On the subject of Movies

Posted July 4, 2009 by ryterrytes
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I watched bits and piecs of ‘Flipper’ on television last week.  Aside from grinning about how stinkin’ cute Luke Halpin was, I was struck with a bit of nostalgia.  It was the first movie that I ever went to see without parental supervision.  In fact, Shelly and I were put in charge of a younger sibling at a small town theater showing while our parents played cards together.  They dropped us off and we had to buy our own tickets, purchase popcorn, see the show and then wait outside the theater to be picked up.  How cool was that?  I think I was 8 or 9. 

    I have written in the past about my family’s affection for drive in theaters as I was growing up…..and the excitement at finding a working drive in not far from where we live now.   We’ve been twice this summer.  I have to admit that I fell asleep during both of those excursions.  Fortunately my leg was pressing against the speaker in the car door and I was jarred awake by all of the explosions at the end and so didn’t totally miss the finely sculpted tushy and  pecs of Hugh Jackman’s ‘Wolverine.’  Not exactly my choice of movie so I was glad not to miss the only thing that I was interested in.

     When it comes to choosing movies today, I generally roll with the crowd and it’s caused some friction in my household lately.   I am beginning to buck the system.  We are a family of acutely different tastes.  The Prince generally nixes any of my choices….just because they are mine….and he might enjoy them after all.  (I am still not forgiven for a forced Saturday afternoon viewing of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’…..something I made him do before taking the final in English class after reading the book….even though he actually enjoyed it.  Nor has he forgiven me for ‘Whale Rider’, which his teacher made his 7th grade class sit through…..about three months after I made the whole family watch a Netflix rental of it.  I love that movie. )   The Princess has still not outgrown the need for animation.  HRH generally goes for anything that is loud with explosions or warfare or growls or blood.  Don’t get me wrong.  I kinda enjoyed the latest ‘Hannah Montana’ offering.  ‘Transformers II’….not so much…. but in the interest of doing something ‘with my family’, I went.  Will they see ‘My Sister’s Keeper’ with me?  Not a chance.  How about ‘The Proposal’??  Nope.  I did manage to cajole the Princess into seeing ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ once….and took a lot of flak from friends for allowing my 13 year old to see it before screening it myself.  At any rate, she enjoyed it, loved the music and dance at the end and bought me a copy for my collection as a Mother’s Day gift. 

I tend to go for the movies that are not huge blockbusters.  Quiet movies with lots of good character development.   Those were the kind of films that we watched on Sunday afternoons.   ’Bill Kennedy At The Movies’ was a local show that mixed movies with movie trivia and interviews.  We used to plan dinner around it and eat from t.v. trays in front of the television.  We watched things like ‘Mister Roberts’,  ’The Thrill of it All’, ‘Father Goose’, ‘The Longest Day’ , ‘Spencer’s Mountain’ , ‘The Greatest Story Ever Told’ and ‘The Rare Breed.’    Those are just some of the movies I remember enjoying back then.  I was exposed to so many great performers…Cary Grant, Sophia Loren, John Wayne and John Mills, Gregory Peck, Doris Day, Jimmy Stewart, Maureen O’Hara….sigh.  I miss them. 

     However, Netflix has been able to assuage my need for those kinds of films again.  And since no one else thinks to add things to our list,  the red envelopes that come in the mail are not generally met with a whole lot of enthusiasm as a rule.  They are ‘Mom’s choices.’  Don’t get me wrong.  We have seen some gems (’Bottle Shock’ comes to mind.  We talked about it for days afterward.)  and others have been a total waste of time (’The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’??  What the frick was THAT all about?). 

     I am glad that my children will have their own memories of ‘ET’, ‘Star Wars’, ‘Star Trek’, ‘Wall-E’ , ’Harry Potter’ and drive in showings of ‘Night at the Museum’, …..and okay…..’Transformers.’ 

    We are a movie going family after all.

Let Me Tell You About My Pets

Posted June 27, 2009 by ryterrytes
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     I come from a long line of family pets.  Hamsters, turtles, gerbils, cats, dogs….we have had them all at one time or another.

    When I was born my parents had acquired a two year old boxer named ‘Duke.’  He would eat grapes with my very pregnant mother, was tall enough to hang his head over the edge of my bassinet while he was sitting, would howl along with me as I suffered bouts of gassy tummy and would patiently situate himself along the edge of the blanket I was closest to when I was on the floor.  Family lore has a tale about Duke refusing to move from the edge of our rain ditch when I was lost one day.  My angry mother was trying to get him to find me and when she stalked out to where he was sitting, I was happily playing in the grass in the ditch out of my mother’s sight.  I might have been three?  And then there was the former paper boy who came back to visit Duke when he was home on furlough one time.  Apparently our dog would meet him at the corner and follow him on his paper route every day. For years. 

     Duke developed a brain tumor and had to be put to sleep when it was determined that his seizures could not be medically controlled and made him dangerous to be around.

