be nice... or leave

I need to be nice. I know that. But it's not always easy.
I need to bite my tongue.
And put on a fake smile once in a while.
But it's not always easy.
I need to say "great idea"
or "I'll think about it".
But it's so hard.
So hard to have opinions these days.
And keep them to myself?
I am so bad at that.
Because I know it will just stew inside me.
And I'll marinate in negative emotion.
Then I'll bubble.
And you know what happens to bubbles?
They pop.
I got sick of popping a little while ago.
But I never used to be this way.
I was QUEEN of the smile and nod.
But I am changing.
And perhaps at the occasional expense of others-
I think I like it.

Even if Santa is watching.

Can you tell I had a weekend at the outlaw's?
Three months before the wedding?

Can you?

Hugs to MY people. My sweet, let-me-be-myself, people. 

10 Giving Thanks.

When there are 10 giving thanks at the homestead on thanksgiving...

T's pumpkin snowman looks to the drive and wonders where all the cars are.

And when we gather round the fire, we're all close enough to feel some of the warmth.

The cousins are controllable, quiet even -

And there is no Marky standing guard over the turkey plate.

And "who's missing?!? something's missing..." rattles in our heads... Our hearts.

And there is elbow room at the table, with conversations that are audible.

With just 10, there is room in the dishwasher for dessert AND dinner plates.

I can't recall the last time that has happened.

The dogs don't dodge oil splatters back by the pool, and they miss hanging with the boys amidst the fried turkey excitement/chaos.

There is no mention of hat parties - no pinatas are hung. But a few times, people do comment on how "small the group is this year...".

There was no line at the buffet!

In fact, the three cousins present ate dessert in the shadows of photos - pics of the missing four cousins.

There's the turkey plate Marky - see? No one dropped it.

When it is just 10 of us giving thanks together at thanksgiving,

the food tastes delicious, of course,

but none of us can shake the fact that

2/3 of the clan is missing.

And 2/3 of the clan is missed.

tricks

It is nice to have a minute to catch a breath.
I haven't had a minute to catch my breath in days.
Weeks?
No. Maybe two months.
Even weekends have been filled to the brim.

Drakey wagged his tail all morning, through his unusual mid-week daylight in the morning run, and gave me a dirty look when I went to get dressed.
He is smart,
I think as I walk to the pet store to buy him some bling.

I strike up a conversation with the owner of the store.
You should bring him in! She says.
I go on to tell her that while he does have a tendency to eat other dogs,
he is smart.

In my head I am thinking... because he doesn't pee in the house while I'm at work.
And he knows the difference between a weekend and a weekday morning.
Oh, and he can sit, and lie down, and stuff.

She tells me about her customer who has a golden,
who can read.
The dog can read.

I go home with a new enormous rope-and-ball contraption, and my head hung low.
Some genius I've got.

And then, he surprises me again.

He has taught his turtle to sit.

I breathe a sigh of relief.
He is smart.

Sunday Silhouettes & Big, Salty, Tears.

The biggest melt-down of his life (to date).

Followed by an exchange between two crying kids and one sick-as-a-dog mother.
And for the cherry on top? I cried too. Big salty tears.
Yup, I'm chalking them up to just pure exhaustion.

Sunday afternoon plans threatened to be canceled
(by me, the feverish mom).
Then Sunday afternoon plans most definitely canceled (by me, the feverish mom)
egged on by another tag-teamed tantrum.
Those are the events that lead to our (unscheduled) Sunday respite at the lake just down from Happy House.

And while we were there:
1. The kids forgot all about me being there.
2. I forgot about their tantrums. (Not quite as easily or as quickly as the kids forgot all about me being there - but I did my best to let it all go in a balloon - is that what we say sisters? I'm new to this balloon lingo)


3. My blessings became as clear to me as two beautiful silhouettes against a fading sun.

(oh, and Dec grew a halo and I spiked an even higher fever).
The End.

First Came Una.

In the order of things: First Came Una.

