Habanera

Enjoy!

My Baby Can Read (well, no, not really, but she can talk about the pictures)

I woke this morning to the sound of Jenny's voice coming through the monitor on my nightstand.

"No animals in my bed! No animals in my bed!"

I thought she must be processing the way I kick the cat off my bed every time I catch him on it, and was throwing the multitude of stuffed animals off her own.

I was wrong.

"Good night. Good night. Good night. Good night."

Is she playing mommy and tucking her animals in bed (a favourite pastime of hers)?

Wrong again.

"All animals go back to the ZOO." Jenny chanted.

Ah, she was reading to herself.

One of the best picture books ever written and illustrated. If you have a tiny one, you should add this book to your bedtime story repertoire. And don't forget too watch the mouse and his banana.

Why I Haven't Been Here On My Blog Entertaining All Of You

I've been in the middle of a project.

Is your house as messy as mine?

Getting ready to paint the walls after finishing the cabinets.

Last night's mess still on the stove and counter.

One of many Disaster Zones

Disaster Zone in more detail

Drawers waiting to go back where they belong. Adding to the mess, of course.

Door fronts still missing. Painting accoutrements on the counter.

But hey, I have this nice new tile in my kitchen and entryway. If you don't know what it looked like before, believe you me, this is a GINORMOUS improvement.

Happy boy in the midst of chaos.

Jealous sister wants to claim the bumbo as her own. Good thing she's still a skinny-minny.

Satan's spawn wanting to come in. Sorry kitty. No stepping in the paint trays. And what a nice reminder this photo is of how dirty my windows are. One more thing to do. Sigh.

Your Answers Are Confidential

Or so I am assured by our government. But, remembering how the Navy lost a laptop with access to a database that contained all my husband's information a few years ago, and how they contacted us to assure us they were working on recovering the information but to prepare us for the possibility that someone may have obtained that information to potentially pull some fraud and/or otherwise illegal shenanigans, I don't know how much I trust that.

But, as my U.S. Census Form envelope let me know in no uncertain terms, my response was required by law.

So I complied.

I don't mind, anyway.

Why would I want to keep confidential my name and my race and how many kids I have? Pretty much any schmo could figure that out.

I am a woman.

I am white.

I am married to the homeowner.

I have two kids.

I declare it to the world, that this is who I am.

Yes, I am a privileged middle-class white stay-at-home mom.

And you know what? I'm happy to be me.

But shouldn't I be offended that I had to check the box that said "white" because they didn't even give me the option to be "caucasian" or "european american"? Why is "white" a politically correct term but "black" or "indian" or "red-neck" isn't? It feels strange checking a tiny little box next to a word that defines my race, as though that defines me. I may be white, but I don't like being confined to small spaces that limit who I am.

You want to know who I am, Federal Government?

I am sarcastic.

I am loyal.

I am loving.

I am guilty.

I am afraid.

I am happy.

I am shy.

I am faithful.

I am sincere.

I am content.

I am weak.

I am patient.

I am also strong.

I am also impatient.

I am also discontent.

I am also bold.

It just depends on the day and the surrounding circumstances.

But it's hard to find a place to put that on a census form.

A Funny Story

Jenny: Yahnt me tell you a funny stowey?

Shelley: Okay.

Jenny: They laughed and laughed. The. End.

The Magic of Imagination

My dear sister Jessica recently wrote about imaginative play. Here is my favourite line of her post.

"A book taught my children about Vesuvius and Pompeii and now they can excavate my back yard, unearthing the magic of knowledge wedded to imagination."

Now if that doesn't whet your appetite for the whole thing, I don't know what will.

I enjoyed it so much, I just had to share it with the three of you who read my blog who don't already read hers.

Find it here.

Enjoy.

A New Decade

It's my birthday today.

I'm officially thirty-something.

It was a great day.

My mom took me to lunch. We went to The Dodo and I had their famous turkey sandwich with delicious, savory, and unbeatable barbeque dipping sauce.

I haven't been out alone with my mom in AGES. I always have Tiny and Squeak along, so I have to be "Mommy" the whole time, and not just me. I miss grown up time. I miss my mom. Even when I see her frequently, it's just not the same as when we have one-on-one time. Our lunch today reminded me of not only how much I love my mother, but what a wonderful friend she is. How many women can say their mother is also their friend? I'm so grateful that I can.

Then she bought me a present.

Isn't it beautiful? I love it. I've been giddy about it all day.

Then this evening Brent took me out to dinner at Mazza. You would not believe how unbelievably delicious everything is there.

We took the kids with us and they were so good. James was happy and smiley the whole time. Jenny was pleasant and charming and didn't throw a single tantrum or whine even a little bit.

We finished our meal up with baklava, and then we walked next door to The King's English. Brent kept the kids entertained while he let me browse to my heart's content.

When we came home he gave me this:

It's called the Vixen necklace. I don't know that I'm much of a vixen, but I like thinking that I could be one if only I had the right necklace. Oh wait, I think I do!

The day was also filled with emails, messages, and calls from many friends and family.

Perhaps the nicest message I received (though all were sincere and very much appreciated) came from my brother-in-law. He said:

"Things I like about you:

your kids,
your laugh,
your style,
your cooking salmon,
your book recommendations,
your burps,
your singing,
your and Jenny's voicemails,
your being so great to my brother and family,
your husband,
your appreciation for pirates,
your blog posts,
your Christmas bread,
your opinion,
your southern drawl,
your prof. Trelawney,
your license plate frame,
your Jane Austen-ness
your breakfasts,
your political musings,
your Bubba Clause,
your preference for opaque fruit snacks,
and
your overall wonderfulness.

Roane"

Isn't he the sweetest? I have to admit my Professor Trelawney costume is pretty good and my children and husband are fabulous. I am fairly opinionated, and yes my political musings might get me ostracized from the neighborhood if they were more widely known. (I've got you wondering now, haven't I?) However, my license plate frame was a gift from Roane, and while the idea behind it was mine, the execution was his. I'm not sure what Bubba Clause is (perhaps my African-American Santa Claus tree topper?). And while I do love opaque fruit snacks and all things Jane Austen, I don't really appreciate pirates. I merely tolerate them. I have to. It's either tolerance or kicking against the pricks. I choose acceptance and resignation over chronic pain in my toes.

Thank you Roane, for the love you show to me.

Thank you all my dear friends and sisters for your friendship and love.

Thank you Brent, for the beautiful necklace, for our amazing children, and for being so loving toward me all the time. Thank you for working so hard to provide for our family and facilitating and supporting my desires to stay home with our children. Thank you for making me panzarotti and cheesecake. Thank you for remembering the little things, like how I prefer raspberries to strawberries, dark chocolate to milk, and how Cold Duck is my bubbly of choice. Thank you for watching chick flicks with me, for liking Sydney Bristow as much as I do, for not complaining when I ignore you for hours when I'm sucked into my latest novel, and for being the best kisser in the universe.

But mostly, thank you Mom and Dad for giving me life. Mine is so blessed, so happy, and so full of love. The two of you gave me a delightful childhood where I was nurtured, taught, loved, provided for, and given My Little Ponies. You also gave me numerous siblings who were perhaps my torture 25 years ago, but have since become my best friends in life. You prepared me for life as a grown-up, making the process of growing up less scary. You helped me become the wife and mother I am today.

I owe you everything.