Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
To One Who is In North Carolina. Or Maybe It's New York. I'm Not Really Sure and That Pains Me.
Dear Shelley:
I'm sorry to tell you that my husband doesn't like pickles. He is, however, very much like we imagined our husbands to be. He is fine, and he is handsome, and he treats me very well. He is not the twin of your husband, something I distantly recall being in the plan. My two sons, however, both adore pickles, and that came as a bit of a shock. At least it was a shock in Asher's case after I plopped a pickle down on his high chair tray when he grunted for it for a solid five minutes. "There. Let's see how you like that," I condescended with all the confidence of a mother who knows how things would turn out. Because mothers ALWAYS know how things will turn out. I was wrong.
Has it ever occured to you that the best parts of our friendship have always been written? When we've been distant, it was always a letter that reminded me how much of me you formed. Or it was a journal entry that you trustingly shared with me that let me know how deeply you cared about whatever it was you cared about. Or it was a late night tome that we addressed to some kid in Vermont that you met at the Hill Cumorah pageant. Who else gets hyper and then decides to write letters? No one. That's the truth.
And now you have two children that I barely know and one I don't know at all. Most of the time this is okay, because Tyler is now my best friend, as I know Matt is yours. It is good to have husbandly best friends. But there's just something about the original, you know? The best friend you imagine when you see the broken-in-two best-friend heart necklace and think, I should give this to my BEST friend. Or the best friend you imagine when you want someone to talk you into going rollerskating; because that's what best friends do. Or the best friend you imagine when you want to write a blog post to your best friend. Somehow I don't see Tyler wearing the heart necklace.
You and I are bad and being friends at a distance. There. I said it. But you know what? I've been improving myself lately. I aced day one of cleaning my kitchen nightly, and I've written three daily blog posts in a row. So I think I'm ready to give it a try. I am very sorry for ten years of distance. Will you forgive me the letters I didn't write you on my mission and the letters I didn't write you on yours? Will you forgive me the correspondence I failed to keep up while you were in Manhatten falling in love with your husband? Will you forgive me the questions I never put in to email when we were trying to figure out how to be mothers? Will you forgive me the cards of sympathy I didn't send when Matthew was in the hospital with botilism?
Otherwise, I'll continue thinking of you everytime I open up a jar of pickles. Because one really needs a best friend who loves pickles.
Love,
Laura
I'm sorry to tell you that my husband doesn't like pickles. He is, however, very much like we imagined our husbands to be. He is fine, and he is handsome, and he treats me very well. He is not the twin of your husband, something I distantly recall being in the plan. My two sons, however, both adore pickles, and that came as a bit of a shock. At least it was a shock in Asher's case after I plopped a pickle down on his high chair tray when he grunted for it for a solid five minutes. "There. Let's see how you like that," I condescended with all the confidence of a mother who knows how things would turn out. Because mothers ALWAYS know how things will turn out. I was wrong.
Has it ever occured to you that the best parts of our friendship have always been written? When we've been distant, it was always a letter that reminded me how much of me you formed. Or it was a journal entry that you trustingly shared with me that let me know how deeply you cared about whatever it was you cared about. Or it was a late night tome that we addressed to some kid in Vermont that you met at the Hill Cumorah pageant. Who else gets hyper and then decides to write letters? No one. That's the truth.
And now you have two children that I barely know and one I don't know at all. Most of the time this is okay, because Tyler is now my best friend, as I know Matt is yours. It is good to have husbandly best friends. But there's just something about the original, you know? The best friend you imagine when you see the broken-in-two best-friend heart necklace and think, I should give this to my BEST friend. Or the best friend you imagine when you want someone to talk you into going rollerskating; because that's what best friends do. Or the best friend you imagine when you want to write a blog post to your best friend. Somehow I don't see Tyler wearing the heart necklace.