She arrived in a wrinkled bag with wrinkled tissue and looked like she'd been that way since she was packed up in Ireland. She made us laugh when we first saw her because at the time, Una's recipient (Dec) was a 2 month old boy of a boy.

So, when we unwrapped Una, her pinkness was somewhat shocking. It was the first pink present he'd received. But it came from Auntie Una, with love from Ireland. So this pink bear soon became Dec's crib mate. Una, the bear, is quite like the real-life Una (the dear Auntie). She's ever-present in this house (as the real Una is in our hearts and minds), she's so squeezable and lovable. The real Una can give quite a lovely bear hug too. But mostly Una is comforting to be around. Una helps us relax - just like the real one.

Next on the scene was Murphy.

His story has a bit more color. Red comes to mind.

He came by way of the Hospital ER when Dec sliced his fingers (almost) off. Once Dec was stitched up and sewn back together, we were handed Murphy. A small white schnauzer.

The hospital had received cartons of Murphys to give to children in the ER from one generous donor who wanted his beloved pet's legacy to continue. Murphy was an easy addition to our family, for Murphy is Dec's middle name. What are those odds?

The last on the scene was Sheila

Sheila was her given name sewn to her bottom. She came from Granny Tess' dear friends who handed the package to Dec while whispering to me "our grand daughters just love these stuffed animals!". When Dec unwrapped her he tossed her aside without even a "thank you" or smile and continued playing with his trucks. Sheila would be a tough sell.

That first day, Sheila didn't come close to winning Dec's attention.

But that tiny white poodle held her own.

***

Sheila was missing.

The other night when I tucked the kids into bed, Sheila was missing.

After an all-out search (with my butt in the air and crammed under beds for most of it) she was found minutes later squeezed behind our globey pillow and a lego tub.

Sheila! You silly doggy!!!

Sheeeeeeeeiiiiiiillllllllaaaaaaa!!!!

Came the happy hugs.

She was placed into her spot between the kids for story time.

***

You see, I'm not a huge fan of stuffed animals.

Unless they are special.

Luckily, these three happen to be.

Murphy. Sheila. Una. - they've absorbed more of my kid's tears, hugs, and spilled bottles of milk than any other things in Happy House.

Since the first few days I met the hubby I'd heard captivating stories of his extended family living in the emerald Isle.

Two Aunties (Sheila Murphy & Una) were among the wonderful people he spoke of with great admiration, fond memories, and laughter.

***

As it happens, the day after Sheila went missing from the children's bed -

Sheila Murphy' died in Ireland.

It felt quite right that we'd lead the all-out search for the missing piece of our incredible fun-loving trio and that she slept that night tucked into Nonie's right arm.

Just as it feels quite right to surround the children with warmth from their relatives who love them from afar.

And from above.

from the horses mouth

i like to get ideas.
from others.
especially ideas about food. and dinner. and stuff that is yummy.
if you tell me something is good, chances are i'll try it.
here are some things i have appreciated recently that were suggestions,

they are good.
from the horses mouth.
(going back to that post from t....again...WHAT IS THAT THING YOU ARE HOLDING?!)


1) spinach pizza roll: baby spinach, mozzerella, pepperoni and ricotta rolled up in pizza dough. yum.
2) keeping in the pizza theme: butternut squash sauteed with onions then add gorgonzola (thanks t)...put it on crusty bread or...roll it up in a pizza roll- delish.
3) coffee from a percolater. i had it at a patient's house and thought for sure she was using gourmet beans. turns out it was chock full o'nuts...super good and HOT.
4) cooking a whole chicken in a crock pot (ok, haven't done it yet but i pretty much ANYTHING that can be cooked in a crock pot and am intrigued- cooking whole anythings is scary)
5) the avett bros- some awesone brother keeps sending me cd's, i am a fan


ok...i'm tapped.
can't think of any other right now but i am tires and just made about 100 turkey cookies.

count your blessings

My days are strange. I find glitter in the radiator vents. I eat my turkey sandwich at 9:30 when my kids go to art. I clean up bloody nose-drippings off the floor.  I laugh it off when my student points to the word "Mass" and says that the last three letters make a bad word. Does your six year old know that? Or have I just done an amazing job teaching phonics?
But today I looked out on my domain and my heart smiled.
I felt it.
There they all sat. Engulfed in their work as I sat with three girls for a reading group.