     After Duke came Ripper Roar, another boxer whose exuberant and errant ways made it difficult for my aunt and uncle to deal with him so he was given to us.  And then Buffy – an apricot poodle my sister received for her 8th birthday.  Buffy was swept off the porch by a screen door and broke a leg before she was a year old and then had four little black poodle puppies about a year later.  We found homes for Jeremy and Jason and Candy.  Bridget joined our family.  She was the tiniest, blackest, most trusting little poodle ever.  We played terrible – but never unsafe – games with her and she repayed us by enjoying every single minute of the attention.  She loved retreiving frisbees.  It was especially fun to throw them across the lawn on a windy day because she would trip across the grass on tippy toes, pick up the frisbee and bound back.  If the wind caught the frisbee just right, it would flip the poor little dog head over heels into the air.   Bridget adored my mother and if she was laying down somewhere, chances are Bridget was somewhere on her person….or behind her knees.  Those poodles put up with a lot.  Even life with the pet skunk my sister bought. 

     Skunks are wonderfully affectionate pets.  Ours was leash trained, ate dog food and used a kitty litter box.  Descented, they stomp their adversaries into corners.  This one found a wonderful adversary in my mother.   It never failed.  Mom would walk in from work and ol’ Seymour would have her backed fearfully into a corner in no time – screaming for someone to come and help her.  Heh.  He would crawl up onto a living room chair and settle himself to sleep between the two poodles.  Adorable sight.  I know we have pictures somewhere.  Just can’t find them.

     The day came when Seymour was playing with Bridget and she was howling as the skunk dragged her across the room by the leg.  The skunk had gotten bigger than the poodle.  One or the other had to go.  Since the poodles were there longer, the skunk moved into a home with a family that had never had a pet before.  He lived a good long life with them.  And they eventually bought another skunk.

     But  poodles eventually get old and creaky and incontinent and uncomfortable.  They needed to be put to sleep.   Along came Quimby – a setter cross dog that I got from a family friend when I graduated from college.  She was big and white and loving and terribly trained.  If she got out of our fenced back yard she would chase cars in the road, move just a bit a head of them and then abruptly turn into the front wheels.  She was lucky she was never killed. 

    Since I was living in a bedroom created in our unattached garage, I also had a steady stream of cats to deal with any field mice.  The most memorable was the one that began life as ‘Daisy’ or ‘Lilac’ or ‘Rosebud.’  I had her for about two weeks and took her to the vet to be spayed.  We went for a preliminary visit and I dropped her off the next morning.  When I went to pick her up at the end of the day I was met by the vet.  She reamed me out because of the number of fleas on my thickly furred cat but also wanted to know WHO had told me it was a female.  She scowled at me and walked out of the room when I told her that SHE had checked it over the day before.  Apparently, they had the cat on the table and surgically opened up to spay her when they discovered that Daisy/Lilac/Rosebud was in fact, male.  I paid for the surgery and left with my cat – who I decided needed to be ‘defemanized’ and renamed her/him ‘Rambo.’

     My dad is not a cat person per se but he liked Rambo.  Alot. The cat would follow him everywhere around the yard to watch what he was doing.  Rambo and Quimby had a special affection for one another as well. 

    Both Rambo and Quimby were gone by the time I married.  Kidney disease and heart worm.  We lived in an apartment and got a cat.  A seal point Himilayan named ‘Oscar.’  What a sweetheart.  He enjoyed our Christmas trees and never managed to knock them down.  He would eat the tinsel and curling ribbon which would trail out of his behind.  Ew. 

     We moved to our current home and Oscar came along.  We adopted the Prince and Oscar adored him.  Then one day he bit me.  The baby was crying and he came out from under the bed and bit my shin.  Hard.  Okay.  So the crying baby upset him.  We took extra care to keep him away.  And then I caught the cat stalking my toddler.  He would hide around corners and wait.  The cat had to go. 

     When the Prince was almost four we purchased  a pug.  HRH had seen one at a neighborhood dog show and decided he wanted one.  And that the Prince needed a pet to take care of.  Riiiight.

     Pugs are very cute.  When they are puppies.  This pug – ‘Gracie’ – adored me.  Absolutely adored me.  If  I was sitting anywhere, she was in my lap.  If I was cooking, she would sit at my feet, tonuge hanging out waiting for attention.  If I was in the bathroom, she would curl up inside the slacks around my ankles.  She sneezed and snorted in your face.  She had to be kept cool at all times.  I couldn’t figure out why she was so attached to me.  My brother in law delightedly told me she recognized me as the ‘pack leader’ in our home.  Yeah.  Right.

      During the time  we had Gracie and Oscar, we also had Winkie – a chinchilla who lived in my classroom during the school year, Snooky – an iguana who also lived in my classroom until the salmonella scare and Twitter, a beautiful grey cockatiel.   Winkie would also go camping with us and is buried under a tree at a county park after suffering heat stroke.  He was six. 

     Twitter was a hoot.  I clipped his nails one day and he slipped off my shoulder while trying to land.  He fell on the linoleum floor and broke his vent.  The vet told us ‘he’ would never lay eggs again.  Surprise to us as Twitter had never laid an egg before this.  Imagine our surprise about six months late to find an egg in the bottom of the bird cage.  And it happened three more times.   One spring day he tired to land on the ceiling fan – something he had done all winter long when it was not going.  It was like a cartoon.  There was a poof of feathers and a bird fell to the floor with a clunk.  His broken leg was repaired with a plastic splint and he never tried the ceiling fan thing again.