You and I are bad and being friends at a distance. There. I said it. But you know what? I've been improving myself lately. I aced day one of cleaning my kitchen nightly, and I've written three daily blog posts in a row. So I think I'm ready to give it a try. I am very sorry for ten years of distance. Will you forgive me the letters I didn't write you on my mission and the letters I didn't write you on yours? Will you forgive me the correspondence I failed to keep up while you were in Manhatten falling in love with your husband? Will you forgive me the questions I never put in to email when we were trying to figure out how to be mothers? Will you forgive me the cards of sympathy I didn't send when Matthew was in the hospital with botilism?
Otherwise, I'll continue thinking of you everytime I open up a jar of pickles. Because one really needs a best friend who loves pickles.
Love,
Laura
Thursday, January 21, 2010
So I'm Gonna Blog More. It's Still Not a New Year's Resolution.
I was never so beautiful as I was in Brazil.
I like to think I'm pretty attractive. I'm tall. My nailbeds are stunning. I have blue eyes and blond hair. (Despite what my hair looks like in my new profile picture. Marissa called me at 10:00 last night and said, "I was nervous to call you late, but it was an EMERGENCY. Did you dye your hair reddish brown?" Nope. It was a trick of the light.) Blue eyes and blond hair work pretty well for me, much like they work for 78% of the Utah population.
But in southern Brazil, where I lived for four months after I graduated from high school, blue eyes and blond hair were downright HOT. I was the most attractive person the Brazilians had ever seen outside of the movies. Scratch that, I was maybe the most attractive person the Brazilians had ever seen, inside OR outside the movies. That attractability earned me and my little sister Marissa (who also has blue eyes and blond hair) all sorts of ardent admirers.
That ardent admiration was expressed primarily through loud catcalls from passing cars. Marissa and I ran in the morning to the tune of "I lovee you." Only slightly less ardent was the other profession of undying devotion: "The book is on the table." Every Brazilian took an English class in school and they all know that (even though they don't remember any other English) if the earth collides into the sun, that book will still be on the table. And also, they know that if you ever run into a blond-haired, blue-eyed American, shouting "The book is on the table," maybe accompanied by a few Anglo expletives, will guarantee your way into her heart.
Don't you feel both beautiful and wooed?
I like to think I'm pretty attractive. I'm tall. My nailbeds are stunning. I have blue eyes and blond hair. (Despite what my hair looks like in my new profile picture. Marissa called me at 10:00 last night and said, "I was nervous to call you late, but it was an EMERGENCY. Did you dye your hair reddish brown?" Nope. It was a trick of the light.) Blue eyes and blond hair work pretty well for me, much like they work for 78% of the Utah population.
But in southern Brazil, where I lived for four months after I graduated from high school, blue eyes and blond hair were downright HOT. I was the most attractive person the Brazilians had ever seen outside of the movies. Scratch that, I was maybe the most attractive person the Brazilians had ever seen, inside OR outside the movies. That attractability earned me and my little sister Marissa (who also has blue eyes and blond hair) all sorts of ardent admirers.
That ardent admiration was expressed primarily through loud catcalls from passing cars. Marissa and I ran in the morning to the tune of "I lovee you." Only slightly less ardent was the other profession of undying devotion: "The book is on the table." Every Brazilian took an English class in school and they all know that (even though they don't remember any other English) if the earth collides into the sun, that book will still be on the table. And also, they know that if you ever run into a blond-haired, blue-eyed American, shouting "The book is on the table," maybe accompanied by a few Anglo expletives, will guarantee your way into her heart.
Don't you feel both beautiful and wooed?
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
My New Year's Ruminations
So, I'm typing this while sitting in my living room, staring at my mantlepiece with the letters N O E L displayed proudly. These festive greetings are surrounded by glittery bows and gold and red baubles. Hanging from the mantle are four green and red stockings. One for Daddy, one for Mommy, one for Talmage, and one for Asher. There is also a basket of Christmas books. And a large Santa Claus.
And you know what? I have no immediate plans to take the decorations down.
