I'd rather be Crafty

I've always had problems with the word and concept of being "crafty". The very word bothers me, as it should.

The actual definition of Crafty is: Skilled in or marked by underhandedness, deviousness, or deception.

In the ten different dictionary sources I pulled up on the Internet, not one of them listed a description of a person having the ability to participate in many different crafts.

No, but if you look up arty (and who even knew that was a real word?) you find the following description: Of or relating to artists or the fine arts.

Fine arts? What the hell is that? I think of ballet, sculpture, painting, singing . . . things that have little to no impact on my life.

I have often had non-crafty people assume that since I can do so many things I must be able to draw, or paint, or sculp, or . . .

I can't.

Over the years I've come to realize that anything that requires a certain set of steps to produce a reaction, I can do. I can sew, do stain glass, crochete, bake, etc. But if something requires a great amount of artistic input -- choices on color, design, layout . . . not so much.

At different points in my life, enjoying crafts has subjected me to near second-class citizenship. Stand around a room of executives talking about their interests and just imagine the look on their face when sailing, painting, dancing, etc, is followed by sewing. LOL

As we age, we not only gain a better understanding of ourselves and our needs, but an acceptance. In my twenties, my mother-in-law told me that while I was a "Jill-of-many trades, I was a Queen of none". My interest in most crafts has been in the ability to conquer them. As soon as I feel half way confident in my ability to do anything I want, I loose interest and move on.

I have never sought to become an artist in any field. This simple thought released a life-time of feeling inadequate about my skill of being crafty. I've never spent years, hell, not even months, polishing an ability. Never taken more than one class on any subject. Never poured over every book about a craft I could find.

When it comes right down to it, subconsiously I've always preferred being crafty to arty. And it's only takem me forty years to figure it out.

Got Pepper?

I had lunch with Tori today and as always after every meal we've eaten together since she turned twelve of so, she looked at me and flashed her teeth, tilting her head from side-to-side. While no longer accompanied by the words, "Is there pepper in my teeth?", I can still hear them resounding loudly from years past.

As I sit there listening to her and my best friend talk, I actually noticed pepper in Tori's teeth and it got me to thinking. Tori is the only person I have ever known who is so fanatical about checking her teeth after every meal. If there is no one at the table she trusts for her pepper check, she'll take a napkin and wipe each tooth off, just in case.

While that's odd enough for me, the really strange thing is that Tori is the only person I have ever known who always gets pepper stuck on her teeth. Seriously, I've been married the majority of my life. Have eaten at least one meal a day with the same person sitting across from me, and may have seen pepper on his teeth once. Tori, every other time I check.

So I got to wondering . . .

Does the fear of something happening, i.e., getting pepper stuck on your teeth, make it a reality? Or, did the fact that pepper always got stuck on her teeth make her fanatic about checking for it?

It's the age old question, which came first, the pepper or the fear of the pepper?

I'm Bored

You may not believe this, but it's taken me all week to realize what this odd feeling I've been experiencing is. Boredom.

I've conquered the challenge of cleaning my house. I'm tired of reading. I just finished a chapter in my book and am just not ready to jump into another one yet.

I haven't been officially bored in years. Because, lets face it, depressed people don't get bored. Getting bored requires looking forward and giving a shit; not big items on the 'to do' list of depressed people.

On one hand, I'm insanely excited to have found myself bored. But mostly, I'm just bored. I want to do something FUN! Something that excites me.

A friend of mine, and I, are planning a three day get away next month. One of our scrapbooking weekends. They're great and it's exactly what I need. But it's three weeks away. I need something NOW.

Is it just me, or am I beginning to sound like my four year old?

Oh well, the computer is boring me so off I go to find something else to fiddle with for a few moments.

Am I done?

I finished cleaning my house today. Over the last three and a half weeks I've managed to deeply clean every single room in my house. Each closet, cabinet, floor. Every piece of furniture moved and cleaned under.

I've given away no less than 10 trash bags of items and hauled out closer to 30 bags of trash.

When I completed the bathroom today I was sort of let down. In fact, I was wondering what I'd do tomorrow. While checking laundry, I realized I had not cleaned the laundry room. Then I got to thinking, I didn't clean the ceiling fans. I didn't wash the walls down. I didn't . . .

I had to stop and ask myself when was I going to stop? I could continue. It would take a month to clean our garage. A week to clean the attic. A week to clean the driveway. A week to clean the back yard.

What exactly is my goal here? My original goal when Will started school was to use the time he's gone to increase the sales on my website. I have a three prong approach to doing this. 1)Add new patterns, 2)Convert existing patterns to digital so they can be sent via email, and 3)Post links to my website and comments through the web to drive more customers to my site.

I only decided to clean the house because it really needed it. I never expected it to take this long. So why am I LOOKING for more things to clean?

On one hand, I'm kind of addicted to being able to accomplish something so obvious in a morning. When I tackle a new room, it is shocking the difference at the end of the day. I can pat myself on the back and say, "Good job!" When you work for yourself and no one else is involved in your business, you get no 'good jobs', pats on the back, or noticeable recognition.

But it's really the other hand holding me back, fear. It's been a long time since I jumped in with both feet and swam with the big fish. Since I decided 'this' pattern needs to be made and just made it. Remade it and remade it. Found poeple to test it. Wrote up directions the average Jane Doe can follow and marketed it.

While I've come a long way the last couple of months, I still don't have the self confidence I use to have. But I do know how to get it . . . by jumping in with both feet. Sink or swim, baby!

Maybe get a Blister on your Little Finger

So this part of a song has been playing in my head all day . . .

Maybe get a blister on your little finger,
Maybe get a blister on your thumb.

I think the song is called Money for Nothing, I'm not real good at remembering the name of songs or the artists who play them.

The reason I've been hearing the song in my head is that I managed to get a little blister on index finger today in an unusual way. In fact, it took me a while to realize I had a blister there.