I know that I am not doing this alone.
I count my blessings.

I come home to a dog wagging his tail to see me. Even though I leave him for maybe a little longer than I should. He's been sitting on the love seat all day. I can see his butt imprint. I set it up all cozy for him (shhh). He's kicked the blanket off - straight to the source. He's sassy. I like that.

I have health and a bit of wealth that is maybe not as monetary as might be nice but it fills me up. It looks like parents and sisters and brothers. In-laws and out. Nieces and nephews.

Spending my day with 6 and 7 year olds help me remember the fundamentals. The really simple things. The pleases and thank you's. Your welcomes and I'm sorry's.  The wants and needs.

I know I have much more than I need.

And I count my blessings.

Model Behavior.

For a little less than 5 hours last week, I was a fashion model.

***
HAIR
My hair was straightened, curled, straightened.... then slightly curled again.
It smelled divine once the darling woman at the sophisticated salon had worked her magic on it.
And I had soft wavy ringlets. She even gave my last ringlet curl a little ribbon coated clip to wear on my way from salon to show. "You know? To keep it just so...."

Oh yes. I knew. I knew that even my one ringlet curl in the front of my head felt doted on.

***
MAKEUP
Once at the venue, the makeup artist made my eyes "smokin".
Every time I thought she was done, she reached for another glob of shimmer, or sparkle, or misty shadowy powder, and laid on an additional thick coat. When she was finished with me, I struggled to keep my "smokin" eyes open from the weight of the makeup.

***
RUNWAY
First, the obligatory champagne. Then, the walk down the runway.
I stood tall. I smiled. I tried not to race (gallop, sashay, swagger....)
Then the quick help out of - and in to - and adjusting the clothes.
Then the jewelry.
Then the escort down the step of the stage out to the runway for a stroll down the runway. A second time. (Wow! is this funny!).

Next comes the FINALE. Women spill out from behind the curtains.
Cheering, clapping, flashing cameras. Stepping in tune with the clubbing music.
Circle back.
More cheering.

***
NO REALLY. A MODEL.
I was a model and I didn't hang a piece of clothing nor did I wear Spanx.
(Bri, sorry - did that catch you off guard?).
Fashion show, fashion show...fashion show at lunch. (Someone had to write that).

And we all know it was an honor to be asked to strut my stuff to raise money for a great cause alongside 17 inspiring women.
And yes, let it be known that I (really) enjoyed wearing the fur.
Roar.



***
NEXT TOP MOMDEL?
So, I came home late that night, tucked my sore toes into bed and just a few hours later two of the cutest munchkins in the world woke me up.
Cherub smile faces with giant blue eyes were peeking at me. (Me, the model).

Nonie & Dec, good morning! Thanks for starting the day with your incredible singing (WAY) out of tune accompanied by crazy dancing in the kitchen. Both behaviors serve as a powerful reminder to me of my real modeling job. Smokin' eyes optional.

HEY-

SOMEBODY SAY SOMETHING

IT'S TOO QUIET AROUND HERE

musings....

no, we don't carry our peepee around the house...

no, we don't surf on our library books...

i find myself saying the craziest things.

i actually have to turn my head and not show that i am laughing at what i say.

i mean, it's obvious to me not to pick up the little pot out of of the potty seat and carry it around the house to "show" everyone my urine.

and it's also pretty obvious to me that i shouldn't pee on the couch in my underpants, creating a large pool of urine. (thanks goodness for BOB and his durable furniture), but it blows my mind that these things are LEARNED, and not only that, I AM THE TEACHER.

