Saturday was a great day, but it's really my friend, Denise, who (she made me an epic quilt everyone in my family is trying to steal)  pretty much planned this for me, because, true to my typical style, I couldn't decide, make up my mind, or figure out what we should do, only that we should go out and spend time together. 

The best of me has always been the people around me, my friends, my family, my ridiculously fat and round cat... and this picture of faces and food and stuff pretty much sums it all up:

Dear friends, you're awesome. Le Pizza.

Oh, the Creative Life

Isn't it funny how the most creative people struggle with actually doing the creative work?
**for those people who are creative and don't struggle with doing the creative work, I mean the rest of us...

I do a lot of creative work. Just not MY creative work. And so begins Day 1, Week 1, Version 3, of the Creative Way 12-step, er, week, program. I love it, I've gone halfway through it before, and it always helps - it works for me. It just makes me better in my creative life. This time, I'm going to go through it all! My favorite part are the daily 3 pages, and the weekly artist dates.

I count yesterday's bike ride as an artist date.

Yesterday, I went on an hour long bike ride by my lonesome self. I stopped at one point, 30 minutes in, to take stock of where I was. I mean, I knew where I was, but I didn't realize, really, where I was - not far from civilization, but alone in a desolate area. Alone in a desolate area, but one filled with life. A dry place, with a pond and a splash of colored leaves on trees in the distance. It was so beautiful, and the place, the moment, the time, instantly calmed my mind, my stresses, my worries and made me feel a part of this strange beauty, as if everything else that existed mattered less than that I was in this one place on a paved trail through Colorado terrain.

It is not a lot, it is everything.

I'm not the greatest photographer in the world, but I like capturing moments and feelings. This one says everything to me about where I am both in my head, in my heart, and in the world.

I think that one of the hardest things to do in life is to remain true to yourself, because it requires truly knowing what that truth is - shutting out the should-dos, the must-dos, the expectations, the projected desires, the whimsical fancies that distract - how do you find that truth? How do you find you? It's a lonely process, because it requires withdrawing, turning in, closing your eyes and listening to a voice you probably haven't heard since you were 8, when you may not have known you, but at least every moment was honest. If we live honestly, truthfully, then every moment can be an honest moment, and every action a true action. This way, we can live a life true to ourselves. I Think we also have many truths at different points of our life, because we change, and that is okay, to recognize this change, but there is one true me, just as there is one true you, and one true everyone.

Pictures capture moments in time and place, but sometimes they capture meaning. This picture resonates with a truth I seek, a clarity of mind I desire, a spirit of serenity I long for, place of belonging so palpable I'm surprised I'm not still there - a cluster of long grasses swaying (or, maybe I am still there).

This is not a beginning, but a new search, a new journey sparked by all the other journeys in my past. I have a destination, I'm just not quite sure of the way, or what I will find when I get there.

Hello Saturn

My mom was an astrologer, and obsessed with Saturn. Saturn changed signs recently, and has moved into my native sun sign, for three eyars.

I don't know what sign Saturn moved into in my chart, though I suppose I could look it up. What I do recall is my mom saying that this was the age where writing would be big for me.

Maybe it's superstitious, I don't know, but I'm going through the Artist's Way creative journey (again, ha!), and I've resolved myself to doing the work, and not the judging. I'm so great at judging, that I never actually finish. I'm over that.

I'm really motivated to start, but it's Husbear's birthday tomorrow, and we were out doing things he wanted to do, and now is the first time I've been able to sit down and write a word. Since I'm too tired to write a story, I thought I'd just do what every sane, capable and working writer does, and write.... words, regardless. We never know, as writers, what words will be the words that bring the next idea, story, meaning. We never know, as writers, what our words will bring. To not write them is to receive nothing, to give nothing.  So I'm writing down the words.

And working very hard to not worry about anything else.

Wildly abandoned

I had a 1/2 co-worker, 1/2 friend - you know, that in between stage when you realize you wouldn't mind spending time with your co-worker outside of work - anyhow 1/2 friend, suggested that I was funny (ha!) and could toootaally write funny things... if only I would. Except not everything is funny, but, I did think she had a point. I'm not good at funny, buuuuttt...