     Twitter and Snooky died on the very same day.  It was also the day HRH checked and replaced all the battieres in our carbon monoxide detectors.

    When she was seven, the Princess decided she wanted a pet of her own.  We promised she could get one for her birthday.   She couldn’t decide between a cat and a dachsund.  Or a turtle.  I nixed the snake.

    We went back and forth and back and forth.  Then I saw a picture and an ad one of the teachers hung on the board at school.  There was a cat in the barn where she stabled her horse that was ‘too sweet’ to be a barn cat.   It reminded her of a former pet and she couldn’t take it because of allergies.  We went to the barn to see it.  It was a stray and about two years old.  My friend had already taken him to the vet to be neutered.  He was ‘free to a good home.’   We went home and talked about it, gathered up cat supplies and brought him home.  His name is Shadow.

      Now about nine years old, this cat is a hoot.  He has little hiding places all over the house, meanders out on a regular basis to check the activities of the home and get some affection.  He finds his way to my bedroom in the ealry morning when he knows I am working on my laptop and curls up next to the exhaust vent.  It blows out warm air.  He also loves to bat a paw at the moving icon on the screen.  He will sit for hours watching fish on a fish tank.  Yesterday, when we were cleaning and refilling the 50 galloon fish tank that has been inoperational for the past year, he sat and watched all of the activity.  Now he is curled up in a computer chair watching the tiger mollies and platys and painted tetra that we bought today.  Life is good for Shadow.  Really good.

   When we had to have Gracie put to sleep four years ago when she developed kidney failure, Shadow kind of filled a void for all of us.  But he missed Gracie too.   I didn’t really get that message though.  Not till later. 

    I was worried because the cat would wake me up at night now and then.  He would be curled around my head on the pillow and would bite me.  Really bite me.  Hard.  On the scalp in the middle of the night.  I wasn’t sure what was going on but I had other things distracting me.  My mom was in the hospital in another state.  I was trying to close out a school year, do report cards and pack up my classroom.   A biting cat was the least of my worries.  I told HRH to make a decision about him while we were taking care of my mom. 

   During the seven weeks we spent taking car eof my mother in another state my kids were pining for another dog.  We checked the local flea market every time we went for available small dogs.  We were hoping to find a cheap brown chihuahua that we could name ‘Tater Tot.’  We learned that cheap and chihuahua cannot be found together in one place.

    On our way home we stopped at my sister’s house.  We were cajoled into driving by the house of my neice’s youth pastor.  Who just happened to have puppies and one that needed a home.  They said it was a chihuahua.  Riiiight.

   So we came home with a white and tan chihuahua terrier mix.  We named him ‘Tater.’  He didn’t take to riding in the car and vomited several times during that 13 hour drive home.   We sat him on the carpet when we arrived and he was immediately sniffed out by the cat.  Shadow.  Who was glad to have a play buddy again.  And who has never bitten anyone again. 

     And boy do they play.  They chase each other through  the house.  Back and forth.  They curl up together and take turns grooming and cleaning each other’s faces.  They sniff out each others treats.  And they alternate the beds they sleep in.  If Tater is with the Prince, Shadow is with the Princess….and vice versa.  But I usually wake up to find one or the other in our bed.  Until the laptop hums.  Then the cat is curled next to me.  And the warm air blowing exhaust fan.

     Life is good for Shadow.  Really, really good.

     I think I want to be a cat.

Quizzes

Posted June 22, 2009 by ryterrytes
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I never was much of a test taker.  Well, maybe I was.  I just wasn’t good at studying.  Go over the material a couple of times, ace the test and then forget about it.  I do not know why the Facebook quizzes intrique me.  I take them if they look like fun.  I NEVER pass them along to other Facebook friends.  I NEVER post my answers either.  I just store the information away for an occasional chuckle.  They’re not really REAL after all…..are they?  I mean, Me?  A mom most like Sharon Osborne??  Go figure.

      However, according to the list I recently started keeping I should be living in New York City (that’s a no brainer…LOL), I would be Sky Blue in a box of crayons (rats! I really wanted to be Dandelion!), I am 23% fun and suffer from Paranoia disorder.  My Psychic Reading makes me ‘Windows to Your Soul’ (whatever the frick that means) and I know 100% about the community I grew up in.  I am gifted with ‘Precognition’ (knowlege of future events – which I suppose is how I know what is going to happen to a certain 15 year old who responds ‘no’ when asked to do a simple chore around the house), am “Very Liberal’ (what??)  and should be rooting for the New York Yankees.   I favor ‘Outdoorsmen’ in mates, am a ‘Healer’ in my life’s purpose and would be a box of ‘Mixed Chocolates’ if I were a candy.   I would be ‘Dancing Barbie.’   The Musical Leading Lady most like me is ‘Sandy’ from ‘Grease’ and the movie musical of my life would be ‘Footloose.’  And here is the one I love….the leading man I should be married to is Brad Pitt and the ‘Friends’ character most like me is ‘Rachel’.  Heh.  Brad and Jen together again…..but only in my mixed up chocolate box, paranoid, sky blue, Yankee rooting , Osborne, New York City state of mind.

Life is good!

There is just something about a junk drawer…

Posted June 13, 2009 by ryterrytes
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You know what they are.  Handy little places to slip ‘important’ things.  Things you don’t want to lose. Drawers that very quickly are over run with ‘important’ things.  Drawers  that you end up scrambling through to find that ‘thing’ you need.  One of mine happens to be the drawer of my computer desk. 

In my quest to do some badly needed deep, organizational cleaning of the corners of my house, I tackled that insidious drawer.  What I thought would be an ominous task turned out to be a pleasantly needed trip down memory lane.  Here are some of the things I found:

*More receipts and papers than one is EVER expected to save….including seven year old one for the Princess’ first two wheeler.

*6 teeny, tiny dice and 4 teeny, tiny frogs.  I have tucked them in a little tin box to make a teeny, tiny game or two. : )

*Gigantic paperclips – bought them at Target one time because they are cool.  Can’t bring myself to use them because I know they’ll be lost.

* A mother lode of different kinds of flash drives. (It’s a fetish of mine)

*Coin envelopes and clear ID card protectors that I used when I taught Kindergarten. Kept them.  That stuff ALWAYS comes in handy.

*a fully jointed 3 inch tall skeleton pirate doll thingy that the Princess delighted in collecting the summer we spent in Florida taking care of my Mom. 

*two different sized phillips screw drivers, two eyeglass repair kits and the tiniest little screw driver I have ever seen that won’t fit in an eyeglass repair kit.  Have NO clue what it goes to but I’m keeping it.

*Another mother lode of sticker sheets - also used when I taught Kindergarten -  which I stuck into an envelope for Rabbit.  Not much but it’ll keep her busy for a few hours this summer.

*the missing key to the fire proof strong box we bought before leaving for Boston.  I was certain there would be abreak in or a fire and all of our adoption/citizenship/birth certificates and what not would be gone.  I am fearful like that.

*A whole passel of the newsletters I used to send to family when the Prince was a toddler.  Dang but he was a funny little kid.  Emotionally involved with a ……zucchini?

*Two nearly empty package of batteries for hearing aids I no longer use.  Different sizes from the ones I need now.  Pitched ‘em.

*old Russian coins, a handful of pennies, Canadian coins and 4 old tokens for Chuck E Cheese….upon seeing  which my 15 year old asks, “hey…when can we go there?”  Riiiiight.  I’ve done my duty in that noisy, overwhelming, pepperoni reeking realm.

*Our customs declaration sheets upon entering Russia to bring the Princess home……NINE years ago this fall.  Dang!

*Pictures, pictures and MORE pictures. Tucked them away with all of the others I need to go through and file and scrapbook or…something.  What are you supposed to do with pictures anyway?

*clear nail polish, a tube of some kind of prescription eye cream and two tubes of athletes’ foot cream.  Two?

*Lego pieces…another fetish of mine.  Not that I like to build with them or anything (although I have spent countless hours assembling and disassembling the Prince’s Lego soccer stadium in the past)…but I do like to have interesting pieces handy.  Just ask my family about my jaw dropping to the floor at Disney Market Place’s Lego store.  HUNDREDS of  little drawers with MILLIONS of little pieces.  Buy a container and you can put ANYTHING inside it and as much as you can fit.  Heh. NEVER give me that challenge.  Just ask the people at the Mr. Potato Head kiosk.  I ALWAYS get my money’s worth.  : )

*Four apostilled copies of the Princess’ final adoption follow up reports .  When you drive to the state capital to get them done personally you might as well get a bunch.  And I love knowing the word ‘apostille.’  It’s the kind of word that snakes it’s way around your tonuge and through your brain.  Especially if you are working your way through an international adoption.

*The translation of a thank you letter sent to the Princess from her friends at the orphanage.  Several months after bringing her home, we  sent a box of goodies (Legos, candy, balloons, socks, Matchbox cars, etc.) with another couple going to the same orphanage .

*an envelope from my little guy in the Dominican Republic.  Gotta write to him soon.  He’s nine and likes school, baseball….and me. (www.compassion.com)

*a ring my husband got me for a long ago Mother’s Day….with an amethyst.

*a print out of a short email from my deceased Grandmother about her father owning a ‘dray team’ when she was a child.  Can’t remember why she sent it but yeah, my grandmother died when she as 97 and had used computers and e-mail regularly.  It’s in my genes.

*An ‘Obama ‘08′ button, an MEA membership button and a tin, heartshaped necklace ornament with the word ‘Mom’ inscribed…which I am sure came from an elementary school Holiday Shoppe.

*a battered, falling apart portrait of me as a four year old that my parents had drawn the night before I went to the hospital to have my tonsils removed.  I seriously need to get it repaired.  And framed.

*A Bible study guide for the book of Ephesians…which was my favorite Bible class when I was in college at Oklahoma Christian University…..way back when it was just Oklahoma Christian College.

*Ticket stubs for almost everything we did in Boston on last year’s GRAND summer vacation.  Stuck them in one of the aforementioned coin envelopes.  (see?   It came in handy)

* a Playbill for ‘Three Changes’ – a play with Maura Tierney that I saw last fall on a FABULOUS 1st adventure to the Big Apple.  Met her too.  She’s very sweet to her fans.

*a print out of a story I posted YEARS ago on a Kindergarten Teachers’ web ring about a rough and tough little tomboy of a girl who kept hugging me all day after about a week of school.  Couldn’t figure out why until she finally said she liked hugging me because ‘we make a really cool sound together.’   Hearing aid feed back.  It’ll get you every time. : )

I found more stuff.  LOTS more.  And there were things I didn’t find.  Like the recharger to my Kodak digital which I haven’t been able to use in like…forever.  Dang.  Or any of the 100 sharpened pencils that were there last fall.  Not one.  Or the gum packages that I tend to put there now and then.  Gone.

And that’s the way of the Junk Drawer.  Things come and things go.  They tend to hold bits and pieces of your life, don’t they?  And most everything has a story.  ‘Important’ stuff.  Kinda fun to sort through on a lazy, rain threatened day.

Growing Up….

Posted June 9, 2009 by ryterrytes
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   For the past two days I have taken my son to school and left the daughter home to finish getting ready.  This was our plan for the school year.  That I would have some quiet time with both of them in the morning.  Then she got involved in before school activities like open gym and jazz band practice.  Snow fell and ice formed on the roads.  It seemed rather wasteful not to eliminate the extra mileage – and time – and swing by the middle school after dropping him off at high school.  It gave me an extra hour and a half at MY school before my classes started.  Saved gas.  Saved time.  It did not save money since the Princess and I would ‘power shop’ at Meijers some mornings, or hit the local breakfast restaurant on the days she didn’t have open gym or jazz band practice.  Since this is the last week of school, my report cards are done and duly printed and ready to be folded, open gym is over, the jazz band played their last concert last week, I decided to let her sleep in a little bit in the morning and take him to school alone. 

       It’s interesting how much he has grown up over this winter.  He still doesn’t eat breakfast  or speak in anything other than a monosyllabic grunt in the morning.  In the afternoon there is more to say.   But today…..today was a milestone.  He actually smiled at me.  First time in a long while.

     We were talking about final exams and homework.  He was grunting basic answers to my basic questions.  Then I very happily said that I was glad school was ending.  As of this Thursday, no longer will he be able to holler ‘I’m doing my HOMEWORK!’ when he is asked to do something like set the table for dinner or unload the dishwasher or fold his laundry.  Battlegrounds.

    “As of Thursday, your little tushy is MINE for twelve whole weeks.” 

     And he grinned.  Actually smiled! 

      Dang.

     He is now fifteen and a half.  He is taller than I am.  We bought new shorts a couple of weeks ago and he is down two sizes.  He has navigated his first year in high school with perfect attendance and Academic High Honors.  He got the certificate and the bumper sticker but missed being invited to the Academic Awards Assembly by .13 percent or something like that.   He has his driving permit and complains half heartedly when I tell him to drive.  Only half heartedly.  He is looking forward to the high school’s summer soccer practices and rec league.  (Remember my post from last summer about dragging him there kicking and screaming and then sitting in the car with him until someone he knew showed up and he wouldn’t look like a dork??)  Today we signed up for soccer referee classes.  Alone.  He wasn’t stressing about being with someone he ‘knows.’ 

    And wonder of wonders he actually cleaned his room this weekend.  REALLY cleaned his room.  I’m not sure what brought that on….and I am not looking in the closet….yet.  I am just stunned to learn that the carpet in there is still the same color as the carpet elsewhere in the house. 

     It’s been so long since I have actually SEEN it. 

     Dang.

Greeeeen Acres……

Posted May 31, 2009 by ryterrytes
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  I just washed my hands.  I wish I had of thought to take a picture of them before lathering them in soap and scrubbing my nails.  They were an amazing sight.  First of all, I have never had fingernails that were long enough to have caked top soil and Miracle Gro jammed under them so deep that the top of the nails were black.  Second of all, it has been a LONG time since I have had reason to drive my fingers deep into top soil and Miracle Gro. 

We planted a garden.

Well, it’s a small sort of lawn box actually.  It’s an eight by four foot patch nestled next to our equipment shed at the top of the hill my kiddos used to practice snowboarding last winter.    We built a frame, pulled up sod (transplanting it to a bare patch next to the driveway in case anyone wonders how we could destroy actual growing grass), filled the space with 12 bags of $1.19 top soil and one huge bag of Miracle Gro soil and planted vegetable plants.  Tomatoes, green peppers and cucumbers.  Two seed rows were also set in place – one with summer squash and the other with sugar peas.  We planted a half row of peas today and will finish the row in a couple of weeks in order to extend the picking season for them. It’s what it said to do on the envelope.  It’s mostly likely going to be too crowded for the size but I don’t care.  I’ll weed things out.

And I can’t wait.

I sat out on the grass in the sun for a long time looking at all the hardy little fellows in their mounds and tomato cages wondering if they were truely going to make it to harvest.  I was planning to purchase a watering can to make caring for them easier.  (The prince likes to squirt the little darlings with the hose not realizing he is washing away the soil around their roots. Heh) I was also wondering what sort of garden the Obamas have planted at the White House and how big of a garden my friend Mary and her little Rabbit are  planting this weekend.  And I was singing the inevitable ‘Green Acres’ theme song in my head.  Heh

When I was growing up the back end of my parent’s half acre of property in the middle of Michigan suburbia was planted and cultivated by my Grandfather.  He planted corn, cucumbers, tomatos, potatos and pumpkins (which we sold in October for spending money) every year.  We also had a stand of sour purple grapes (perfect for squirting in the faces of any ‘enemy’ we captured and tied to the clothesline post while playing with neighborhood friends), a row of rhubarb (you haven’t tasted rhubarb until you have had it straight from the bush – warm from the sun - the end tamped into a Dixie cup of sugar), raspberries (again – eaten warm from the sun out of a dusty, dirty hand) and a pear tree.  I remember detesting being sent to the fields to pick corn for dinner.  There was one summer when my father’s oil seal plant was on strike, that the garden became our supermarket.  I remember dinners of corn on the cob, sliced tomatos and cucumbers.  And that’s all.  Yum.

My mother had a love/hate relationship with those garden years.  I found out later that she liked having the produce readily available but hated having to constantly yell at us to ’stay out of the garden!’  I can still hear her voice from the back door of our house.  Things were much more relaxing for her when my Grandfather remarried and planted his garden closer to the home he shared with his new wife.  Then that back field became a baseball field, a minibike track, home for an underground fort (my dad had a conniption about that one when his riding lawn mower took a nose dive into it one day), a tree house and a ’snowmobile death trail.’

I always managed to carve out some little space for a garden though.  Nothing much.  Tomatoes…sugar peas…. pumpkins.  One year I was growing watermelon for fun.  Just one little melon actually formed and I went out each day to turn it so it would be perfectly round and green.  One day I went out, lifted the little thing to turn it and it was suspiciously lighter.  Something – a rabbit or a rat – had eaten a hole in the side, and then cleaned out ALL of the pink melon inside.  Arrgh.

I got married and we moved into to a ‘controlled community.’  My parents sold their house and moved to another state.   Our ‘gardens’ became  a few pots of patio tomatoes.  I had mulled over a raised garden bed for years but could never get anyone motivated to do it.  Until this year.

So today, at last,  I sank my bare toes and fingers into warm, rich and loamy soil.  I dug holes and slipped in tiny potted seedlings, added water and covered the roots with dirt.  The sun was hot and the wind was blowing cool.  And I was humming.  And wondering.  And remembering.  And loving the entire process.

Now, there are shovels and clippers and diggers to put away.  My back hurts and my bare feet itch.  And I have vegetables growing in a  garden again.

Life is good.

A Soccer Mom Tale

Posted May 25, 2009 by ryterrytes
Categories: Uncategorized

Tags: , , ,

Once upon a time when they looked like this….MVC-221F

soccer girl

 

 

 

 

 

and this…….

 being a soccer mom entailed having them at practice once a week in a clean generic uniform with the correctly sized ball, a bottle of water and an occasional bag of sliced oranges or end of the game snacks to share.  You didn’t mind because there were others and watching them stumble and get right back up was fun.  They loved it too.

They still love it.

But along came soccer shoes that were NOT part of a $9.95 package that included a brand new ball and orange practice cones.  Shoes that seemed to be out grown by mid season.  Several times.

And there are club fees, coaching fees, tournament fees, travel expenditures, coach travel expenditures (split with the rest of the team each time) and gas to and from multiweekly practices and games.  Lots of games.

And indoor soccer fees because soccer is not your average seasonal sport.  In our state, there is a fall session, three indoor winter sessions, a spring session and summer soccer camp (to stay in condition).

And bigger soccer balls with bigger price tags.

And uniform ‘kits’ that include a pair of socks, 2 pair of shorts, and a home and away jersey.  To this you have to add extra socks, shin guards, athletic tape (to hold the shin guards in place), equipment bags, practice tee shirts, athletic pants (for those slushy practices/games) hoodies, jackets, sweat bands, extra socks, etc.

And water bottles, sport drink bottles, water coolers, and more water bottles.

And time.  Time spent shuttling your players here and there.  Time  spent washing uniforms stained with grass, mud, rain and occasionally blood.  Time spent cringing and holding your breath as another player (always heavier , taller and bigger than your kid) barrels down the field with cleats on their feet toward your soccer loving child.  Time worrying about an injured player and being thankful that it’s not your child being carried off to an ambulance.  Time spent bandaging, ice packing, compress warming, massaging and soothing. Time spent cheering and clapping and hollering and analyzing and praising and placating and easing a loss.  LOTS of time.

But then you see a smile like this….P1020407 - Copy

 

 

 

 

 

 

and this……..P1020479

 

 

 

 

 

 

and this……P1020481

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and this…….