While cleaning my bathroom today, which includes a walk-in shower, I went through three cans of pump cleaner.

Yep, you guessed. I rubbed a blister on my pump finger. And did I get money for nothing? No, I got nothing for hard work. LOL

I'm not very happy!

When my 21 year old daughter was about two, she had this annoying -- but adorable -- habbit. When she didn't get her way she'd stand with her arms crossed in front of her chest and tap one foot while saying, "I am not very happy!"

Believe me, the site left me torn between rolling in the floor laughting and locking her in the closet until she outgrew that stage.

Truth be told, she hasn't changed much.

She is more capable of seeing to her own needs and manipulating circumstances to please her. She's cute, energetic, and outgoing. Things seldom don't go her way, but when they don't you can see the ghost of 'I'm not very happy' overshadowing her grown self. She mopes, complains, and refuses to give in to anyone else, making her displeasure known. Most of us do, in one way or another.

The last few days have been out of the norm for me. I've felt sort of blah. Everyone gets the blahs, but it really worries me as I've been fighting a bad case of depression for the last five years. That's the first thing I think of, my pills aren't working.

But then I realized that I've had Will to myself all weekend while Steve was out hunting. Have been restricted in movement nad entertainment options due to finances. Steve didn't make it home until after nine last night. Will hasn't slept a full night in the last two nights due to growing pains. It's raining and gloomy today. None of which have anything to do with me personally.

At the revelation a sense of peace settled upon me. It's okay to feel blah, I'm not depressed. I'm just not very happy!

What's Your Name?

I am the worlds worst about remembering names. Seriously. I've tried repeating new names over and over again, it doesn't work. I've tried everything anyone has ever suggested, it doesn't work.

The only thing that has come remotely close to helping me is to find some sort of association to link the name to.

For instance, I use to have this proofer that worked for me named Raven. I worked with this woman for almost two years on a day-to-day biases and it took me six months to get her name correct every time I talked to her. After stumbling over it, I tried associated her name with a 'bird'.

As I walked up to her, my mind would start a dialog that sounded like this:

Bird. Blue Jay. No, maybe just Jay. No. Red Bird. No idiot, it's a Cardinal. No. Hawk. She's not a guy. Grackle. (mental snort) No.

She told me she was named after birds in a Shakespeare poem. So I tried that. Only I'm not very well read in classical pose.

Shakespeare? Crows? Or, was that Steven King? Didn't he write a story about crows? Wait, didn't she say the bird was a scavenger? Buzzard?

After several more wasted months in trying other associations, I finally landed on black bird. Yes, I had to go through a couple of birds, but I always ended up on Raven fast enough to seem like I remembered her name.

Age hasn't improved my ability to recall names, just my ability to associate text with them.

Paul's daughter I remember as Lilly-Pad, her name is Lilly. As my children are named after plants that was an easy association for me.

Jessy's youngest two boys (age 2 and 4) gave me a HARD time until I associated them with ice cream (Ben and Jerry's) their names are Benjamin and Jeremiah.

Just something about the way my brain is wired. So don't feel slighted should I not remember you name next time we meet, it's not personal. I just haven't had a chance to associate you with something yet.

Or, maybe I just don't like you and didn't want to waste my time.

A visit with the Sister-in-Law, Sans the Sister-in-Law

Early last week Steve let me know he'd be out of town Friday afternoon through Sunday. I thought it would be a great chance to run to Brady for Will and I. He could play with his much beloved cousins (Ben and Jerimiah) and I could deliver some stuff to Missy, my sister-in-law, that I had gathered for her.

I like Missy.

I know that seems simple, especiallys since I don't really "dislike" many people. Both the women married to my brothers and the women married to my brother-in-laws are all pretty special women, in their own ways. There are aspects of their personality or lives that click with me. But I'd have to say that Missy feels the closest of them all.

I'm sure it's a combination of many things. We are both native Texans. She's been married to my brother for over twenty years. We grew up in the same area and financial situations. Our first round of children were the same age together. Besides, she's a genuinely nice person. In the last five years, Missy's given birth to two boys, lost two children, had a brother injured and paralized for life, lost her father, had to spear head a law suit to help support her brother, and spent the better part of four years having to give one of her sons shots weekly and run him to the hospital for stays 5-6 times a year due to an immunity issue he finally outgrew.

She's also lived the closest to my crazy mother and taken more than her fair share of shit for the privledge. Through it all, she's remained a strong, loving woman that is still a joy to be around.

I was really looking forward to seeing her one-on-one and just visiting. Not that I dind't want to see my brother. But every time I've gone to visit Jessy, it hasn't worked out that I've actually spent any time with him. He's always got friends around, is working, heads off with the guys, or is drinking heavily (which is fun to watch but not much visiting gets done).

Will and I drive up at their place about 10:30 Saturday morning to find that Missy has taken a much needed and well deserved day off. Her and her daughter, Breanna, snuck off to Fort Worth for the day. Momentarily, I was like, what a waste of a trip.

But Jessy, and all three of his sons were at the house. No other company. He didn't run off and leave me. He wasn't drinking. We sit out in the front yard and watched the kids play. We rode bikes in the road with the boys. We watched them play games in the living room. He bought us lunch at a local BBQ place where the boys could run and play on the patio without disturbing anyone.

As I relaxed and fell into the grove of the day, I really enjoyed it. It was peaceful, relaxing, there was no pressure at all. We actually talked. Not about anything huge, just life.

While I drove to Brady expecting a visit with my siser-in-law, I got an unexpected gift in her absense. A visit with my brother.

How the Hell Would I know?

Those of you who know me, know I'm a native born and raised Texan. Which, yes, I guess does mean I have pre-mature age spots, spent to many years with large hair, and use to think chewing gum was sexy.

