We're Thankful for...

Over Thanksgiving lunch (we had to do lunch since my husband worked on Thanksgiving, as always), we talked to the kids about gratitude.  They told us they were thankful for each of our immediately family members and when they were done with us, the younger of our twins added, "And J.K. Rowling."  Her twin sister agreed and added, "and Harry Potter."  My son agreed.  When we asked the 2-year-old, she insisted she was not thankful for Jo Rowling.  She is, however, thankful for Dobby, Hedgwig and Luna, so that's Ms. Rowling by default.  

I suggested the kids let Jo Rowling know they're thankful for her, so they each made cards for her.  

G-d bless Pinterest!  We headed there and found some inspiration.  

This was E. (younger twin)'s card inspired by this.  She used magazine pictures for the feathers and the boxes from our stuffing and apple pie.  She used the inside of the apple pie box for the body and the background is a page from an extra phone book (I've since opted out of the phone book since Google exists).  

This one is courtesy of my son.  I can't find the inspiration now on Pinterest and I didn't think to save it at the time.  Sorry.  He used recycled magazines and sequins--lots and lots of sequins.  

Cover

Inside

This one's from my oldest.  This was her inspiration, but, in the end, opted to stamp dots and draw and color circles rather than use finger prints.  The outlined it all as well.  Then, she cut a circle from cardboard and added googly eyes.  

Front

Inside

Up at the top, you see one all of the kids made.  I saw this and thought it was perfect for our 4.  So we traced and cut out each one's hand prints and then they each decorated their own hand print.  They each signed the back of their hand print.  Well, the toddler scribbled and I printed her name.  Hey, that's what she meant, even if she doesn't know it yet.  

The toddler did NOT want to let hers go.  "Dat my hand," she screamed when I tried to put the card in the envelope.  I had to explain that we were sending it to Dobby and Hedwig.  Only then did she agree.  

I included a note of thanks to Ms. Rowling as well.  Just before I sent it, I added another quick note explaining that turkeys made from hand prints or cutouts are common for Thanksgiving.  Not being American, I could just imagine her receiving that first card and wondering what in the world was wrong with us.  

We Americans really are weird, aren't we?

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World Prematurity Day 2011

My twins were born 2 months premature.  Today, I planned to share their story, but, when I stop to think about it, I'm too bitter.  Nearly 10 years later, the anger behind nearly losing my girls hits me too hard.  We're finally at a point where I no longer dread their birthday and "Homecoming Day" goes by almost unnoticed.  Still, I hate that we have a story to tell.  I hate that others have stories with endings not nearly as happy.  

So here, I'll leave you with my bitterness, my anger, and my post from this day last year.  

In an attempt to put a more positive spin on it, I'll share this related story about how one nurse made all the difference in the world and how I'll be forever in her debt.  

The Smallest Harry Potter Fans Say the Darnest Things

I've established that we're big fans of Harry Potter in this family.  Yeah, we're THOSE freaks.  

I was so excited to share the Harry Potter books with my daughters when they were old enough.  My husband and I read the first few books to them at bedtime when they were toddlers.  Now they're old enough to read them for themselves and OH BOY do they! At camp, my girls had nicknames:  Fred and George.  The younger of my twins (known as George at camp) has read each book at least 4 times.  She's frighteningly good at quizzes.  I got into Pottermore and she knew the answer to nearly every single quiz question without having to stop and think.  As if this isn't proof enough, we have a dog named Mischief-Managed.


One benefit of Potter-obsesssed older kids is that it trickles down to the younger ones.  This leads to much hilarity.

The other day, my 5-year-old son held up an empty paper towel roll and announced, "I'm Voldemort with the elderly wand."

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Yesterday, my oldest daughter and my son played Harry Potter with the youngest (who is 2).  They tried to make her take the roll of George.  She, however, protested, "But I have TWO ears."

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Immediately after that, she declared, "I'm Dobby."  She then began smacking her leg yelling, "Bad Dobby."

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The 2-year-old uses knitting needles as wands and casts spells on us all.

• The same child sat quietly in the background while her sisters and I laughed until we cried at those unfortunate souls sorted into Hufflepuff.  Later, I caught her announcing, "Once I saw a bird.  I a Hufflepuff."  Let me tell you, there's little else a 2-year-old can say that's quite as funny as "Hufflepuff."*

• All the kids got long stalks of rhubarb from the neighbor's garden.  Soon after, I had to announce, "Stop using your rhubarb as wands."

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*9/13 update:  Both of my twins have since been sorted into Hufflepuff on Pottermore.  Joke's on them.  My oldest, however, is thrilled because she heard that Jo Rowling was sorted into Hufflepuff.  