The tree went down December 26. That is because the tree died circa November 28. Tyler has a tally of trees I keep alive vs. trees I kill. The way he figures, I've got one more year before he nips the fire hazard in the bud and buys a fake tree. The way I figure, Santa Claus will be placing a lump of coal in his stocking. But of course that threat looses it's teeth when it's January 20. Which brings us back to my original point: It's January 20 and I still haven't undecorated my house.
On a semi-related note, I didn't make New Years Resolutions this year. Not that I don't believe in change, because I do. Is it arrogant to say that I'm pretty satisfied with my life right now? I feel like I achieved a pretty good balance this year and I'm satisfied with my health habits, my spiritual habits, and my mothering habits. That my be the first time in my life I can really say that. Well, now that I think about it, I could probably make better goals in my serving others habits. And maybe some better dog-owner habits. Perhaps I could establish better wifely habits. My housekeeping habits could always use some work. I guess I could blog a little more frequently.
And maybe I could take down the Christmas decorations. But you know what? For tonight I going to choose to be satisfied. I'm going to embrace this Wednesday night when I feel balanced. I might even put on a little "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas." I'll talk to you about the ornaments come February.
And you know what? I have no immediate plans to take the decorations down.
The tree went down December 26. That is because the tree died circa November 28. Tyler has a tally of trees I keep alive vs. trees I kill. The way he figures, I've got one more year before he nips the fire hazard in the bud and buys a fake tree. The way I figure, Santa Claus will be placing a lump of coal in his stocking. But of course that threat looses it's teeth when it's January 20. Which brings us back to my original point: It's January 20 and I still haven't undecorated my house.
On a semi-related note, I didn't make New Years Resolutions this year. Not that I don't believe in change, because I do. Is it arrogant to say that I'm pretty satisfied with my life right now? I feel like I achieved a pretty good balance this year and I'm satisfied with my health habits, my spiritual habits, and my mothering habits. That my be the first time in my life I can really say that. Well, now that I think about it, I could probably make better goals in my serving others habits. And maybe some better dog-owner habits. Perhaps I could establish better wifely habits. My housekeeping habits could always use some work. I guess I could blog a little more frequently.
And maybe I could take down the Christmas decorations. But you know what? For tonight I going to choose to be satisfied. I'm going to embrace this Wednesday night when I feel balanced. I might even put on a little "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas." I'll talk to you about the ornaments come February.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Mulan - And Two Tone-Deaf Howes
This is an audio recording done a few months ago that I just stumbled across tonight. Unfrotunately, Blogger doesn't let me do an audio file alone, so I had to make it into a video. Consequently, the video portion is extremely uncreative--sorry.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Howe Thoughts: The Good Parts Version
My little sister Marissa teaches a fourth-fifth split at an elementary school. This means that for the first half of the day, she teaches both fourth graders and fifth graders literacy, and then the classes switch while she teaches just fifth graders math for the second half of the day. Most of her students have two teachers.
Her students were kind and generous with gifts before Christmas break. Her colleague's students were even more kind and generous. "Did you see what Tommy gave us?" her team teacher asked. Marissa followed her over to her stack of loot to see a large assortment of Harry and David gourmet foods.
"I don't remember a gift tower," Marissa said hesitantly. "Maybe I'll go check again."
Marissa went over to her stash to find Tommy's gift to her:
A chia pet.
For my own personal cataloging history, I wanted to chronicle my favorites of 2009 (at least my favorites of the things I track on this blog).