But most of all, it means I have a drrraaaawwwwllll. I was practically born with one. I spent most of my formative years in a town that's population boasted a little over 2,000 -- and no, I didn't forget a zero. You've heard the expression, a town so small you can walk across it . . . it was.

I never noticed that people spoke oddly, or that I myself, spoke oddly. We all sounded the same. When I moved out and started a family I moved about 30 miles away to a huge town of just over 5,000. There were a few non-Texans that had migrated down, but for the most part everyone still sounded like me.

It wasn't until I was 28 and moved to Kerrville that people begin to make fun of the way I talked. Oh, it was all in fun. They thought it sounded so cute. People would drag co-workers over to my desk and ask me to say something. I worked in the Editorial department and one of my responsibilities was to validate information on the maps and atlases we produced. I hated it. Every time I'd call anyone outside of Texas, I'd either get the same laughing reaction or the person would get pissed because they couldn't understand me.

It got worse when I moved to Austin and went to work for a professional organization, in the editorial department again. My ex-boss was the worse. I'd hear her on the phone telling her friends in New York about my latest mispronunciation or localism. Her favorite was "fixen". She'd ask me if something was done and I'd tell her I was just fixen to do that. She'd laugh until she had to cross her legs or sit down. I no longer say that.

Steve's younger brother, Greg, married a woman from Germany. When Steve's maternal grandmother made the trip down to Texas to meet both Greg's and Steve's new wives she expressed concern before hand about being able to understand the native German. After the visit, her son-in-law asked her if she had any trouble understanding Stephanie and she said, "No. Her I understood. It was Misty I had trouble understanding."

When my girls were young, they were around TONS of cousins, aunts, uncles, grand parents. They were exposed to all kinds of dialects and ways of speaking. They never had a problem.

Then there was Will . . .

It's pretty much just Will and I at home. I understand him and he doesn't sound to bad to me. A little off, but he's a kid. So we show up at the Open House at his school last week and his teacher takes us aside to warn us that at the upcoming parent conference we need to discuss the issues Will is having speaking clearly. She had invited a counselor in to observe him and they would be giving us some exercises and things to help him counter this issue.

She made the comment that I was probably so use to being around him that I didn't always correct him when he spoke incorrectly.

"No," I responded. "I don't ever correct him."

She laughed. But I don't think she understood. It wasn't that I didn't want to, or was slacking off. I didn't know he had an issue. How the hell am I suppose to know what he should sound like?

As long as I understood what he was saying, I figured that was good enough.

Looking back over my life . . . maybe not.

Bad Hair Day

Last night I was in such a rush after my shower that I pinned my hair up without even combing it and forgot about it. I took it down right before bed and slept on it wet.

When I got up this morning, my very straight and moderatly long hair was krinked, bent, and fuzzy. It was undoubtfully the worst hair day I've had in years.

Oddly, I didn't feel the urge to call OneBigStick, nor the annoying commentor who wanted to make it a four way.

Maybe tomorrow.

A Leap Forward, a Leap Back

A few months ago I bit the bullet and purchased Will a Leapster handheld console, it was the outgoing model and I purchased it on sale for $35. While the Leapster it's self is not amazingly expensive, the games are. Each game starts out around $30 and slowly sinks in price as new one's come out. But you can't buy any of them for less than about $15 -- and that is online, then you pay shipping.

What I love about the Leapster is that all the games are teaching based software; and age specific. I buy games for Will's age that allow him to learn his ABCs, numbers, shapes, matching, and create different type of art. And they come in the 'hot' charactes of the day: Scooby Doo, Lightening McQueen, Monsters, etc.

Being the penny pincher I am, I religiously search my local classified online for any games on sale. I managed to buy three of them for a total of $15. Then I found out one HEB Plus further south was clearancing out some games for $10 each and I made a trip down there to pick up a few. I also bought some on sale at Target for $20 each. As you can see, even penny pinching, the money adds up.

But the time that Will spends on them, off and on, is worth it.

So, today I purchased a large lot of Leap Pad books and cassettes, which is different than the Leapster -- but made by the same company. The Leap Pad has a place where a book lays open on it and it has a pen that you point and it reads the story, or words, outloud. It has a few activities, but overall it requires more supervision and is less fun. My sister-in-law wanted me to keep my eyes open for any books that I could for her boys, age 2 and 4.

The batch today was 25 books and casettes for $50 -- that's $2 a set. Even at thrift store prices, I've been paying closer to $5 a set. So I spent 2 hours in the car and drove over 100 miles round trip to pick them up.

When I got home and seperated them out, I picked out a couple to add to Will's collection. Then I matched up the rest. I was not happy to find that five books had no cassettes and five cassettes didn't match their books. So really, I only bought 20 books. Then I found out that two of the matching one's were missing other things -- cards. So, really I only bought 18 sets. But there were three books that were exact duplicates of three other books. So, I only bought 15 unique sets. Really then, I paid an average of $3.33. Oh, and don't forget the gas. But I figure I'm still under $5 each.

Just as I'm posting the non-matching cartridges and books on freecycle for anyone who wants them, Will walks by. "Hey, that goes to my Leapster."

Looking where he's pointing, I tell him, "No. Those don't match anything. So, I am giving them away."

"They go to my leapster," he insists. "Look, they have a bump on them." They sure as hell do. Looking over the cartridges closer, three of the five are leapster cartridges. Two of them are actually cartridges I had wanted to purchase but had been unable to find for less than $30 each. And I was about to give them away.

So it was a great day for Leap products, until Will's Leapster quit working this evening.

Stephanie Got a Diaper in the Mail

We are always getting free samples sent to our house. Usually they are baby products. However, we have received soaps, razers, bandaids, etc. Today we recieved an adult diaper sample . . . for Stephanie Marquardt.