New Keyboards and Funny Penis-related Stories

Look, ma, no gibberish.  I am the proud new owner of one of those new-fangled keyboards.  You know the type, the super expensive wireless type complete with all letters, numbers, and punctuation.  This is a big improvement over the last insanely expensive wireless variety that lacked all that other exciting and essential stuff.

The lack of U's and H's made it impossible to type in my URL or even write my own name.  Of course, I was H-less on Harry Potter's birthday, so I got to wish a "appy birtday to arry Potter."  Apparently, when a keyboard is destroyed by water, it develops Hagrid's accent.

Now that I have the entire collection of letters, numbers and punctuation at my fingertips, I can share this story which manages to be both penis-related and funny.

Our children, like every other child who has come before them, like to repeat inappropriate things...loudly...in mixed company.

My husband was giving the two youngest a bath this weekend when our son (who never shuts the hell up is very talkative) felt compelled to ramble on about his penis.  The majority of the conversation/monologue is lost from my memory, the end, however, is a different story.

The 5-year-old announced, "(blah blah blah; stuff and nonsense)...but I just have a kid-sized penis because I'm a kid.  Not Daddy, though.  He's a grownup, so he has a big penis.  Daddy, your penis is THIS big." (said while holding his hands quite a wide distance apart)

At that point, I heard my husband tell him, "Now THAT you're allowed to repeat anywhere and everywhere you want."

It was at this point that I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe.

te goat rodeo and te case of te missing letters

do yo notice someting missing?  does tis post ave a certain, "je ne sais qoi?"  Maybe it's more like, "Je ne sais qoi in te world yo're trying to say."

earlier tis week, kids spilled water on my keyboard.  My entire first two rows don't work along wit a few letters and nearly all pnctation.  

It's an expensive wireless Mac keyboard, so we can't jst pick a replacement p at te trift store.  I oped it wold dry ot and save me sixty dollars on a new one, bt anyone wo tries to read tis disaster realizes tose letters and nmbers appear to ave taken a permanent vacation.

O yes, tis is te glamoros life of a blogger.  

And Ode to Harry Potter

We LOVE Harry Potter here at Chez Goat Rodeo.

Our Harry Potter Purim was the best Purim ever.

We plan to decorate our basement to look like Hogwarts (I kid you not).

I even scrapped about the final book.

My middle daughter knows every single little detail about these books.  Seriously, it's scary. It has gotten to the point where I'll say, "Well, I thought I remembered X, but she's saying, 'Y," and it's her after all, so I'll go with Y."

One of her camp counselors last year posted a status update about how he was never going to argue with his campers about Harry Potter again.  I replied asking, "What did my daughter do now?"  Sure enough, she had argued with him and SHE WAS RIGHT.

She's read all the books at least 3 times each.

Our Chihuahua's nickname is "Dobby Dog."

My children commonly run around the house shouting spells at each other.

Yet, through all that, we never even considered going to the movie premier early this morning.  #1.  We have the rule that you must read the book before you see the movie.  My oldest has yet to read the 7th book.  So she couldn't come with her twin sister to see the movie.  I wouldn't leave her behind and only take one.  #2. While I was a night owl back in the day and still stay up pretty late now, the thought of having to give up those few hours of sleep--precious wonderful gorgeous sleep, was not something I could stand (most especially because the youngest has decided sleep is for the weak, or more precisely, not for me, over the past few nights).

So, we didn't go.  I noticed a number of my friends complaining that they, too, weren't able to go last night.  So we're banding together and forming our own little group scattered all over the country, where we go next Saturday night instead.  That should give the oldest time to finish the final book (please, G-d!).

I've never been a huge fan of the movies, but still, this is the absolute end.  This is it.  It's over.  I'm both looking forward to it and dreading it all the same.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**

It's that time of year again.  The sun (or complete lack thereof),  the hiking, swimming in the lake, the complete lack of parental supervision, the posing for pictures while flashing ridiculous-looking peace signs (in every single freaking picture even though your mother BEGGED you to resist the urge) or somehow managing to hide every time someone with a camera is near so that there's little to no evidence of your existence, the shabbat services in a pretty dress and muddy sneakers (because they won't let you wear your shower flip-flops and that's your only other option).

My homegoys (tm) may read that and scratch their head, but it is, in fact, Jewish overnight camp time.

Generations of Jewish mothers have sent their children away to Jewish-themed camps every summer only to sit back and freak the hell out  um...er...lose their ever-loving minds worry too much while their kids are gone.  This year, I joined their ranks for the very first time.

Our move worked out just in time for the big two to head to camp for the first time.  So, this past Sunday, at an insane hour of the morning, we herded the goat rodeo to the synagogue parking lot where a huge bus picked up our teeny tiny girls and started off on its journey, SIX HOURS away from us.