but then there are the rules that i have given up on,

batty is allowed in the house now, and the ball with it, but it is winter and there is no way i am going out to play baseball all winter, so there.

and batty is allowed in bed. why not? if he wants to sleep with a bat under his back go for it! i do draw the line when he wanders into our room, anywhere between 3-7 am and CRIES that batty did not make the trip into the bed too.

i think he finally got it this a.m.

i have been holding my ground, trying to resist getting up and enforce the fact that whatever makes the journey from you bed to ours is what you get.

so this morning he arrived...taco, baba.....and, batty...

all was well....

as for the couch:

BOB pulled through, a little dawn soap on the microfiber and PRESTO! no more wee stains

as for potty seat:

not so sure where the urine that was in the potty seat went too...it was carried from the bathroom down the hall...no evidence that pee was put into real BIG potty, will need to investigate further

cookies

Ran into a little trouble adding the flour.

Don't fret.

Drakey licked it up.

Naptime.

One by one Nonie strolled the grounds collecting each scarecrow.
She brought them to the front garden for a nap.

And when she was done tucking them in amongst the leaves and weeds, she seemed so content with her two-year-old-mother-hen-self.

Simple Demands.

Twice today Nonie barked orders at me. And twice today I was caught off guard.

The first time was when I stood outside waiting for Dec's bus and she wanted to come but (at that very moment) was without pants, shoes, jacket, or hat and had a terribly runny nose. So I didn't let her out.

"Come in!" she demanded. "Come in!" she barked once more.

When I turned to ask her who would get Dec if I came inside?

She answered quite emphatically: "COME IN!".

The second time she bossed me was when I raised my head after lying with her for 20 minutes telling her stories about how much I love her. I lifted my head to scratch it and she again yapped:

"Lie Down!". "Lie Down!". "LIE DOWN!"

Whoa Nonie.

But she had a day today. Not terrible, but rougher than most.

And as I sit and type and she lies and sleeps, it makes me happy to know that home is where she wants to be.

And by home I mean nestled inside our cozy Happy House.

And by home I mean, nestled inside my arms.

Now - hours later, I replay her two simple demands of the day and know that they translate to so much more.

woah baby

Today was a rough day to be Drakeson Murphy. And when it's a rough day for your dog, well my friends, it's a rough day for you, too.
It all started with a run we went on Saturday morning. It was awesome! The longest one the pooch and I have gone on together. Which means, sadly, the longest run I've been on since we got him. Which is, sadly, not even as many miles as fingers on one hand.
Oh alright, anyway. Drake-Murphdog could run forever in this weather. So sometimes (especially up a hill) I yell "MUSH" like he is a husky running the ice-roads of Alaska and implore him to pull me faster!faster! up the hill.

All's not well that ends in this perma-limp I've had since I pretended to be Sarah Palin on her new TLC series.

Which's brings Ddog and I to a hobble of a run this morning in the 5:30 darkness. But also, isn't it supposed to be a little bit lighter in the morning? I forget every year how this all goes down. Dog did not appreciate the abbreviated hobble and refused to wag his tail for the rest of the morning (he hates Mondays).

After a sleeting drive home I rescue Murphdog and attempt to video-capture his maiden voyage into the snowy yonder. Psssht, please. He's seen it all before and was far less excited than I had anticipated. The only thing that really excited him was nibbling on other dogs' frozen poops. Which is when his bad day really took a turn for the worse. Woah baby did I tell him I was mad at him! My dog-whispering abilities tell me that this is what snow makes him think of... surviving on frosty terds in wild. Well let me tell you how much longer that will last.

Not much.

I hope.

Ddog and I were hardly on speaking terms when we got back to the house. Only long enough for me to brush his teeth and feed him peanut butter so his breath didn't smell like... well.

We sat in silence while I did some research on chameleons and seahorses so when pops got home we jumped at the chance for the Drake to go for another walk.

Well if he didn't come back with burrs from one end of his tail to the other than I just don't know what.