Favorite Books I Read This Year(in no particular order):
Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset
Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo
A River Runs Through It and Other Storiesby Norman Maclean
Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt
Ender’s Shadow by Orson Scott Card
Fablehaven (particularly the third book in the series) by Brandon Mull
Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson
The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery
Tyler's videos:
Asher: Five Posts in One Day
Hide and Seek
Why You Want to Live at the Howe Home
Asher Begins to Laugh
Happy Fourth of July
Stand
Talmage Turns Four
Our Very Own Maradona
Weight Lifting
Turkey Bowl
My favorites of my own writing. I know this is totally self-serving. I'm doing it anyway. (Is it a shame that I had to reach all the way back to September before I found an entry I liked?):
On Nursing and Panicking (The Hallmarks of New Motherhood)
What to Expect would describe Asher as more of Gourmet. He'll latch on for about 5 seconds, get my milk flowing, and then pull off and try to enjoy the firehose squirting his face at his leisure. He'll sample a mouthful of Mama's Milk (the newest rage at all the finest newborn restaurants) smack his lips satisfactorily, and then maybe spit it out like a wine-taster after he's fully analyzed the bouquet and body. I feel like I've given birth to a snobby Parisian milk connoisseur and at one point he's going to send the milk back if he doesn't find it to his liking.
Just Pretend the Date Attached to This Entry Reads March 17
The most obnoxious thing about this family history obsession is that I am aware of how complex family relations work and feel obligated to explain them to you. "This is Joan," someone might introduce me. "She's my mother's cousin's granddaughter. She's like my fourth cousin, or something." "No," I'll correct. "She's your second cousin once removed. Would you like directions to the Family History Center? My name is Laura."
Here’s My Advice: Stick to Your Standards
If I had to point to one thing wrong with the world, one thing to blame all the ills of society on, it would be the ubiquitous white truck who prowls the street in the summertime looking for pudgy faced kids and their helpless and hapless mothers. Sure, there was a time when I, too, felt a rush of excitement when I heard the tinkly chime of "When the Saints Go Marching In." That was before I realized the militant persistence that qualifies ice cream men to make their $6.55 an hour. I have successfully ignored one stubborn worker who made four tours around the south parking lot of a playground, only to have him enter the north parking lot immediately after. There's only so much stiff mothering you can dole out before you cave and spend $4.50 on a Mickey Mouse Ice Cream bar whose red dye will permanently stain your clothing.
In Memoriam
In the last week, Mom encouraged Grandma to say I love you to her grandchildren. When I said goodbye to her Sunday night, she said "I love you, Laura," after I kissed her on the forehead. It was nice to hear it vocalized. But I almost preferred our previous goodbyes. I'd talk to her on the phone and ask her about her day, her friends who took her to lunch, her meeting at the DUP. I'd close by telling her that I loved her. "Okay, cupie," she'd laugh. Then she'd be gone.
To Compete With Tyler’s ADD
I prefer the description "so creative she has her fingers in many things and can't stop to deal with trifles like shoes." And anyone who has lived with me for longer than fifteen minutes can attest that living with me is an ADVENTURE. Who knows when we're going to leave somewhere because Laura can't find her keys? They could be anywhere! Let's play find Laura's wallet! See? It's fun.
As I Direct Result of Absent-Mindedness I Outlined in a Previous Post. Or Maybe it Was Just Laziness.
What we weren't anticipating, however, was The Attack of the Bad Seventies Information Program. NBC, in place of programming, is sending on an analog signal an explanation of analog vs. digital TV, created in the style of the calculus programs from the Utah Educational Network. Tyler noted that they had to have filmed the program recently, since it speaks to such a current issue, but they must have dusted off their three-piece polyester suits for the explanation.
When I Was Three All I Talked About Was My Little Pony
My first step in potty training was naked time, where I stripped Talmage in hopes that he wouldn't pee on the furniture. It was wildly successful, and Talmage spent large chunks of the day without clothing on. Being naked became a habit at our house. I know what you're thinking. For the sake of strangers showing up unannounced, I needed to dress my child. But he was my little itty-bitty baby boy! Little itty-bitty baby bums are adorable!
The day after Asher joined our family, all I could think was "That kid needs some pants. Somebody should tell his mother."