We greeted friends, we took pictures, we loaded bags crammed full (of some things we'll probably never see again), we kissed them, hugged them, and the huge bus pulled away.  I immediately turned to my husband and asked, "What did we just do?"

Funny thing is, I remember asking that exact same question when we dropped our 3-year-old twins off at Sunday school for the first time.  Granted, Sunday school wasn't SIX HOURS away (yes, I must type that in all caps every time I write it.  It's required).

I'm left to ask, how the hell am I going to send them to college*?

*They're 9.  


**I tried and tried and tried to concoct a witty title for this entry.  This one is the best portrayal of my actual thoughts and feelings on the topic.  

Lehit ra'ot. Lehit ra'ot. Shalom, chaverim! Shalom!

Shalom chaverim, shalom chaverim,

Shalom, shalom.

Lehitraot lehitraot

shalom, shalom.

This is the park where my youngest celebrated her first birthday.  

This is the park where my twins celebrated their 8th birthday.

This is the park where the local branch of the March of Dimes holds their March for Babies every year. This year's walk here is 2 days after we close on our new house.  It will be the first walk we've missed since 2004.  

This is the park where my kids have met friends for play dates.  

This is the park with my kids' favorite splash pad.  

That tire swing to the right is where I got my favorite shot of my son and husband playing.  

Towards the center, is the covered slide my youngest loved riding down with her 6-year-old friend (who insists on being at the baby's side any time she's around).  

That ditch right there in front is the same one that damn-near made my heart stop every time the kids got too close.

That bench in the center is where I sat and chatted with friends while our kids played.  

To the right, not shown in the photo, is the pavilion where my daughters' had their end of the school year Girl Scout party today.  

In a quiet moment, I looked over at the empty tire swing.  I remembered my son playing there with his father.  I remembered my brother pushing my kids, his son and some friends on there at the baby's first birthday party.  I remembered the girls giggling with one of their best friends as another friend spun them quickly.  

This place is haunted with happy memories of friends.  Everywhere we turn, we're reminded of playing, talking, sliding, hiding and laughing with some of our favorite people. 

I didn't want to leave the park.  As the rain started, everyone else filed out.  I sent the kids to say, "Good bye," to their friends, some for the last time.  I stayed behind and looked around.  The immensity of leaving these memories, these places, these people behind hit me hard.  

Good bye, my friends.  Good Bye, my friends.

Goodbye/Peace.  Good bye/Peace.

Until we meet again.  Until we meet again.

Good bye, Peace.  

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Wordless Wednesday

Mothers and other lesser creatures

I recently spent time with a friend who confided that her husband tells her repeatedly that she doesn't do anything all day because he works outside in the heat and she stays home with their two year old.  He threatens to kick her out of their house because, in his mind, it's really only his since he's the only one who makes any money.

There was a list of other hateful things she hears often which tear her down for being a mother.

It's only this Mother's Day, after hearing about those hateful things, that I truly appreciate my husband's views on motherhood.  Even in situations not nearly as extreme as that first friend, I've heard stories from other friends about snide remarks their husbands have made or expectations they have which clearly show they don't believe their wives are their equals.

I've never heard a negative remark from my husband about my lack of a paycheck (and I should point out that, before we had kids, my salary was the highest of the two).  He doesn't expect me to serve him food, much less serve him before myself.  Hell, he doesn't even expect me to cook dinner (he's the better cook).  He is not at all the type to refer to parenting the kids as "Babysitting."  Even though he works full-time outside the home, we split the cleaning duties.  He changed diapers (cloth diapers even) and gave baths without complaint (well, without excessive complaints about the diapers at least).  When he was still home, bedtime stories were his thing.

I've had the luxury of forgetting how some folks view mothers in a negative light.  My husband respects me and motherhood and for that, I'm particularly thankful, this Mother's Day more than ever before.

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AKA

Mama's Losin' It has a cute video blog today about how the title of her blog came to be.

That got me thinking.  What would some good alternative titles be for my little corner of the interwebz?

Here's what I've come up with thus far.  Feel free to jump in and add your 2 cents.

I remember one friend of mine suggested, "Laughing at the Library," because we would live at the library if they let us.  I was only half-joking when I told friends that librarians are like Pokemon for my kids.  The last time my kids walked in to the children's library and saw a new librarian at the desk, my son turned to his sisters and said, "Look, there's a new one.  YES!"  My kids collect children's librarians.

A friend once had Weird Al and Kate Winslet's song (Yes they did), "I Need A Nap," as my ring tone for me because I use that phrase all too often.  So there's an option.