This mystical Stephanie Marquardt has haunted us the entire 12 years we have lived here. She is actually listed on Steve's credit report. She also gets junk mail constantly. I think she popped up when she did because Steve Marquardt, rented his home in Kerrivelle to Greg and Stephanie Marquardt for a year before they bought it.

Somehow, the name attached to Steve and follows him around, an alias if you will. Hell, what do I know, maybe he's into cross dressing and that's his 'female' name. LOL

Regardless, Stephanie is now old enough to receive a sample adult diaper which is guaranteed to let her rest easier at night, secure that she's "covered" against accidents. (Gotta love that!)

A few years back Stephanie got her invite to join AARP, which was hiliarious. A year later so did Misty and Steve, and it wasn't nearly as funny. So as I sit in my car at the mailbox holding an adult diaper I had this since my days were numbered.

Then I laughted out loud. How many people are getting samples of baby diapers and adult diapers at the same time? Life is funny.

OneBigStick and a Sex Guide

While cleaning out my house the last few weeks, I've been giving away tons of items every day on our local freecycle. If you are unfamiliar with the orginization, it is a recycle group that allows you to post things you want to give away for free. People respond to your email and you pick who you want something to go to and make arrangements for them to pick it up. You can post anything.

Today, I posted something I was a little concerned about, a sex manual. It's not a sleezy manual, I paid almost $30 for it from a local book store. I didn't want to throw it away and figured there might be someone out there that could use it. But I did worry about getting a response from a weirdo.

About fifteen minutes after the post went up I got an email that simply asked if the book worked for me. The email wasn't signed by a woman or man, so I wasn't sure who sent it. Occasionally, I will ask someone how liked a product they are offering for free to see if I want it. So I replied, but tried to keep it clean and above board. I simply said, "I didn't learn anything new from it."

Half an hour later I get a response back. It's a man in his forties who is divorced and wanted to know if I wanted to get together and share information. I didn't answer.

Half an hour later I get another email where he aplogizes for bothering me. All it takes to get kicked out of this group is an email to the admin about this type of behavior and I figured he was scared shitless I going to report him.

I responded and told him that I was not bothered by his email. Just very married.

Half an hour later I get another email where he tells me that he was married for 18 years and the one thing that really brought them closer was having three-somes. I didn't respond.

Half an hour later I get another email asking if we are going to 'do this thing', this swapping of information or not. I do not respond.

Half an hour later I get another email saying that apparently we are not swapping information, but giving me his number in case I change my mind.

I was left with several thoughts/impressions. First, are men in their forties really that desperate? And, who scrolls freecycle trying to pick up chicks? Really, when someone is so not interested, you hand out your number anyway? What, am I going to have a bad-hair day tomorrow and call him up?

And not least of all is the knowledge to check out the handle on someone's email address if I even think it could be a questionable email. The guy never signed his name, but his email handle was OneBigStick.

Backassward

Never has there been a truer use of this word than what I've been fighting with for the last few months. The true irony is that it has taken me YEARS to realize I was doing the following.

I crawl into bed and lay on my side facing the center of the bed; I'm laying on my right side. In a few minutes I am unable to lay that way any longer and HAVE to roll over.

Sometimes I'll roll to my other side, most nights I will roll to my tummy. The funny part is that I can NOT force myself to roll directly from my right side to my tummy. I will scoot further into the bed and roll from my right side to my back, to my left side, to my tummy. Even if I stop on my left side for a while, I'll end up on my tummy.

But every night for the last few months this has been my sleeping habbit when I go to bed. I've even tried laying down on my tummy or my left side first and it doesn't work. I HAVE to lay down on my right side first, then roll over 3/4 of the way to my tummy to sleep.

If that isn't a backassward way of getting to sleep I don't know what is.

I feel like a dog making circles before I lay down, a little to close to the 'animal' within for me.

Good Authors putting out Bad Books

I've mentioned, more than once, about what an avid reader I am. I have a two page list of my favorite authors of the moment that is constantly updated. I list each of their upcoming books and dates. And as my taste evolve, I delete and add new authors.

I have a basic handful (10-15) of authors that I've read and enjoyed for years. Authors whom I excitedly await their new books. Authors whom I've actually paid full hardback book price for their newest book the day it came out. Authors whom I own every book they've written.

But the last few months, they haven't exactly been appreciateive of my loyalty.

I think part of the problem is that the more I come back to life, the less appealing reading all the time is. So, where a so/so book six months ago might have gotten read anyway, now it doesn't. Seriously, I used to NEVER not finish a book, even if I thought it was horrible.

Now days, it seems i'm batting 50/50. Half the new books I read, I don't even get to the third chapter. I think that is one reason I've been doing so much re-reading of books I know I enjoy. That is also one the reasons new books by trusted authors have began to mean so much to me. I think to myself, "At least I'll finish this one!"

Only, not really.

I think the pressure to publish books so often has taken away from the ability to create GOOD books by many authors. I've purchased three different books on the day they came out by three different authors I really like in the last two months and not been able to finish them. Some of them, I haven't even made it through the first chapter. They are that bad.

But those authors on my list that put out only one book a year, still enjoyable. Still well written. Still entertaining. The others are like reading scripts for a commercial; he said, she did, they ended up over here, the car started, a horn honked, etc. The words are there but the artistry has been sacraficed. In some cases, the plot as well.

Readers expect to pick up the occasional bad book when you are trying a new author, but we feel a sense of security picking up a book by an author we know.

Grumble, grumble, gripe, gripe. Bad author!

A good . . . good . . . bad day

At Will's school, they send home a folder every day with teh children. Inside this folder is a stapeled calendar of the month and each day the teacher draws a color face over the day. A color coded key on the opposite page shows the following information:

Purple is extrodernary behavior
Green is as expected
Yellow is misbehaved
Blue is misbehaved again after being repremanded
Red is unsafe behavior/sent to the office

Will's first day of school he got a purple, I don't imagine there were to many students who didn't. Mostly he gets greens, which I am extreamly pleased with. Steve would prefer he gets purples every day, but we ignore him. To encourage good behavior, each week that Will gets all greens or purples I let him purchase the toy of his choice (within reason).