We spent the next hour picking them out. Woah baby does he hate anything going on near his tail!

My poor pup. He really doesn't care for Mondays (through Fridays) and I feel a bit helpless about it all. Not helpless enough to let him delight in eating feces, but you know, helpless. This winter weather has us dreaming of our summer days together when we frolicked for hours on end and ran often enough not to get gait-altering injuries. I just hope I'm doing right by him. There have been several e-posts on a community bulletin board lately about a family who's Tennessee-rescued pooch that they've had for a few weeks ran off and has anyone seen him. My heart has ached each time. I've seen these messages for a few weeks now and this morning there was, what might be, the final note. About a dog- that matched the description, having been spotted, lifeless, on the side of the highway. I looked at my Drake. With whom I have already been through a bundle of highs and lows. And I counted my blessings for each opportunity I have had to live his life with him.

And it gets me thinking.

Maybe the bad days aren't so bad afterall.

Cocktail Party!

I go to a lot of cocktail parties.
I do.

Cocktail partying is a skill - kind of an art form.
It is.

Communicating effectively when you can't hear anything.
That's hard. But I can do it well.

When I'm at cocktail parties I try to stand really tall and always be thinking about my next move.
It's like a game.

A tense, but fun, but stressful game of maneuvering, quick thinking, small talk....
"Check mate, another bacon wrapped something or other please!!!!"

I go to a lot of cocktail parties.
Like, a lot.

And usually by the last 1/2 hour everyone has their eye on the door.
But THIS EVENING?

The fabulous caterer at the party this evening sent her servers through the party with 1/2 hour to spare. They each wore an antique cigarette carrying cases (around their necks) filled with..........?
(Not cigarettes)

PENNY CANDY!!!

Brilliant! Suddenly, everyone was happy and no one had their eye on the door.
And my smile grew as big as those apple slices up there.

Oh, right - the apple slice smiles.
That happened last week when we made apple slice desserts (with peanut butter and marshmallows).

While I've grown to love cocktail parties, if given the choice:
I'd not hesitate to spend an evening at Happy House devouring apple slice smile desserts with my sweet ones. There simply is nothing finer.

Wednesday Smiles

Here are two pictures that should bring a smile to your face.


I've always wondered what "shape face" I have when you see those magazine articles about what kind of sunglasses to wear if you're oval or round or whatever it might be. I've wondered but I haven't really done much research. Well, my questions was answered today when one of my boys gave me this portrait of yours truly.


In other news.
Drake gears up for the winter cold.

let's do this

Well old man.
Looks like you're here to stay.
The winter pajama uniform of head to toe fleece is already well worn.
You have blown your cold breath of frost and snow onto the leafless mountains.You make me leave for work in the dark and get home pretty close to it.
My car has lumbered into its deep winter chill which requires my revving the gas pedal while turning the key. A little foot tap of support on my part to keep everyone's spirits up.
I do not dare to set foot out the door without tea in hand to ensure that my mitts don't numb from the cold.
Though I am wearing my gloves they are purely fashion over function and I won't let you take that away from me.
That's right.
You heard me.

Fashion
______

Function

Joy in Macaroni.

Last week, this macaroni sheet jumped off the school bus and walked into my house. And I?

I've never felt such joy or pride. In fact, I paraded it around the house for a solid 20 minutes.

I hope kids everywhere get a chance to create something out of macaroni.

I have such fond macaroni memories. This is joy defined.

Frustration of course, when the macaroni takes on a life of its own during the gluing process.

Then, nothing but joy (PRIDE EVEN!) when beholding the masterpiece.

Or should I say,

Pièce de résistance

.

(Oh Monet, are you turning in your grave?!) (Good.)

Now I'm just waiting for the macaroni necklace. You know, the one with huge purple and orange feathers?

I may just faint when that necklace jumps off the bus and through my kitchen door.

But when I put it on, I might just be the proudest mother on the planet.

This macaroni? This is the good stuff.