Here are some more:

There's Not Enough Coffee In the World

Lorelai Gilmore's quotation is oh so accurate, "Oh, I can't stop drinking the coffee. If I stop drinking coffee, I stop doing the standing and the walking and the words putting-into-sentence doing. " Yet it's a bit lengthy for a title, don't ya think?

Coffee NOW! (If you're not sensing a theme, you're not paying attention)

Sexually Deprived For Your Freedom

Oy Vey, That Boy!

Queen Of The Freaking Internet (this is a close second to my current title)

Yeah, They're All Mine and Yes, We Did That On Purpose


Children Aren't Meant to Come In Pairs


What Part Of "Jewish" Do You Not Understand?


1 Minute Apart (for all those who look at our twins and ask in a judgmental tone, "How close in age ARE they?")


My Dignity Was Delivered With the Placenta


Keebler Elf-sized (I'm tiny)


Yay Rum!  


Now, tell me, which one's your favorite?  What would you have named this blog?

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My Very Wordy Wordless Wednesday: Great Looks for...

True, this is photograph, but it's a photograph of words. So I bet this is probably the wordiest Wordless Wednesday post ever.

This is what happens when you raise aware kids.

This ad came today from the Children's Place. My kids LOVE the clothes and my oldest daughters plan to go there for their annual birthday clothing shopping spree.

They, however, were not pleased with the fact that the ad separated clothing into, "Great Looks For Him," and "Great Looks For Her."  One of their big concerns is that they liked the cut of the boys' shorts better than the teeny tiny girls' shorts.  My daughters didn't want to be told they couldn't have those simply because the circular declared them "for him."

They complained about that and we talked a bit about their preferences.  I thought we were done, but oh no, we were not.

They worked their editing magic and brought the ad in to me while I was on the computer.  I was thrilled to see what they had done.  They did this to both the girls' section and the boys'.

They did this all on their own with no prompting from me.  And for that, I'm so proud.

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Moving Right Along

We've spent years trying to move away.  We knew when our son was still an infant that we wanted to leave once my husband was no longer active duty.  The Air Force sent us here in the days after September 11th.  Coming from the North East, the South has been a bit of a culture shock in oh so many ways for these liberal Jews.  Oddly, we found we liked it here.  While the political climate and religious climate were very different from what we knew, the people were nice and the lifestyle was far more laid back than what we were used to.  We grew to love this place.  

When I spent a month back "home" during my husband's first deployment when the twins were toddlers, I realized it was no longer the place I needed to be.  Nearly the entire time I was there, I longed to come back.  I longed for my friends here, for my volunteer activities, for our day-to-day activities, for our zoo, our parks, our home.  

In the past few years, things here have changed.  His venture into the civilian life left my husband horribly frustrated with the jobs he held.  The political climate is far more volatile than ever.  More and more strip malls pop up left and right.  As a result, traffic is worse than ever.  Overall, people still smile and hold doors, but the racism and sexism and intolerance in general are no longer under the surface.  More people than ever here wear their hatred as a badge of honor.  

All that made us decide we needed to leave.  And so, we are.  Our house has sold.  A new one is purchased.  Closing dates are set.  Boxes are packed.  

We should be insanely excited to be moving on; everything we've worked for, hoped for, longed for, is happening.  After eight months apart, our family will be together again; this time, for good.  We'll have a home that fits us all.  My husband now works a job he actually likes.  

We absolutely are looking forward to all that.  Yet, at the same time, I listen as my daughters lament the fact that they can't pick a best friend among their top circle of friends because they're all "so cool," and I wince to think of my girls leaving them all behind.  My friends leave a party and say, "In case I don't see you before then, I hope you have an easy move."  On the swings, the six-year-old little girl who adores my toddler pushes her and I wonder,"How old will the baby be when they see each other again?"  My son tells me his plans for a friend's birthday gift only to realize that's a party we won't be here to attend.  

All this is another post for another day, but it's just hitting me now.  It's been creeping in in bits and pieces, but, with moving day approaching, I'm more and more aware of it.  As a child, I lived in the same house where four generations of my family lived.  I never moved away until I went to college and then got married.  Sure we've moved around a bit since then, but not with children.  We moved into this house a week before our twins were born and we've been here ever since.  This is a whole new experience for all of us.  At this point, it's one of those experiences I prefer, overall, not to think too deeply about (until, of course, I sit down and blog about it).  As the date moves closer, though, I find I don't have the luxury of ignorance (or at least avoidance).  

Translation For Kindergarteners

Often, there are subtleties in the language of adults which are lost on younger children.  Compiling a collection of these and providing translations for children would prove endlessly useful.