She got me to thinking, she's right, because I think, but don't write, because when I write, I self-edit. Writers should never self-edit the first draft. It's the hazard of being trained to write to deadline. They do matter, but when you get to the point that you're automatically gauging word count and messaging, in a story about fairies and trolls, well, that can work against you.

So I'm going to begin writing with wild abandon. Just wildly writing.

There's no real topic, just the things that occur that I can comment on without my self-editor making it nice.

Today, we're going to write with wild abandon about the moment you realize the kid on the playing field, the one on the soccer field, the one running halfway across the field into the menacing faces of the other team to kick the ball away and down the line, that kid, he's not yours.

Nope.

Nor is the goalie who takes a ball in the face for the team.


The kid who's running, always running to the ball, chasing it but never quite catching it, you have to admire the passion - one day, he'll get that ball. He could be good, once his skill matches his heart, and one day he will....


He's not yours, either.

No, yours is playing midfield. That position on the field for kids who aren't aggressive enough to be forwards, plowing the ball through the other team. It's not for fierce defenders ready to be stampeded by an onslaught of opposing team members as they form a wave headed right for your goal. And he'll never be the goalie. Dreamers don't do well as goalies.

He's a midfielder.

It's his favorite position.

And it's okay, if the ball is across the field. The other midfielder can get it. I mean, he's one of two midfielders. He knows this. He's busy, and his teammates look like they've got it under control.  No need to go exerting yourself, charging across the field when the sun's already beating down on you, if you don't need to.

He's patient, and eventually, the ball will get to him. Then, he can kick it, maybe, if someone doesn't run across the field and kick it first.

That's your kid.

And it's totally fine. Your boy is only 8 and he's having fun. You don't need to tell him to attack the ball - that's the cry of today's coaches -- attack, attack the ball, attack it... He knows that attacking the ball is the ideal. Attack...atttaaaaackkk... aaah.

You don't need to yell at him to run when he's walking to the ball. The coach is already telling him to hustle, hustle... (Good job, coach, letting him get some play time!)  Hustle! Hustle! It's okay. You just need to let him join the team, and learn... whatever it is he can learn. And it totally counts if he stops the ball because he happens to be standing in the place the ball lands.

Maybe he's learning he loves soccer and he'll always play midfielder because while he loves the game, he's just not in love with the game.
Maybe, it's that he doesn't love soccer, and he's bored, and he only likes soccer as a friend.

On any given day it'll change. But, he's got every Saturday through November to decide.

Last week, it was the best game ever.
This week, soccer's stupid.

And that is just how I was about every thing I ever tried, liked, tried, hated, tried and tried and well, while I never succeeded spectacularly at any one sport, I did get to play Field Hockey, Track, (Shot Put, of all things), Cheerleading (okay, I was 5, but it still counts!), gymnastics, Roller skating (for real, I got to Silver Star, thank you very much!) softball (ugh) etc etc.

And so, now I know, that boy, that kid, he's totally my kid.

Today's Trail!

Check us out.

It's been a while, too long really. I have a love/hate relationship with blogs. I blog in my mind all the time, but the technology to automatically publish mind-blogs on the web doesn't exist yet. I'm looking forward to it, though.

It's always hard in this house to adjust to a new school year. It takes about a month, which is absurdly long, but there you have it.

We're finally settled and into a routine, and so today, the first weekend I found myself without an obligation, with a to-do list that could be ignored, and with a gorgeous Sunday, I took the boys, my daughter who refused to be photographed today,  and our friend off on a hike to cross a stream 23 times. Mind you, most of the stream was dry, but we all agreed we'll do the hike again next month when we (allegedly) will have more rainfall.

This is one of my all time favorite shots of the day:

There's something honest about this picture it captures every truth, every thing...I see more in this shot now than I did when I took it.

This bird was an amazing shade of blue, which, of course, I failed to capture!

I'm a gorgeous shade of blue, but never mind,
I'm a shadowy winged piece of freedom here.
Look, just look at how bad arse I am!

This is what I love about living where I do. There's so many great places to go and see so many amazing things. The hike was a full 3.2 miles from start of trail to end of trail to back to truck. And I got some amazing shots of kids being, well, genuinely themselves. Check these kids out in this album: