I've been reading The Complete Tales of Winnie-The-Pooh to my kids. I remember my mom reading it to me when I was little, I've always been a Pooh fan, and when my oldest was born she bought him his own copy of the book. It doesn't go quite as heartwarming as planned when you have to tell someone to quit picking their nose in the middle of reading a story though.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Go to your happy place...
It is just one of those days, I woke up grumpy. There's no reason for it but I am just irritable. Lucky hubby got to go to work so he gets to miss out on this fun. Knowing that I'm grumpy I'm trying extra hard to be extra patient, which means I'm probably acting only a little grumpy. So I've been trying to think of places that I like to help me relax.
The shoe store. I know, it is a given but how can you not love the shoe store? Strolling around enjoying the beauty of the shoes and drinking in the smell of real and fake leather. Longingly caressing a shoe you love; snickering as you walk past a shoe that must be the ugliest shoe you can ever remember seeing and then losing it completely when you see someone trying it on (even if you're the one trying it on just so you can laugh hysterically.) What is not to love? Men don't get it, well most of them, I think many homosexual men get it and occasionally an enlightened straight man does get it. Although maybe they do get it, many men are just as enamored with electronics or home improvement stores as women can be with shoe stores. You are less likely to hear, "Karen, I love your surround sound and simply must know where you got it!", then you are to hear, "Fred, those loafers are to die for! I MUST know where you got them!" The sexes are so much alike yet so different, and that is OK because otherwise women's shoes wouldn't take up more then 50% of the shoe store.
The office supply store. I know, this is an odd one (don't worry, things get even more odd.) I love office supply stores though. I really don't have much use for office supplies, although I do use paperclips, highlighters, staplers and notebooks in my genealogy when my kids don't run off with them. Still, I love roaming the aisles and plotting out my perfect office. I get really into this, picking out the file cabinet and imagining a tasteful fake plant to sit on it, because even in my fantasy I acknowledge that I'm death to potted plants. I look at the desks and chairs and think of my children's pictures sitting framed on the desk so I can see them yet still have quiet (with the exception of the pop music playing softly in the background) so that I can work uninterrupted on... something. There's the hitch in my fantasy, I have no real reason for an office. I'm a SAHM that still hasn't decided what she wants to do when she grows up. Yeah, I'm grown up and have three kids but I haven't decided what I want to do with my life once the kids are older, since we all know that being a mother isn't job or anything. I actually do want to do something once the kids are older, the question is what and I haven't the foggiest idea what it could be. I think I have time though, the littlest one is only one so I have about five years before he's in school all day, right?
The cemetery. See, told you it would be even more odd. Actually, for those that really know me they expected this. They saw it coming and are rolling their eyes. It is true though, I love cemeteries. I do have a practical reason because sometimes in genealogy the only record that to be found that a person even existed is a long forgotten tombstone standing in disrepair. Because of this I enjoy searching cemeteries not only for proof of my relatives but for others also. I take pictures of tombstones, particularly those who may have no other record of their existence (sadly, that is usually children), and post them online for others to use in their research.
But there is more to the love of cemeteries. There is the absolute stillness. In the heart of a cemetery, even one surrounded by busy city, there is stillness. You barely hear the traffic and people, if you can hear them at all, and just hear the breeze in the trees, birds chirping, and every now and then the chatter of a squirrel. Time stops in the heart of a cemetery, the stones and mausoleums could be 2 years old or 200 yet the cemetery probably looks the same as it did 50 years ago and like it will probably look in 50 years.
The shoe store. I know, it is a given but how can you not love the shoe store? Strolling around enjoying the beauty of the shoes and drinking in the smell of real and fake leather. Longingly caressing a shoe you love; snickering as you walk past a shoe that must be the ugliest shoe you can ever remember seeing and then losing it completely when you see someone trying it on (even if you're the one trying it on just so you can laugh hysterically.) What is not to love? Men don't get it, well most of them, I think many homosexual men get it and occasionally an enlightened straight man does get it. Although maybe they do get it, many men are just as enamored with electronics or home improvement stores as women can be with shoe stores. You are less likely to hear, "Karen, I love your surround sound and simply must know where you got it!", then you are to hear, "Fred, those loafers are to die for! I MUST know where you got them!" The sexes are so much alike yet so different, and that is OK because otherwise women's shoes wouldn't take up more then 50% of the shoe store.
The office supply store. I know, this is an odd one (don't worry, things get even more odd.) I love office supply stores though. I really don't have much use for office supplies, although I do use paperclips, highlighters, staplers and notebooks in my genealogy when my kids don't run off with them. Still, I love roaming the aisles and plotting out my perfect office. I get really into this, picking out the file cabinet and imagining a tasteful fake plant to sit on it, because even in my fantasy I acknowledge that I'm death to potted plants. I look at the desks and chairs and think of my children's pictures sitting framed on the desk so I can see them yet still have quiet (with the exception of the pop music playing softly in the background) so that I can work uninterrupted on... something. There's the hitch in my fantasy, I have no real reason for an office. I'm a SAHM that still hasn't decided what she wants to do when she grows up. Yeah, I'm grown up and have three kids but I haven't decided what I want to do with my life once the kids are older, since we all know that being a mother isn't job or anything. I actually do want to do something once the kids are older, the question is what and I haven't the foggiest idea what it could be. I think I have time though, the littlest one is only one so I have about five years before he's in school all day, right?
The cemetery. See, told you it would be even more odd. Actually, for those that really know me they expected this. They saw it coming and are rolling their eyes. It is true though, I love cemeteries. I do have a practical reason because sometimes in genealogy the only record that to be found that a person even existed is a long forgotten tombstone standing in disrepair. Because of this I enjoy searching cemeteries not only for proof of my relatives but for others also. I take pictures of tombstones, particularly those who may have no other record of their existence (sadly, that is usually children), and post them online for others to use in their research.
But there is more to the love of cemeteries. There is the absolute stillness. In the heart of a cemetery, even one surrounded by busy city, there is stillness. You barely hear the traffic and people, if you can hear them at all, and just hear the breeze in the trees, birds chirping, and every now and then the chatter of a squirrel. Time stops in the heart of a cemetery, the stones and mausoleums could be 2 years old or 200 yet the cemetery probably looks the same as it did 50 years ago and like it will probably look in 50 years.
Soooooooo....
I really need to do this more often. That was the purpose, to come on here and rant and rave, yet I rarely do it. Instead it dawns on me in the middle of the night that I haven't touched the blog in most likely months. You realize what this means, it is like every other project in my life. It gets touched less them my genealogy, although I love that and actually find it soothing. It still hasn't reached the level of the bib that I started cross stitching when I found out I was pregnant with our oldest child, mind you he turns 9 this month. (I'm almost done with it, if we have one more there's a slim chance I might actually finish that bib in time for one of my kids to wear it. If not I'll save it along with the other one that came in the pack, oh yeah it was a two pack, for any future grandchildren, possibly great grandchildren.) I don't think the blog could possibly reach the level of neglect as the afghan that I started about 14 years ago and because of the amount I've finished on it my husband calls "The Scarf".
Saturday, July 18, 2009
The Journey Began
Actually, the journey began nearly nine years ago. We brought home a bouncing bundle of joy, then another, then another. I now spend my time cooking, cleaning, wrangling kids, reading, watching TV, and poking around online. Thank heavens for the Internet or my brain would have turned to sludge from Spongebob. Now my brain is turning to sludge from Facebook.
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