Here is my submission for today:

If, in the middle of the very long story you were just telling your mother, she says, "Hang on, hun, I need to run to the bathroom,"  what she means is, "Wait there and hold that thought until I return."  

It does NOT mean:

"Keep talking.  Follow right behind me.  Stand outside the bathroom door and continue your story, only do so in a screaming voice to be absolutely certain she heard you."  

Now you know and knowing is half the battle.

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The Many Adventures Of A Stuffed Camel Named Bob(and the little girl who loves him)

Through Project Nursery, I found the most amazing website which inspired me to write this blog post.  Through their Custom Toy Portrait giveaway, I found First Friend Portraits.  First Friend Portraits makes custom portraits of kids' toys.

I cannot tell you how very much I love this idea.  I absolutely, positively, without a doubt, must have a portrait of Bob the camel.

We have oh so many toy stories of our own that we could share.  This has inspired me to share a few.

Let's start with Bobby.

Bobby is a stuffed camel.  His full name is Bob Notacat.  He, along with his sister Leafa Borrower, a giraffe, was a gift from daddy.

Here's a little back story:

While daddy was deployed, every night, we said the Mitzpah and the Sh'ma.  In between those, one night, our then 4-year-old said this prayer.  She had been more than a wee bit obsessed with camels since daddy was in the desert.

When the prayer started, I  thought it was so profound.  When a camel stormed into the prayer, it was all I could do to keep from cracking up.

Although it was my husband's second deployment to the Middle East, it was far more difficult for the twins than the first one (when they were only toddlers) had been.  They missed their daddy horribly.  When I relayed that to him, he decided to send them stuffed toys to comfort them in his absence.  Inspired by my long-term love affair with an aging orange wonder (which is another post for another day), he decided to send them stuffed animals in the hopes that those toys would become for them the comfort that Mustardseed had always been for me.

Giraffe overload w/daddy.  2 yrs old 

For L, the obvious choice was a stuffed giraffe.  She loves giraffes.  Our zoo visits absolutely always take us to the giraffes, many of whom, L knows by name.  So daddy sent her a stuffed giraffe that she named Leafa because giraffes eat leaves.  Her middle name is Borrowa because she doesn't ever take anything, since stealing is wrong.  She just borrows things.  So says my eldest.


It was a bit trickier to decide what to get her sister, though.  Inspired by the child's latest prayer, he opted for a camel and our lives have never been the same.

E. named her new fuzzy Bactrian wonder Bob.  Why?  We may never know, but he has been Bob and Bobby ever since.  His middle name is Notacat because the child kept arguing with me that she was going to name him Cat.  "He's not a cat," I told her.  So she proved me right.

Bobby isn't just any ordinary camel.  He's famous.  When they were in kindergarten, the girls each wrote stories for a contest.  She wrote and illustrated a story about how Bobby comforted her when her daddy was deployed.  She didn't win, but I was so impressed with her her tale.

I scanned the illustrations and copied the text to create a few 5x7 photo books for her of Bobby's deployment adventures.  It was one of the first stories she could read on her own and she's read it to everyone who would hold still long enough to listen.  She even dropped off a copy of her book at our local library.  

She'll be 9 soon.  I know puberty isn't far away.  She's not far from those terrifying teenage years and leaving "baby" things behind.  Yet again, she's separated from her daddy.  Bob has been a part of our family for five years now.  He has watched E cry for her daddy more often in those 5 years than most children are ever separated from their parents their entire lives.  Bobby is worn and faded and has lost most of his filling, yet, every night, you can find him in E's bed, often clutched in her arms.  

Wordless Wednesday: we're ready for our closeup.

This is not by far the best photo ever taken, but it's one we took of ourselves when we were goofing around over the weekend.  I like it a lot.

My life, this sums it up nicely.

And, hey, imaginary friends who live in my computer, tell me, what color are my eyes?  People often can't tell what color my eyes are.  I think you can actually see the true color here, but I just don't know.  Maybe that's wishful thinking.

What color do you see?

Wordless Wednesday

Your Life Story In Six Words

I know about this six word memoir concept: you summarize your life in six words.  Today, I saw one where the authors summarized their love lives.

I love that idea (and some of those answers).

I want to try my hand at it, but not only for love lives, but for childhood, friendship, parenting and all sorts of things of the sort.

The problem is, I have no freaking clue where to even begin.  I do my best thinking when allowed to just ramble to myself, so I'll do exactly that now.  Come along for this schlep through the joy and wonder that is my mind.

I can take a stab at the parenting one using my favorite piece of advice to give new parents.  If I was to follow Amy Chuah's lead, I wouldn't title my parenting memoir, Battle Hymn Of The Tiger Mother (which actually works for this as it IS six words).  Mine would be something more along the lines of;

Research Research Research Then Follow Heart


With Each Child, World Begins Anew 


They Need More Than Mere Survival 
I've often had that thought when people say, "I XYZed and my kids survived."