Much to the Chagrin of Our Friends and Family
So we did an online search. And people? YOU LIED TO ME. Cell phones cost upwards of forty dollars a month. And that's the cheapest plan we could find. And even more shocking? NONE OF YOU ARE SHOCKED BY THAT. How on earth do you pay that, people? Do you have any idea how much orange juice I could buy that I currently avoid at the store because it's too expensive? A WHOLE LOTTA ORANGE JUICE. And not even the concentrate stuff. I could buy the straw in the actual orange, fresh from the fruit stand, with enough pulp swimming around so the viscosity measures somewhere around molten glass, orange juice.
Her students were kind and generous with gifts before Christmas break. Her colleague's students were even more kind and generous. "Did you see what Tommy gave us?" her team teacher asked. Marissa followed her over to her stack of loot to see a large assortment of Harry and David gourmet foods.
"I don't remember a gift tower," Marissa said hesitantly. "Maybe I'll go check again."
Marissa went over to her stash to find Tommy's gift to her:
A chia pet.
For my own personal cataloging history, I wanted to chronicle my favorites of 2009 (at least my favorites of the things I track on this blog).
Favorite Books I Read This Year(in no particular order):
Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset
Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo
A River Runs Through It and Other Storiesby Norman Maclean
Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt
Ender’s Shadow by Orson Scott Card
Fablehaven (particularly the third book in the series) by Brandon Mull
Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson
The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery
Tyler's videos:
Asher: Five Posts in One Day
Hide and Seek
Why You Want to Live at the Howe Home
Asher Begins to Laugh
Happy Fourth of July
Stand
Talmage Turns Four
Our Very Own Maradona
Weight Lifting
Turkey Bowl
My favorites of my own writing. I know this is totally self-serving. I'm doing it anyway. (Is it a shame that I had to reach all the way back to September before I found an entry I liked?):
On Nursing and Panicking (The Hallmarks of New Motherhood)
What to Expect would describe Asher as more of Gourmet. He'll latch on for about 5 seconds, get my milk flowing, and then pull off and try to enjoy the firehose squirting his face at his leisure. He'll sample a mouthful of Mama's Milk (the newest rage at all the finest newborn restaurants) smack his lips satisfactorily, and then maybe spit it out like a wine-taster after he's fully analyzed the bouquet and body. I feel like I've given birth to a snobby Parisian milk connoisseur and at one point he's going to send the milk back if he doesn't find it to his liking.
Just Pretend the Date Attached to This Entry Reads March 17
The most obnoxious thing about this family history obsession is that I am aware of how complex family relations work and feel obligated to explain them to you. "This is Joan," someone might introduce me. "She's my mother's cousin's granddaughter. She's like my fourth cousin, or something." "No," I'll correct. "She's your second cousin once removed. Would you like directions to the Family History Center? My name is Laura."
Here’s My Advice: Stick to Your Standards
If I had to point to one thing wrong with the world, one thing to blame all the ills of society on, it would be the ubiquitous white truck who prowls the street in the summertime looking for pudgy faced kids and their helpless and hapless mothers. Sure, there was a time when I, too, felt a rush of excitement when I heard the tinkly chime of "When the Saints Go Marching In." That was before I realized the militant persistence that qualifies ice cream men to make their $6.55 an hour. I have successfully ignored one stubborn worker who made four tours around the south parking lot of a playground, only to have him enter the north parking lot immediately after. There's only so much stiff mothering you can dole out before you cave and spend $4.50 on a Mickey Mouse Ice Cream bar whose red dye will permanently stain your clothing.
In Memoriam
In the last week, Mom encouraged Grandma to say I love you to her grandchildren. When I said goodbye to her Sunday night, she said "I love you, Laura," after I kissed her on the forehead. It was nice to hear it vocalized. But I almost preferred our previous goodbyes. I'd talk to her on the phone and ask her about her day, her friends who took her to lunch, her meeting at the DUP. I'd close by telling her that I loved her. "Okay, cupie," she'd laugh. Then she'd be gone.