P1020485

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and it sort of makes it all worth while. 

Sort of.

And then you have to get back to the business of soothing and easing because the OTHER one missed out on HIS tournament weekend due to an injury (remember that mental picture of the bigger/taller/heavier player barreling down on your child….with cleats?)  A kick in the shin during a game and aggravated during a practice scrimmage three days later resulted in shin splints. Ouch.

But there is always next year……….so are we ready???

Uh oneah and a twoah and a threeah….

    WEeeee are the Chaaamppppions……”

I Should Have Just Let Her Run……

Posted May 15, 2009 by ryterrytes
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I kept my daughter home from a track meet today.  Yesterday I sat in the pouring rain and freezing wind for another school track meet.  She threw the shot put 22 feet. She came in 4th and 2nd and 3rd in various races.  And she complained about her knees hurting.

Today was an ‘invitational.’  Considering that she has a soccer practice tomorrow night, two soccer games over the weekend and another track meet on Monday and Thursday, I figured an Invitational could be blown off.  I’d rather have her feeling good for the school track meet on Monday.  Her coach didn’t mind.  SHE did however.  She wanted to run.

But  parental precedence prevailed.  Instead of track we did the girlie thing and went shopping for a new bathing suit.  She has an out of town tournament in another week and the whole team is looking forward to the pool at the hotel.  The Princess left her bathing suit in a bag of wet things at camp last summer so a new one was on our ‘to do’  list for this weekend. 

Honestly?  I’d much rather tussle with my dentist over root canals – minus pain numbing meds – than bathing suit shop with either of my children.  Heh.

We went to a newly opened local shop and gathered up an armful of possibilities in various sizes…along with a couple of cooridnating boys’ trunks to wear over a girly suit.  Don’t ask.  It’s been a horrible fashion issue with us for the past few years.  Along with cut out backs and spaghetti type straps.  No two piece numbers or bikinis or tankinis for this gal.  Nothing like that ‘feels’ right.  And she hasn’t a clue about ‘Speedo’ and wanted to know who he was and why his name was on all of the suits.  She rolled her eyes when I said I was coming to the fitting rooms and was much relieved when I found a chair to sit in OUTSIDE the stall. 

The first hot pink and teal number was ‘tight’ around her waist. ( I later found out it was the miniscule cups in the top that bothered her.)  The plain black number was simple and functional but didn’t feel ‘right.’  Even with the black and gray skateboarded toned trunks over it.  The orange flowered one was too….’pretty’.  The hot pink one had a cut out back . She didn’t want to risk a ‘funny looking’ tan.  The last one was a winner.  The straps are wide and the back comes up a little higher.  It fits perfectly right now but we are worried about summer.  The salesperson tried to see if another store would have it one size larger.  No dice.  Bought it any way…for the upcoming out of town trip.  We will worry about summer later. 

Soooo….she put the suit on to show her dad when we got home.  And wore it a bit to stretch it out.  Sleek black with red racing stripes and perfectly fit.  The child as well as the suit.  No longer a skinny little girl, and thanks to track/soccer/skateboarding, she is toned and muscled.  Her legs have gotten longer.  Her natural complexion already bears a healthy warm tan.   Straight black hair swings to the middle of her back.  She is old enough now to go to our community pool on her own.  In that suit.  With her skateboarding buddies.  Mostly ranging from elementary to high school age.  Guys.  Dang. 

Who really needs a bathing suit anyway? 

I should have just let her run…….

The Truth of it is…..

Posted May 10, 2009 by ryterrytes
Categories: Uncategorized

Tags: , , , ,
2007

2007

I have been getting a lot of sappy – ahem – meaningful… poems and posters and sayings in my email box and on my Facebook page.  All of them are crowing about the fact that my friends and my family regard me as a ‘good mom’ and want me to pass the message along to other ‘good moms.’  The truth of it is that – this week – I didn’t feel like such a good mom.  This parenting thing is hard stuff.  It always has been.  And I signed up for it.  Willingly…….

When the Prince was just a little guy he made it known, rather loudly in fact, that he was simply not a morning person.  Dragging him out of his crib and slipping him into jeans and a tee shirt and zipping him into a snow suit was the worst morning ritual possible.  When he was a bit older we had the issue with the seams in his socks.  Could not stand them.  Could NOT abide them.  Making choices was always difficult.  Clothes to wear…cereal to eat….what to put in his lunch box….ai yi yi.  Always a worry that something else might be better.  Transitions were difficult.  Home to school.  School to soccer practice.  Soccer practice to home.  Summer vacation to school.  School to summer vacation.  One teacher to another teacher.  Even transitioning from one season’s clothing to anothers resulted in ‘issues. ’

You would think that 15 and a half years of this would have given me the foresight to see what would happen when I asked him to stop watching television to fill out his application for the YPA youth leadership opportunity.  Now, he has been talking about becoming a leader with the Youth Police Academy since completing their program LAST summer.  He had every intention of filling out the application.  He just didn’t want to do it….right now.  But I insisted on it….right now.  So all the teenage angst and frustrated Mombusiness came pouring out in all it’s ugly glory.  For about two hours.  Heh.