Nothing You Can't Do Without Help


and for humorous books on the topic:


Our Mom Doesn't Need Your Advice


These Boobs Are Made For Squirting

Here's what I have for the six-word summary of my religious views:

I'm G-d's Wrestling Partner Not Cheerleader.  


Justice Justice Shall You Pursue Always
Forgive me for putting words in G-d's mouth.  I had to add a word there to get it up to 6.

Act Justly, Love Mercy, Wrestle G-d 
This is a mix of two religious texts.


Yes, I do so love the idea of wrestling with G-d.  


Again, as for the humor book, maybe something along the lines of:

Never Met Italian Jews?  We exist.
I could trade out Italian with Dutch or Irish as well.  Most people seem to know that French Jews exist, so I could leave that one out.  


As far as my childhood, the first one that pops into my head is related to my teenage years,

Cut It Out! Not that Bad.

Oh yeah, I was a little emo one (before "Emo" was a word).

As far as love life...hmmm...

I find myself scouring song lyrics for this one.

So, I'm opting with

Two of Us Can Do Anything

Hurts Not Much When You're Around

This one right here I think probably sums it up best:

Sacred Simplicity You At My Side

Then there's this:

Sailed Seas.  Met Storm.  Found Harbor


Okay, now enough of the cop outs with song lyrics.  I should think of something completely original.  Shouldn't I?  


Well, you know what?  I've got nothing.  I got up, made myself a snack, refilled my water bottle and brainstormed; but I'm at a complete loss.  I can't blame the kids for this either because they're in bed.  So there's no nagging or whining or banter to distract me.  There, is, however, a complete and utter lack of ideas.

I'm loving that last one.  I think I'd just go with that without the hassle of creating something completely original.


Hmmm...when thinking about my memoir, though, I'm at more than a bit of a loss.  I know, once upon a time, I came up with a few ideas, but, as I've already ranted, life has a way of stomping the hell out of creativity before it has a chance to be preserved.

One thing that popped into my head was this secret which was once featured on Post Secret.  I loved it.  I saved it.  I posted it in my house.  I admit that I've always hoped it was written about me.  I don't actually believe that, but a girl can dream.

So, using that as a jumping off point, I might go with

She's Trying To Save the World

Another one just popped into my head inspired by recent rants.

So Many Ideas Not Enough Time

And here are a few random ones:


I Freaking Love Sleep.  Unrequited Love.


Don't Die Before Seeing the World!


You Forget That I'll Kick You


Like My Dreams Better Than Reality 


There's So Much More To Learn


Chasing the Sparks In the Ocean


I Need Stories More Than Food


I Am The Legacy Of Many 


Short Weird Chick Never Shuts Up.


I'll Make My Own Damn Cape.


Hmmmm....and, perhaps, one inspired by Hemmingway,the man who, arguably, started this all.


For Sale.  Baby Shoes.  Well Worn.  


What say you?  Anyone else care to get in on this?  If you had to write your memoir in six words, what would it be?  If you had to describe your childhood, religious views, parenting, love life, etc. in six words, what would you write?

If drama is a llama than everyday life is a narcoleptic sloth with insomnia.

Picture stress as a person.  Better yet, picture it as a gigantic monster of some sort.  I'm not talking about Godzilla.  That's too clean and dry.  Picture something slimier.  It oozes.  It drips.  It stomps all over the place and not only can you not run away fast enough (I keep picturing Indie and the giant rolling boulder), but you then have to clean up the mucous left in its wake.

If stress is a looming dripping monster, what then is the incessant banter of little people? I see it as teeny tiny horse-riding knights wielding sharp weapons.  There are gangs of them rampaging through my head.  They bombard normal thought and slice them in half.  These vicious loud banter knights hide in the pathway from my head to my fingers and jump out and pierce creativity before it has a chance to be born into the world.  

Then what is everyday routine?  In my mind, it's a narcoleptic sloth.  It's insane amounts of dragging and exhaustion.  Can one have insomnia AND be narcoleptic?  If so, then the everyday monotony is an insomniac narcoleptic sloth.  It's constantly exhausted, doesn't get very far because it keeps conking out, yet can't ever get enough sleep when necessary.

Maybe everyday routine is a vacuum; sucking away time, creativity, youth, gentleness, and the ability to create a list of words which accurately describe just WHAT it removes.