He's received one yellow, about 10 days ago. The teacher took the time to write a quick note under the yellow frowny face that said, "Played unsafe with friends." Will did not get a toy that weekend. Last week he got all green and on Friday mananaged to snag his second purple. He got toys.

Today was kind of confusing, in more than one way. Each time a child does something nice at school, the teacher gives him a popsicle stick. When they get a certain amount of sticks they get to swap it for something out of the 'treasure chest'. Today, Will got to select something from the treasure chest. He is EXTREAMLY proud of his prize. He also had a great day at school, his teacher gave him a green smiley face.

Then, as they were lining to go home, a boy cut in front of Will and Will grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. Refusing to let the boy cut. Will's teacher scribbeled out his green smiley and put a yellow frowny in it's place.

Oh well, it's life. Every time you start to think you're getting ahead, you get slapped down again. LOL

Tori's 21!

Today was Tori's birthday, she's officially 21 now. She came by for lunch and we took her to Fuddruckers, which was nice, but quick. We stopped back by the house for cake and presents. Will and I made her a Strawberry cake that came out really well. We made sure she took it home with her afterwards.

She arrived at our house at eleven. We drove into Austin, ate, and were back home by noon. We had cake, opened presents, and she was gone before one.

I was sort of suprised about how un-upsetting the entire thing was. I remember, prior to Will, how upset I was by each birthday as Tori aged. She was my baby.

After four years, she truely has been reassigned true middle-child status.

Oh, it's Tori's birthday? That's nice, lets make her a cake.

What's on TV?

[] Not-Hispanic

I want to start out this post by stating that I am the most non-racial person alive. I was raised by a Hispanic step-dad and all my brothers and sisters are half Hispanic. Having watched true prejudice been displayed towards my family from a young age has reinforced to me the benefits of liking or disliking people on their own merits. Honestly, I don't tend to like many people; so if you wanted to, you could consider me a person or human bigot. But when it comes to race, religion, nationality, or sexual preference I couldn't care less.

But . . .

The last year or so it has been hard to miss the fact that Austin's Hispanic population has grown tremendously. If an employer asks if you are bilingual; they only want to know if you speak Spanish as well as English. Steve was actually on an interview where he had checked bi-lingual. When the interviewer found out his 'other' languages included German and Sign-Language, he was told, "Those don't count."

When I go to the grocery stores in this area, 1/3 of all items on the shelf have labels in Spanish as well as English. Half the service providers (waiters, sackers, cashiers) in South Austin, don't speak enough English to have a transaction with comfortably.

Twice, I've called a government agency or city office and listened to their message in Spanish, only to eventually get the following message, "For English, press one."

Still, it didn't really hit home until I began to prepare Will for school. The first time I went, "Whoa!" was when I stopped by the heath department to get his shots. They handed me forms in Spanish and when I tried to give them back, they tried explaining to me in Spanish how to fill them out. I finally did get one in English. During the three hour visit, and rotating door that let in no less than twenty families, I saw one other non-Hispanic family.

When I complained to my friend, she told me how upset she had been when her son had been taught the Pledge of Allegiance in Spanish during the last school year.

The forms that I had to fill out to enroll Will in school were numerous, but half of them were inapplicable. Did we come form a migrant working background? What was the primary language spoken in our house? What nationality was our family? They went on and on, duplicating the same questions in different ways. And every form was printed on English on one side and Spanish on the other.

Will attends the early class because that is the English speaking class. When I mentioned this to my friend, she said that was a good thing. At least he's not being held back or bored by having to learn English this entire year.

Steve and I attended 'back to school' night at Will's school a few days before the official start day. Every other parent that appeared in Will's teacher's class room was Hispanic or had a Hispanic partner. His teacher is Hispanic. After greeting us briefly at the front door, she retired to sit with the Hispanic parents and talk in Spanish. We probably spent a combined time of 20 minutes in her room and were spoken to for less than two of them.

Will tells me every day about the other names his class mates call him. And it's not bad names, it's just incorrectly pronounced versions of Will or William. I have to explain to him why they don't say it correctly and that it's not wrong and they are not being mean.

Every week since Will started tending school he has brought home additional forms from the school for us to look over, fill out, and sign. They are ALWAYS about nationality. In fact, I signed one tonight that says it all. The first option for you to check is 1. Hispanic or 2.Non-Hispanic. Further down the form, they list the options for race and in order they are: Hispanic, Indian, Asian, Black, Hawaiian, White.

Steve has been facing the same issue where he works. He is asked to deliver cabinets or doors to work places that hire only Spanish speaking men. Half the employees at his company are first generation Hispanic and have trouble communicating or following directions causing dangerous situation to pop up all the time.

It bothers me. And it's not about Hispanics or the Spanish language. I have nothing against either. I think that Hispanics are very hard working, extremely family orientated, and approve of their drive to better themselves and their family. I've often wished I spoke Spanish, it's a beautiful language. I've also wished I spoke German, French, and Russian.

But, I don't expect to have to speak them to stay and live in the same place five generations of my family have been able to speak English and get by just fine. (Okay, some version of English. LOL)

An overwhelming need to not raise our son where he is a minority and discriminated against is one of the main reasons we are considering moving out of state. Somewhere the Pledge is still recited in English and we never have to check 'not Hispanic' again.

An Afternoon at the Folk's Place

While my in-laws are away, I agreeded to fill their bird feeders if I happen to be in the area. Today, after Will got out of school, I had to run up near there and we drove over to their house.

As we exited the car, it started raining on us and we dashed inside. It was raining to hard to fill the feeders, so we decided to wait until the rain slowed down. I had brought a book with me, and Will pulled out toys from the closet to play with.