To Compete With Tyler’s ADD
I prefer the description "so creative she has her fingers in many things and can't stop to deal with trifles like shoes." And anyone who has lived with me for longer than fifteen minutes can attest that living with me is an ADVENTURE. Who knows when we're going to leave somewhere because Laura can't find her keys? They could be anywhere! Let's play find Laura's wallet! See? It's fun.
As I Direct Result of Absent-Mindedness I Outlined in a Previous Post. Or Maybe it Was Just Laziness.
What we weren't anticipating, however, was The Attack of the Bad Seventies Information Program. NBC, in place of programming, is sending on an analog signal an explanation of analog vs. digital TV, created in the style of the calculus programs from the Utah Educational Network. Tyler noted that they had to have filmed the program recently, since it speaks to such a current issue, but they must have dusted off their three-piece polyester suits for the explanation.
When I Was Three All I Talked About Was My Little Pony
My first step in potty training was naked time, where I stripped Talmage in hopes that he wouldn't pee on the furniture. It was wildly successful, and Talmage spent large chunks of the day without clothing on. Being naked became a habit at our house. I know what you're thinking. For the sake of strangers showing up unannounced, I needed to dress my child. But he was my little itty-bitty baby boy! Little itty-bitty baby bums are adorable!
The day after Asher joined our family, all I could think was "That kid needs some pants. Somebody should tell his mother."
Much to the Chagrin of Our Friends and Family
So we did an online search. And people? YOU LIED TO ME. Cell phones cost upwards of forty dollars a month. And that's the cheapest plan we could find. And even more shocking? NONE OF YOU ARE SHOCKED BY THAT. How on earth do you pay that, people? Do you have any idea how much orange juice I could buy that I currently avoid at the store because it's too expensive? A WHOLE LOTTA ORANGE JUICE. And not even the concentrate stuff. I could buy the straw in the actual orange, fresh from the fruit stand, with enough pulp swimming around so the viscosity measures somewhere around molten glass, orange juice.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Monday, December 28, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Wishing You a Yuletide Full of Much Jolliness and Festivity
Tyler and I have a joint goal. Collectively, we like to post 10 times each month. At the beginning of the year, we met this quota with meaty entries. Now Tyler pulls the bulk of the weight with videos, and I chime in with a one liner every week or so. But I'm not sorry. You know why?
I WAS READY FOR CHRISTMAS LAST SATURDAY.
This is incredible and a miracle akin to the immaculate conception (how's that for a holiday allusion?). I've never been ready so early. Usually I wrap the last gift at midnight, Christmas Eve, which is technically after the festivities begin. The downside of this is that I am SO ready for Christmas to begin, as it was scheduled to arrive when I was ready for Christmas--last Saturday, Laura Standard Time. The upside of this? I AM SO READY FOR CHRISTMAS TO BEGIN!!!!! (yes all of these exclamation points are necessary, because what's more worthy of exclame than Christmas?)!!!!!!!!!!!
Talmage is asking for dot art for Christmas. Dot art is the name I made up for Perler Beads, the craft sensation Talmage saw at his Washington cousins' house. Talmage saw them at Micheals and asked for them. I pulled an old classic "Maybe you should ask for those at Christmas." Now so you understand, I heard this refrain from my own dear mother roughly 1,076 times each year from June 25 to December 25. "Mom, can I have a piece of gum?" I'd try. "Maybe you should ask for one for Christmas." "Mom, can I have a drink of water?" Maybe you should ask for one for Christmas." "Mom, what are we having for dinner tonight?" "Maybe you should ask for one for Christmas." The other half of the year (December 26 to June 24) was the build up to my birthday, and so I heard another 1,076 times "Maybe you should ask for that for your birthday." You get the picture.
I never felt pacified by this response, so I don't know why I felt like saying that to my son was a solution, except maybe I knew somewhere intuitively underneath because Talmage took my response literally. "Okay," he said. And from then on, those Perler Beads are what he was asking for for Christmas. Only I didn't realize how important those beads and his childlike naivete were to him until we were on our way to talk to Santa and he adorably turned to me and said, "What are those called that I want for Christmas?" I hadn't bothered to remember, so I scrambled and came up with Dot Art.