As if you haven't been able to guess, the malaise has set in.  Let me say, I've actually been in remarkably good spirits lately.  Sure, there are small things I wish were different, but I'm very happy with my life.  I find myself having a number of, "This is awesome," moments lately.  Yet, the daily routine leaves little to no time for creativity.  You can't sit down and read or write (for your own enjoyment, not the kids') when you have two or three meetings scheduled with the real estate agent this week or when there are crepes to be cooked (or at least supervised--and eaten, of course) with the kids for a homeschool event, or a toddler to catch as she tries to perfect her dives off the top bunk.

When I do try to channel my creativity, little people constantly pop in and talk at me or they fight with each other or someone stomps off in someone else's giraffe rain boots and screaming ensues.  It is not physically possible to create when there is screaming over giraffe boots.

Do you have any idea how many times I have started and stopped this blog entry?  Do you have any idea how many times I've caught little people reading over my shoulder?  These kids are destroying my ever loving mind  patience.

And right on freaking cue: 
Pardon me for just one moment.  We will return to your regularly scheduled blog post when my son stops telling (complete with wild hand gestures and sound effects) about the video game he will create when he's older and owns his own flying car company and...(sorry my brain is overloaded.  I have abso-freaking-lutely no idea what else he said, only that it was very very loud and insistent). 


Wait, wait, wait, can't get back to the blog entry just yet.  Oldest asked me what to do with something with which she already knew exactly what to do.  


Pardon me one more moment.  Must remove head from desk (and insert plugs in ears).  

Oh hell!  Just freaking forget it.  THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I'M COMPLAINING ABOUT.  I had a thought.  I started this (12 freaking hours ago) with a point, but all the mundane everyday crap ran that thought and inspiration off.

There was more I wanted to write, but I'll be damned if I can remember it now.  

Girl Scout Cookies Renew My Faith In Humanity

and not only because Samoas are so freaking delicious.

Did you know Girl Scout cookies are kosher?  Did you know my big girls are Girl Scouts? Did you know that you can buy Girl Scout cookies from them?  Well, now my entire neighborhood knows.

Today, they set up a table in our yard and danced and paraded about on the corner as advertising.  They wore their sashes and jumped up and down while screaming, "Buy Girl Scout Cookies," while holding a skirt as a pom pom in one hand and a box of Thin Mints in the other.

Everyone got in on the action.  The baby held a box of cookies and jumped up and down yelling, "Cookies.  Cookies."  My son paraded up and down the street with a tutu on his head yelling, "Girl Scout Cookies."  A number of people told us they stopped because they saw him and he was just too cute.  So when cars passed, he frowned and said, "They didn't stop.  They must not think I'm cute."  Oy vey, that boy!

At Hebrew school, he charged into all the teacher's rooms and implored them to buy cookies.  He then told me repeatedly that he wants to be a Girl Scout too.  Oh hun, I don't think so, but you sure do make a great salesman.  

The big girls did a great job and they had a lot of business.  I was super impressed.  When a middle school girl walked home across the street, the kids yelled to her to buy cookies.  I explained that kids might not have the money to buy cookies, but wouldn't you know it, she stopped home and then came right to our house with her wallet and was the kids' first customer.  The UPS guy delivered the girls new L.L. Bean backpacks (on which I got a FANTASTIC deal) and then bought a box of cookies.  An EMT stopped and gave the kids a $6.50 tip.  I was actually surprised by how many people donated extra money.  The girls had a ton of sales in just an hour.  They were so proud of themselves.  I am too.  I'm also thrilled with everyone who came out.  I never dreamed they'd have as many customers as they did.

This has lit a spark in my kids.  Now they want to be out there all the time.  Tomorrow, they're selling at the local Hillel then they're coming home to open shop back up on the lawn once more.

Why yes, my son DOES have a tutu on his head.

Am I Suffering From Insomnia Or Just A Lack Of A Sound-proof Padded Room?

I have insomnia.  I've had it for over 20 years.  For me, that means it takes me a while to fall asleep and I wake frequently in the night.

The past few nights have been HORRIBLE.  I'm getting hardly any sleep.

This weekend, though, I came to a realization.  I'm so freaking exhausted that my insomnia isn't even the problem.  It might take me a while to fall asleep, but, once down, I would stay that way if not for EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS FREAKING HOUSE.

The other day, my big girls spent the night at a friend's, so I crashed early with the two youngest.  You might think, "Oh, early to bed and only 1/2 the kids in the house, that's a recipe for a great night's sleep."  You, however, would be so very very wrong.  