It was an incredible and relaxing hour. No TV, radio, or phone calls. No pressure to "do" something like you have when you are at home. No computer to check emails. Just the sound of rain coming through the open door.

Wet Stuff on the Lawn

If you don't live in Texas, you may not be aware that Texas is experiencing the worst drout in over fifty years. Record high tempetures and way below average rain fall has left over 80 counties in Extream Drout conditions.

At the end of July of this year, the drout had already claimed over 3.5 billion in crop and livestock.

We are smack dab in the middle of the dry area. It has been over a year since I have been able to water my yard, wash my car, or let my son play in the sprinker. In the city limits of Austin and some of the wealtheir subdivisions out side the city, you are still allowed to water. They are restricted to once every five days and only before 10 am or after 7 pm.

The Austin American Statesman publishes the worst residential water offenders each month from a list supplied by the city. While in my subdivision we are allowed to use only 30,000 gallons a month -- and are fined if we go over that, some of these offenders use 200,000-300,000 gallons in a single month - with no fines or increases in the cost of water.

The past twelve years in Austin, we have experienced 6-8 weeks of swamp like weather during the spring. Where it is raining, about to rain, just rained, flooded, or drying out from the last rain constantly. This year we didn't have that. We've had so little rain and it's usually at night. By the next morning the ground isn't even wet any more.

Then, the last three days this odd liquid stuff has been falling from the sky. You can't see the stars due to the cloud coverage. Mud is every where, all the leaves are being washed to the ground, and the tempeture has dropped 5-10 degrees.

Whatever that wet stuff on the lawn is, I'd like to see a little more of it.

Clean Windows: a Real Energy Drain

I know you are getting tired of hearing about my house cleaning (and boy, is that a sentence I never thought I'd say -- type), but I have to share with you my window experience.

As I have never been an extreamly clean person, you can imagin how far down 'doing the windows' was in my priority list. About ten feet under ground. While cleaning the kitchen, I had to clean the one window that sits directly over the sink. To be honest, I don't know that I've cleaned this window ONCE in the twelve years we've lived in this house.

I clean it from the inside and it was still dirty looking. So I went outside, removed the screen and cleaned it. It was horrible; I had to spray and wipe it down three different times. At which point I realized some of the dirt was coming from my inadequate cleaning from the inside.

So back inside I went, to clean the window. This is the ONLY clean window in my house and I have been shocked at the difference in light, and heat, that are coming thorugh it now that it is cleaned.

I know it's hard to imagine, but every time I've gone into the kitchen/dining area today I've had one of those "Holy shit" moments. It's very noticeable. More light is coming in through that one clean window than the ceiling fixture puts out.

I'll be honest and admit I love it. I love to be able to see through the window, to feel the sun, to not have to turn on a light in the middle of the day. But the cheap-ass part of me is thinking, how much would my electricity bill to cool the house go up if all the windows were clean?

Or, is it the lazy part of me?

Dog-Gone Clean House

I have been working on cleaning up my house for two and a half weeks now. In the process, I am moping some part of it daily, all of it every few days. I am changing the dog sheets and blankets on their beds every couple of days. I also cut both dogs hair down to their body to help with a heat rash they have suffered this summer. Steve has bathed them two or three times in the last week alone.

In other words, if not for the leather couches that will forever smell like dogs, you probably wouldn't even know I had dogs when you step into the house. Which is HUGE for us, our house has always smelled like dog haven.

Apparently though, it is much HUGER for the dogs. For days, my small Lassa Apso, Winkles, has started peeing and pooing in my house. Not even in one spot or area, all over. It gets worse each day that passes. I put her out the same as always. Now, I force her out. We've disciplined her. She's not a young pup; we've had her 11 years. For her breed of dog, she's not old enough to be having issues and we haven't changed her feed recently.

So, I was bamboozled.

Until tonight. Steve and I were talking about it, as he cleaned up another pile; her sixth of the day. And I think he hit it right on the nail head.

"I think the house doesn't
smell like her any more
and she is marking her territory."

Shit in My Cabinet

As I've mentioned, I am cleaning my kitchen this week and that includes the cabinets. I am amazed at the stuff I've managed to dig out and either throw away or freecycle.

Here is a partial list:

1. Kool Lube 3 - clipper blade coolant, blubricant, and cleaner


2. Half a box of banana flavored Gue, that expired in 2004


3. Two large bottles of Citric Acid


4. A tub of Nutri-Start Baby Bird formula that expired in 2001 -- this would have been helpfull when we were trying to feed a baby bird last week


5. Three different parts of three different broken crock pots

And I'm only half way through. I can't wait to see what pops up next.

You Smell

Scent has been on my mind a lot the last few months. For one reason, as I write my paranormal book on werewolves, they have a superb sense of smell and I have to integrate that constantly. For another, I've started washing my laundry in scented laundry soap.

Steve is sensitive to many dyes and fragrances, so over the years I stopped using any laundry soap but the "free" variety -- no fragrance or dye added. Slowly, over the last 14 years I've also stopped buying the expensive perfume I use to love. I tried some cheaper stuff once or twice but didn't like it. As a result of both these things, I end up with no scent but my deodorant on.

It got to the point that when I passed someone in a store that smelled good, I wanted to turn and just follow them, enjoying the fragrance. So I decided to start washing our laundry in separate loads so I could go back to using detergent that smells good, and adding Downy. I also recently started buying nice 'girly' bath soap.

Having been without so many of these fragrances for so long I realize to an extent many don't how many "smells" we put on ourselves in a daily biases. We wash with fragrant soap, wash and condition our hair with fragrant products, style hair with fragrant products, wash our clothes with fragrant detergent, use fragrant dryer sheets, use deodorant (I hope), moisturize with fragrant lotions, use fragrant sun block, and sometimes we add cologne or perfume.