We went to see Santa at the Gateway Mall, just downstairs from the Children's Museum, a venue we regularly attend. I glimpsed the red suit on the bottom floor and asked Talmage, "Do you want to go see Santa?" "Talmage got a big grin on his face and we made our way down. I don't know if Santa was on a break or what, but we were the only people there. "We'd like to see Santa," I said brightly. "All right, come here kid," Santa replied. KID. That's what he called him. Talmage sat on his lap and told him confidently that he wanted Dot Art. "Dot Art?" Santa sneered. "What's that?" I don't know how you feel about it, but somewhere in Santa Claus training, it should be noted that you don't ask a nervous four-year-old to explain their gift. After Talmage did his best, Santa unceremoniously plopped him on the ground and sent him on his way. "Hey wait!" he called him back. He waved a broken candy cane in his direction which Talmage shyly accepted and ran back to me.
"Was that the REAL Santa Claus?" Talmage asked me. "No," I frankly replied. "That was one of his helpers." Judge me if you want, but I wasn't having a Santa so lacking in jolliness and festivity becoming Talmage's iconic vision of Santa.
But I'll tell you what is filled with jolliness and festivity. The "Where's My Stuff" button on amazon.com. I did all of my Christmas shopping online this year and Amazon provided me with the option of watching every step of the UPS shipping journey across the country. December 10, 08:03:00 PM, the Perler Beads were in Doraville, Georgia. December 11, 07:25:00 AM, the Perler Beads arrived in Nashville, Tennesee. By 01:42:00 PM, they had made their way to Louisville, Kentucky. And after stops in Indianapolis, Indiana; Hodgkins, Illinois; and Commerce City, Colorado, Christmas arrived on Nana's front door step on December 17 at 10:19:00 AM. I tell you what, I checked the progress of that delivery 17 times on its way. It was just like the North American Aerospace's Defense Command's Santa Tracker which uses "four high-tech systems to track Santa – radar, satellites, Santa Cams and fighter jets" who get to fly "alongside Santa and his famous reindeer: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and, of course, Rudolph" and broadcast Santa's exact whereabouts at all times for children watching on the internet.
And I'll tell you who those fighter jets will be flying alongside this year: the ultimate icon in Perler Bead cheer.
Maybe you should ask for one for Christmas.
I WAS READY FOR CHRISTMAS LAST SATURDAY.
This is incredible and a miracle akin to the immaculate conception (how's that for a holiday allusion?). I've never been ready so early. Usually I wrap the last gift at midnight, Christmas Eve, which is technically after the festivities begin. The downside of this is that I am SO ready for Christmas to begin, as it was scheduled to arrive when I was ready for Christmas--last Saturday, Laura Standard Time. The upside of this? I AM SO READY FOR CHRISTMAS TO BEGIN!!!!! (yes all of these exclamation points are necessary, because what's more worthy of exclame than Christmas?)!!!!!!!!!!!
Talmage is asking for dot art for Christmas. Dot art is the name I made up for Perler Beads, the craft sensation Talmage saw at his Washington cousins' house. Talmage saw them at Micheals and asked for them. I pulled an old classic "Maybe you should ask for those at Christmas." Now so you understand, I heard this refrain from my own dear mother roughly 1,076 times each year from June 25 to December 25. "Mom, can I have a piece of gum?" I'd try. "Maybe you should ask for one for Christmas." "Mom, can I have a drink of water?" Maybe you should ask for one for Christmas." "Mom, what are we having for dinner tonight?" "Maybe you should ask for one for Christmas." The other half of the year (December 26 to June 24) was the build up to my birthday, and so I heard another 1,076 times "Maybe you should ask for that for your birthday." You get the picture.