Here's how my night went:

• 7:30 pm: Start to doze off while reading to the kids.
• 8 pm: Kids in bed
• 8:01-8:30 pm: Do all the end of the night hustle and bustle (put up the dog, lock the doors, etc.).
• 8:35-9:45: Toss and turn and not fall asleep even though I was falling asleep on the couch just an hour before.
• 9:50: Fall asleep.
• 11:  Wake up for no known reason.
• 11:20 (or so)  Fall back to sleep.
• 12: Baby's awake and screaming.  Go get her.
• 12:45 Put baby back to bed.
• 1:30 Finally fall back to sleep.
• 3 am: Cat pounds at the door to get out.
• 3:00-3:02 Try to see through the dark if it's a smart cat who can actually get the door open or the stupid cat who will just pound on it for an hour without ever getting out.  Determine it's the smart cat and wait for her to work her magic.
LOLCAT BREAK:



Yeah, it was EXACTLY like that.

• 3:03: Cat gets out.  Get up and close the bedroom door after her.
• 3:10: Start to drift off to sleep when stupid cat then decides she wants out too.  After she bangs on the door, get up and let her out.  Leave door open.
• 3:15 Smart cat returns and loudly opens the bedroom closet.
• 3:16 Yell at the cat and put a box in front of the closet door.
• 3:17 Cat then scratches loudly at box.
• 3:18 Throw a sock at cat.
• 3:18.32: Cat loudly jumps on box and attacks.
• 3:19: Curse at cat while putting shoes on top of the box to hold it closed.
• 3:20-3:30: Cat tries to knock shoes off box making insane amounts of noise.
• 3:31: Toss cat in hallway and close door.
• 3:40 (just as drifting off to sleep) dumb cat returns and wants in.  She is, not, however smart enough to actually GET IN, so she scratches at the closed door.
• 3:41: Let the damn cat in.
• 4:02 am (just as drifting off to sleep yet again), baby wakes up.
• 4:03-4:04: Hope baby will go back to sleep, until you hear her yell, "Potty!  Potty!"
• 4:05-4:10:  Take baby to the bathroom, throw together another diaper and put her pajamas back on.
• 4:11:  Pray baby goes back to sleep easily.
• 4:12:  Decide there's no G-d
• 4:13-4:50:  Bring the baby to your bed and nurse her.
• 4:51:  Baby is up for the day and you don't have any big kids to help with her.
•  5am-11pm:  Be a general bitch out of sheer exhaustion

Yes, that is EXACTLY how my night went.  I thought to myself, "My insomnia isn't my problem.  The kids and cats are my problem.  I don't need Ambien.  I need a sound-proof padded room."

If It Looks Like A Horse, Walks Like A Horse and Sounds Like A Horse, It's Probably Not A Zebra

A very dear and wise friend gave me the above advice (the zebra bit, not the blunt card) when I was still in training for some health care work I did. The gist of it is to always look for the simplest explanation first because there's a good chance that really was the answer. We saw a variety of problems including some pretty severe and complicated ones, but we needed to remember that those were rare.  For the vast majority of people we worked with, the solutions were simple and basic. We needed to be aware that the troubling situations existed and required extra care, but we also needed to remember that most people would not have those complex difficulties.  If it seems simple, it probably is.  Treat it as such without jumping to uncalled for conclusions.

I was reminded of that advice this week.

Why would a 5-year-old child cut his things with scissors?

Some suggestions included that he was one step away from self mutilation, that he was very angry and unable to express it, he was deeply troubled, he was feeling abandoned and (as would obviously be the case with any of these) that he needed professional help.


However, all of those suggestions were way off base.  The child's true motivation is actually a horse, not a zebra.

Here's a simple little story to explain.

This is the comforter that S. slit.

Here is the bed all cozy and warm covered by the comforter that S. slit.

Here is the window alongside the bed all cozy and warm covered by the comforter that S. slit.

There hang the curtains in the window alongside the bed all cozy and warm covered by the comforter that S. slit.

Here is a curtain rod threaded through HOLES THE BOY'S MOTHER CUT to hang the curtains in the window alongside the bed all cozy and warm covered by the comforter that S. slit.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, when I sat my son down to have a heart-to-heart talk as to what his possible motivations could be, the conversation went very much like this:

Me:  What were you feeling when you cut your comforter?

Him:  I wasn't feeling anything.

Me:  What were you thinking when you did it?

Him:  I wasn't thinking anything.

Me:  Were you angry or frustrated when you cut it?

Him:  No.

Me:  Were you feeling sad?

Him:  No. (pause) Well, I guess a little sad.

Me:  What made you sad?

Him:  Because it looked bad and it wouldn't even hang up.

At this point, I was completely and utterly baffled.

Him: (pointing to his curtains)  You cut holes in those and got them to hang up, but it didn't work for me.

(pause here for mom's "Eureka" moment)

Me: So why did you hide it from me?

Him:  I didn't hide it from YOU.  I hid it from ME because it doesn't look cool.  It just looks broken.  I don't wanna see that.