Seriously, to someone (or thing) with a strong sense of smell, we must stink.

The Week Ahead

Our week starts tomorrow, Tuesday, and I was just thinking of what each of us in the house have to look toward.

Will
Will will learn the letter 'm' this week as well as the number '1'. He is taking in a mushroom tomorrow for show and tell. He will turn in his first book order to his teacher later in the week.

Me
I will continue my house cleaning spree and tackle the kitchen this week, which includes cleaning the cabinets, ice box, and stove. Can we say "yuck"? I will also try to find, or build, book shelves for my vast book collection so i can make my way into the my bedroom for cleaning/organizing purposes. I need to fill my bird feeders. I will also sit down with my border collie and a pair of scisors for the better part of an hour.

Steve
He will work at the same place he does every week, doing something he does all the time, for the same people he always works with. He'll come home in the evenings and dodge a hyper child, try to relax in front of the TV, and have a beer or two.

We're an exciting lot, aren't we? LOL

It Ain't All Good

Coming back to life, as I tend to think of my exodus from a five-year long depression jag, isn't all good.

Sure, most of it is, and I wouldn't change it for anything. I enjoy things, look forward to each new day, laugh, make plans, feel love towards my family and friends, and so much more it's impossible to say.

But there is one sad side effect of being reanimated; the fact I care about things deeply and have opinions on matters. I'm not saying either of these things are bad.

But on one hand, you have a woman who hasn't really cared about anything for almost five years. Not often, or strongly enough, to disagree or argue about it. Unfortunately, my personality is to stand up for what I believe in and argue for what I want. I'm sure that seeing as I haven't put forth the effort to support my viewpoints as often in the past I probably feel the tendency to do so more than is good now.

On the other hand, you have a man who has spent five years with a woman who generally just didn't care. Seldom voicing contradicting beliefs, or if she did voice them, she didn't stand behind them long . . . just giving up when it became to much of a hassle to deal with.

So, we have some adjusting to do. Within our own expectations and how we communicate and deal with each other.

It's not fun. Not comfortable. Not, all good.

A Family Thing?

Just something funny I noticed this weekend at the Goat Cook-off.

Missy, Jessy's wife, took her two little guys to the craft fair to find a toy. Steve took Will to the fair to find a toy. Byjo's husband, Jody, took his son and daughter to the fair for a toy. All at the same time. I stayed behind and read.

When they returned . . .

Missy's boys has swords.

Will had a soft-pellot gun.

Byjo's son, Sam, has a cross-bow.

Is it a family thing? Or, a red-neck thing?

The World Championship Goat Cook-Off

My family drove to Brady and stayed the weekend for the annual Goat Cookoff; no, I'm not joking. This is the single biggest event held in Brady each year. As my 'home town' and with family still living there, that would be draw enough. But, the older of my brothers, Jessy, enters the cook off each year, which is a HUGE endeavor.

Each team pays like $500 entry fee, has to rent out expensive places, supplies food and drinks all weekend long. Jessy said he spent almost $3,000 this year. Most serious compete rs will get sponsors, which Jessy did on year. But the sponsor had so many rules and regulations that no one was comfortable sitting around camp, which is basically what it's all about.

There are two dances during the Goat Cookoff; a free one on Friday night and a street dance on Saturday. There is a craft show and a festival on Saturday along with the judging. They also have all kind of events you can choose to participate in; horseshoes, spitting, sand castles building, etc. But that's not what draws most of the repeat attenders; it's the cookout/RV groups.

Each entry has a 'camp site' where they sit up chairs, drink, play loud music, drink, cook for cook off and for fun, drink, play games, drink, visit, drink, lie, drink, and socialize. Did I mention they drink?

Jessy and his family rent an RV and literally stay down there on site Wed-Saturday nights. There is always food on, Jessy loves to cook. They buy bright fun colored t-shirts for each family member that comes up. And the kids all just run wild and play in the dirt, rain, mud, hay, whatever they can find. Jessy has four children; 20, 16, 4, and 2. Byjo and her family came with her two children: 6 and 4. And Steve and I were there with Will, age 4. So for the better part of three days there was a 6-year old, THREE 4-year olds, and a 2-year old chasing each other around the camp.

Jessy and his family are also very well known in town due to his business, cooking, and their church affiliation; so all weekend long there are no less than 5 other non-related family members in the camp at any given time -- sometimes up to 15-20 of them.

Everyone comes and goes as they want. Generally, my family would show up down at the park around 10 am and leave around 8 pm. But the party didn't stop until 2-3 each morning; I'm just to damn old to think that even sounds like fun. LOL

In fact, I'd have to say that my recollection of every Goat Cook off I've shown up to support Jessy hasn't been that enjoyable. I've been stressed by the people, strangers, family, heat, odd eating habits, lack of attention, over attentiveness, etc. I go, but I always feel like the squeaky wheel everyone wished had stayed home.

This year was different and I'm sure I can contribute to my good friend Zoloft. :) I upped my dose Thursday night (we left on Friday), Friday night, and Saturday night. I had NO side effects on Friday or Saturday, which tells me I used the extra medication. Today we left town early and I paid for my overdose with 4-5 hours of exhaustion verging on comatose. But it was worth it.

For the first time, I really enjoyed the entire visit. I visited with people when they wanted to visit, read a book when no one was around, ate when there was food, went and bought something to eat when there wasn't. I drink my diet cokes and had a couple wine coolers one evening. I visiting with family and played with kids. And best of all, I didn't stress.

Oh, the weekend wasn't perfect, and I sure as hell ain't no Polly Anna. But it was real. I got to interact with my family, including Paul's boys who came to the Goat Cookoff with their mom. I got to set and watch my son play until he dropped with his cousins that we only see once or twice a year. I got to hug, pick at, touch, and talk to siblings and sibling-in-laws.