I never felt pacified by this response, so I don't know why I felt like saying that to my son was a solution, except maybe I knew somewhere intuitively underneath because Talmage took my response literally. "Okay," he said. And from then on, those Perler Beads are what he was asking for for Christmas. Only I didn't realize how important those beads and his childlike naivete were to him until we were on our way to talk to Santa and he adorably turned to me and said, "What are those called that I want for Christmas?" I hadn't bothered to remember, so I scrambled and came up with Dot Art.
We went to see Santa at the Gateway Mall, just downstairs from the Children's Museum, a venue we regularly attend. I glimpsed the red suit on the bottom floor and asked Talmage, "Do you want to go see Santa?" "Talmage got a big grin on his face and we made our way down. I don't know if Santa was on a break or what, but we were the only people there. "We'd like to see Santa," I said brightly. "All right, come here kid," Santa replied. KID. That's what he called him. Talmage sat on his lap and told him confidently that he wanted Dot Art. "Dot Art?" Santa sneered. "What's that?" I don't know how you feel about it, but somewhere in Santa Claus training, it should be noted that you don't ask a nervous four-year-old to explain their gift. After Talmage did his best, Santa unceremoniously plopped him on the ground and sent him on his way. "Hey wait!" he called him back. He waved a broken candy cane in his direction which Talmage shyly accepted and ran back to me.
"Was that the REAL Santa Claus?" Talmage asked me. "No," I frankly replied. "That was one of his helpers." Judge me if you want, but I wasn't having a Santa so lacking in jolliness and festivity becoming Talmage's iconic vision of Santa.
But I'll tell you what is filled with jolliness and festivity. The "Where's My Stuff" button on amazon.com. I did all of my Christmas shopping online this year and Amazon provided me with the option of watching every step of the UPS shipping journey across the country. December 10, 08:03:00 PM, the Perler Beads were in Doraville, Georgia. December 11, 07:25:00 AM, the Perler Beads arrived in Nashville, Tennesee. By 01:42:00 PM, they had made their way to Louisville, Kentucky. And after stops in Indianapolis, Indiana; Hodgkins, Illinois; and Commerce City, Colorado, Christmas arrived on Nana's front door step on December 17 at 10:19:00 AM. I tell you what, I checked the progress of that delivery 17 times on its way. It was just like the North American Aerospace's Defense Command's Santa Tracker which uses "four high-tech systems to track Santa – radar, satellites, Santa Cams and fighter jets" who get to fly "alongside Santa and his famous reindeer: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and, of course, Rudolph" and broadcast Santa's exact whereabouts at all times for children watching on the internet.
And I'll tell you who those fighter jets will be flying alongside this year: the ultimate icon in Perler Bead cheer.
Maybe you should ask for one for Christmas.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Wonderful!! Counselor!!!! (I've been giggling about this for 24 hours)
Me: What are you guys doing tonight?
Sean: Well, the local production of The Messiah is tonight.
Me: That sounds fun and festive.
Sean: Yeah, but I'm not sure it's a production this year. I think it's more of a
sing-a-long.
Me: (Pause.) It's the Roosevelt, Utah community sing-a-long to Handel's Messiah?
Sean: THE PRIIIIINCE OF PEEEEEAAAACE!
Sean: Well, the local production of The Messiah is tonight.
Me: That sounds fun and festive.
Sean: Yeah, but I'm not sure it's a production this year. I think it's more of a
sing-a-long.
Me: (Pause.) It's the Roosevelt, Utah community sing-a-long to Handel's Messiah?
Sean: THE PRIIIIINCE OF PEEEEEAAAACE!
Friday, December 18, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
You Know What Christmas Carol Baffles Me?
I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In. Is that Christmas in Seattle? Is Columbus coming to town? I don't get it.
But I sure like Sting's version of it. Or maybe I just like Sting.
But I sure like Sting's version of it. Or maybe I just like Sting.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
So I Guess This Is My Fault For Not Really Watching TV, But
Who on earth are the Kardashians? And why should I know about them?
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
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