He is SO not like me.  I think. 

The Princess has been slip sliding through the spring semester, studying hard and not being altogether sucessful with Math and Science.  Her mind is on bike riding and skateboarding and how many friends she can gather with in a 24 hour period.  Unlike the Prince, she doesn’t argue or fuss….much.  Ask her to do something and she stops everything to do it….and then gets back to her social life.  Wherever it’s happening.  She dutifully checks in but feels the chains rattling if you keep her home at a unreasonable (in her mind) hour to get rested for school….or because it’s raining outside.  She’s actually gone…which is worrisome…..most of the time.

She is SO not like me.

But the truth of it is that he is a Good Kid….polite and interested in what is going on with others.  He has a wonderful sense of humor.  Adults enjoy him.  He is a solid ‘B++’ student who is very much a peer leader (but doesn’t feel like he is).  He is passionate about soccer.  Really passionate.  He is one very bright spot in a lack luster spring season for his ‘real’ team and has been invited to guest play for another team in an upcoming tournament.  They are so happy to have him as a goalie that they are actually registering to play in a higher – more challenging – division. 

She is also a Good Kid who is very well liked by her peers and her teachers.  A member of her school’s educational team made an off hand comment recently about how vocal she is with peers about teasing and playing fair and being kind to others.  And how much they appreciate that about her at school.  Her track coach told me that she loves having her on the team because she will run anything without complaint.  Her soccer coach said she is a ‘natural’ when it comes to knowing where to put the ball in a game.  And even with all the slip sliding and necessary support, she is a solid ‘B’ student as well.  She even got a ‘Rock and Roll’ award recently for bringing her Math grade up a peg or two.

The truth of it is, I’m sure they’ll be just fine.

So why do I feel like I have failed them this week?  There are piles of socks and shoes and papers and books and markers everywhere.  Peanut butter and jelly knives fill my sink while the open bread bag spills out of it’s basket on the counter.  There is ALWAYS a battle royal when it comes to getting the dishwasher emptied and loaded again….or the trash taken out.  There are rolling eyes and  muttered retorts when I rein in the social life in favor of homework and rest and chores.   I can’t begin to describe the war when I ask that they change in more appropriate clothing for the event of the day.  Or the battles we have almost daily about toothbrushes and skin care.  I feel like the big ugly Mom most of the time these days.

The truth of it is….I was a pretty ugly teenager myself.  I was moody and angst ridden and smart mouthed and stubborn at times.  Most of the time.  I complained about chores and argued about restraints.  Loudly.  I remember those days.  Vividly.  I am sure there were MANY times when my own mother was muttering… ‘just you wait……’ 

Looks like you got your wish, Mom,

Happy Mother’s Day!

: O )

A Conspiracy????

Posted May 2, 2009 by ryterrytes
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Tags: , , , , ,

Google is my very best friend.  It has the answers for everything.  Seriously.

I am the sort of person with a wierd assortment of interests.  If I want to know something about anything – I google it.  Say, for instance, I wake up in the middle of the night wondering what happened to Pamelyn Ferdin – a child actress whose ability to cry on cue used to have ME crying along when I was a kid.  She was also a voice over actress who could be easily recognized if you were a fan.  I googled her to find that she is a happy adult (unusual in the world of child actors, I know), a registered nurse who was married to a doctor,  working to stop the abuse and torture of animals.  In a big contempt of court kind of way.

I needed information for a school project about Michigan lighthouses.  I googled it.    My husband needed an address for a middle school we need to be at for a soccer game.  He was setting his GPS for easier driving.  I googled the school name and voila!  I googled ‘The King Family’ to see if any of their old, old television shows were available on dvd yet and initiated a friendly email coorespondence with  a member of the ‘family’ that carried on for a couple of months.  I needed information about a medical procedure for a story I was writing.  I googled it.  I got the info I needed and was even referenced to a Youtube video showing the actual procedure. I needed a good picture of a turkey for a post I wrote here a couple of years ago.  I googled and found one.  I wanted to know if the author of a book I had enjoyed had written others.  I googled my way into a large paper back bill with Amazon.com.

I once googled singer, John Davidson, and emailed him about a song he performed on ‘The Mike Douglas Show” years ago.  He’d written it  to sing at the Arabian National Horse Show that year.  I recorded it and sang along with it for YEARS.  I can still sing the chorus.  And I wanted to give a copy to my boss whose daughter had recently taken over management of an Arabian horse farm in California.  Alas…the song had never been recorded (too bad since it was awesome) and Mr. Davidson probably thought I was freaking nuts to even remember it.  LOL  I am wierd that way.  And just for the record, he and his wife are marketing a geography game they created while home schooling their daughter.  And he still performs.  Gotta LOVE those dimples.

I have fun with my Google.

Recently, however, my AOL has been diverting my Google requests to their own search engine.

Now, I have been an AOL client MUCH longer than Google has been around.  But word of warning to AOL…..keep messing with my Google  – even if yours is  ‘enhanced by Google’  – and I may just find another internet server.

NOTHING comes between me and my Googles.  Nothing……