All was right with my world this weekend at the World Championship Goat Cook-Off.

Full Moon at Mama Fues

We drove to Mama Fues and had supper tonight. It's a slightly more expensive than normal oriental food restaurant. We were all exhausted and cranky, got one of those better-than-you gay waiters, and our food took forever. In fact, tables around us, who showed up 15 minutes after we did got their food first. It was just one of those nights.

Well, while we were waiting for our check, Will decided it was time to visit the bathroom. When I took him in the ladies bathroom with me, there were only two stalls and the other one had a small boy in it; his 6-7 year old sister was outside the stall yelling at him to hurry up.

Will goes into the other stall and locks it. I can hear the zipper and pants go down, hear him taking care of business. Then all is quite. The little girl peeks under the stall door to see if her brothers feet are still dangling or what he is doing. At that point she squeaks and turns to me, "What is he doing?"

So naturally, me, the little girl, and two women waiting in line all peak down to see what Will is doing.

His pants and undies are around his ankles and he's squatted down peaking under the divider, apparently talking to the other little boy. The bad news is that turned the way he is, everyone who bothers to peak below the door is getting mooned.

I hate to say it, but most of my family has mooned someone at least once. I just don't remember them starting at the age of four.

Oh well, there was a full moon at Mama Fues tonight.

Just Will; The evolving consciousness

For Will's first three years he would not allow anyone to call him ANYTHING but Will. If anyone, including a stranger, called him boy, son, brother, tiger, sport, kiddo, or anything else his immediate response was, "No! Not ____, just Will."

The last year he became aware of himself as a boy, a son, and a brother. He also occasionally became a bear, ninja turtle, dog, cat, power ranger, money, or dinosaur. Instead of Will, he began to refer to himself as "me". Unfortunately, as in all things Will does, he took it a little overboard. Occasionally, a 'will' or 'i' will come out, but mostly it's only 'me'.

"Me hungry."
"Me want a toy."
"Me went to school."

And lastly, over the last few months, 'i' has began to make an appearance.

Nothing earth shattering, just interesting to watch Just Will grow.

The Dream

Today was one of those days that makes me think the dream of my business supporting the family are possible. Granted, I have not been able to mail off a pattern in almost a week due to printer issues.

But . . .

I mailed out ten standard packages and one express package today. I also emailed out four different orders for electronic patterns. And I did it all within three hours.

If I had that many orders every single day of the week (Monday-Friday) I would be making over $60,000 a year. Not rich, but enough to support the entire family off of 15 hours of work a week.

I need days like this to feed the dream.

Will's Go' Fish

Will is a very possessive boy, more so than any other child I have ever known. He doesn't like to give away anything; toys, clothes, food. I've tried the old 'some poor little boy needs this' thing until I'm red in the face, to no avail. Only twice have I ever tried to clear out his toy box with him around; I learn quick.

He doesn't even like others to have our trash. And he's not just possesive of his stuff; but anything belonging to us as well. He's been known to get so upset he cries when Steve takes something on mine, or visa versa.

"No! It's Momma's. Put it back!" he'll yell.

So, I should have been prepared, but I wasn't.

Will's preschool gives the children a small snack right before they are released. As most of the children ride the bus, and can be on it for up to an hour, it's a great idea. Parents supply large boxes of crackers, pretzels, low-sugar cereal and the teachers distribute it to the children.

Last night we purchased a HUGE box of gold fish to send to school with Will. As Will's school as is poor as it gets, the snacks so far have left much to be desired and I wanted to send the children something different. Will proudly cared the huge box in his backpack, the weight of it nearly knocking him over, as he climbed on the bus.

Five hours later, I help him off the bus and realize his backpack is still full and heavy. Taking it from him, I unzip it and sure enough the box of Gold Fish is still in there, unopened.

"Will, did you give the teacher the gold fish today?" I asked, assuming he must not have.

"Yes."

"Did she give them back to you?" Maybe they're not on the approved list.

"No."

"Does she know you have them?"

"No. I took them."

"You took them without asking?"

"Yes. When she wasn't looking I put them back in my backpack. They're Will's Go' Fish and I want them to come home with me."

Moments of My Life

Nothing big has happened lately, so nothing much to post about. But there are always moments in life that just beg to be shared.

Papa Did It
The other morning, Will was all clean and in his school clothes; teeth brushed, hair combed. Steve was in the bathroom and Will was sitting on a chair in the kitchen as I prepared his water bottle, looking so innocent and sweet it almost hurt to look at him. Then he farted, really loud. I look over at him and he says, "Papa did it."

Clean Cookies
I've been cleaning my house like a maniac the last two weeks. Every surface that is not sparkeling, has cleaning supplies of every nature sitting on it. I've been saving my kitchen for the end of the week, which wouldn't have been a big deal but I got in a baking mood. About the fourth pan of cookies I was preparing; I reached over for the Pam and sprayed my cookie sheet. Instead of light yellow oil spraying out, the pan was covered in foaming bubbles. Mr. Bubbles to be precise.

In Trouble Three Times
Will loves to play on the back of the couch, and it normally doesn't bother me as long as he doesn't end up jumping on me. Steve, however, it bothers. About an hour before Steve was due home, I was sitting on the couch and Will climbs up on the back of it. "You are going to be in trouble if Papa comes home and sees you doing that. In fact, you are going to be in trouble two times," I tell him. He shrugs his shoulder, "I'm allready in trouble three times."

Lost Photos
I recently got an upgraded computer and it came with built in memory card readers. This is HUGE as for at least the last six or seven years I've had to fight with cords or readers to download photos. It is going to take me a while to get use to their location though. The computer sets under the desk and the light is not good there, nor are my eyes as good as they use to be. Tonight I went to download photos and stuck the memory card completely into the floppy disc drive. Gives a new meaning to lost photos.