puzzles are not my friends

Puzzles make me crazy. It is a very silly thing. Today, MyGirl and I were picking up some puzzles that HB dumped out on the floor. One was a puzzle I had as a kid, with a scene with some Disney characters riding a roller coaster and carousel at an amusement park. MyGirl didn't really want to put it together (neither did I, for the record), and to help with the whole picking up process, I said, "Let's see how fast I can put this together." So I began placing pieces where they went. MyGirl started to count. "I'm counting how many minutes it takes you, Mom," she said. She's a good little counter, but not speedy, and I could feel my blood pressure rising. At thirty nine, I'd reached a serious stress level. "Arrrrggggghhhh!!!! I HATE PUZZLES!!!" I shouted with exasperation. Her response: "Mom, don't you think that's a bit much?"

Yes. Getting stressed out by a child's puzzle is a bit much.

sad masterpiece

We ran a bunch of errands today, MyGirl's five year doctor's appointment, got some milk from the Computer Center, picked up our coffee from the Presbyterian church, and stopped to see The Mister at work. On the way home, we drove by the bridge in town that gets hit with spray paint. It's pretty much the only graffiti in town, covered with so-and-so loves that guy, and sad, solitary names that aren't loved by anybody. The bit that caught my eye today said, "bitches ain't shit". Bad grammar usually puts me over the edge, but I was horrified by the audacity of the moron who wrote, er, sprayed that. What a pathetic person he is (I feel confident that Mr. Spray is a Mr.). And how just plain stupid. To indicate that a person is of less value than the piles of poo generated on the adjacent farm is ridiculous. I am sure he wasn't refuting that idea, but I will.

Bitches AIN'T shit, buddy. People ain't. Hope your grandma doesn't hear about your little painting escapade, because she just might smack you and stick you headfirst in a cow pie. True dat.

my baby is five

Today was a fantastic day. MyGirl woke up to find balloons strewn across her ceiling. She and NumberOneSon had tons of fun playing with the ones that had fallen down in the night. When I opened the door, she was clutching a balloon and said, "It's too much! It's just too much!" N1S was running in circles with a long pink balloon static-stuck to his forehead, laughing. Balloons are fun. There was lots of whapping, especially when HB entered the fray. Fun, fun, fun.

Nothing was special enough for breakfast, so she settled on a can of ravioli, wouldn't have been my first choice, but it wasn't my birthday. So there. School was good; MyGirl was the Special Helper, and we brought the Most Amazing Cupcakes Ever Made by Jo Anna at Hey, There Cupcake! (There is something great about innocent businesses with slightly suggestive names. I just love it.) The kids also played outside in the snow. It was cold, about 20 degrees, and there was a brisk wind, so the babes were all cherry-cheeked and lovely. And there was no complaining! It was refreshing.

After school MyGirl and Grandma Martha went to the Elementary School to redeem the birthday coupon she got in the mail. It was Miss Bindergarten Gets Ready For Kindergarten by Joseph Slate. Super cute book about a class full of animals. Kind of reminded me of earlier this morning, so I guess the author hit the nail on the head with that one. The visit with Grandma was cut short by a surprise present drop off by a friend from church who spends a few afternoons a week with us. Her card read "Olivia loves horses, and horses love Olivia." She was thrilled to receive a stuffed plush horse whose ear makes hoof sounds when you squeeze it. Kid toys are so weird sometimes, but MyGirl was just thrilled. "A MATE FOR STEPS HIGH!!!! I HAVE A MATE FOR STEPS HIGH!!!!" I think that is the quote of the day. Steps High is the name of the black plush horse we got her for Christmas. Shortly after that visit, her teacher from preschool last year came over to say happy birthday to our girl.

We had pancakes, pierogi frittata and orange slices for dinner, then opened presents. She got all kinds of super gifts. My favorite was a framed Babar print from Uncle Warren. Actually, my favorite was the new cousin Auntie Tef gave birth to today, Michael Alexander. I haven't had the pleasure of his acquaintance yet, but I can guarantee he's fabulous. I'm pretty sure MyGirl's favorite gift was from her awesome parents...a wooden desk. She's already asked me if she can please work at her desk whenever she wants. I agreed.

She's such a funny girl. Her mannerisms, the things she says. Upon opening one of her presents from us, she said, "Heck yeah, people. This is amazing!" So is she.

big value

It's all about the cheap thrills here tonight. And by cheap, I mean blowing up a $2 bag of a hundred balloons from the dollar store. There really is no need for kids to be getting high on drugs and spray paint, for crying out loud. All one needs to catch a pretty decent buzz is to try to blow up a bunch of balloons that have no intention of being blown up. And when one is trying to achieve a considerable mass of said cheap balloons, one can be guaranteed a Highly Entertaining Evening o' Fun.

MyGirl is turning 5 tomorrow, and really gets a kick out of Big & Special. It doesn't matter so much what the Big & Special is, she just likes her some Big & Special. And what better day than your birthday to have enormous strings of balloons hanging from your bedroom ceiling? It's dark, but I can imagine the sunlight streaming in the window tomorrow morning, and the illuminated balloons greeting her with a cheery happy birthday. And a happy birthday it shall be.

celebrating?

We enjoyed another ridiculous episode of Boston Legal tonight. Two of the law firm's partners faced off in court, one side seeking a court-ordered abortion, and the other seeking to protect the rights given/protected by Roe v. Wade. The defendant defrauded the plaintiff of his semen, took said male product to a fertility clinic and became pregnant. The plaintiff did not actually think he could stomach forcing the defendant to actually have the abortion, yet he was grieved that his rights and feelings were not protected by the law. The judge, after calling the defendant's actions "disgusting" and stating that if she could, she'd throw the disgusting woman in jail, ruled in favor of the defendant. Of course.

The headline of the eleven o'clock news was Roe v. Wade's 35th anniversary, called to attention the numerous protests around the country and mentioned that Erie County Planned Parenthood was hosting a celebration of the date with an exhibit of pro-choice tattoos. (Tattoos? Really? That is the best they could do for a celebration?)

But it was the word 'celebration' that I found sad. Heartbreaking, actually. Because I find it hard to imagine having a celebration and an abortion at the same time. Granted, I haven't had an abortion, and I truly have no idea what it would be like to have an abortion be the best option. It seems to me that to find oneself in the position of needing an abortion must be akin to being in between a rock and a hard place. The gravity of the situation must weigh heavily on the woman, so heavily that it's probably more nauseating than morning sickness itself. Both choices, having the baby or not having the baby have such permanent consequences; does she become a mother (or birth mother)? Or does she see the ghost of her choice in every infant face forever? What a wrenching, horrible choice.

I have been reading A Year With C.S. Lewis. One of the entries talked about how to God, all time past, present and future is now. He is the God of all time, and all time is continually visible to Him. That is how it is possible for us to make our own choices and for Him to know what those choices will be, even though there is no will be with God. He sees all of the happiness and hurt all at once for each of us, He knows what is going on in the deepest, most secret places of our lives. He is the author of life, and knows each of us intimately before we are even born. I don't think it's going out on a limb to believe that God strenuously disapproves of abortion.

But we have free reign over our decisions. We can choose to do what it is we are going to choose. People are going to choose to terminate the lives of their unborn babies. Or fetuses. Or zygotes. Or whatever the semantics dancers are calling them this week. So is it better to have the government create a safer, legalized procedure or to return to the days of the back alley, crochet hook ripping? And if abortion was ever unlegalized, as if that would ever happen, how would the government enforce that? Impossible to do. It is as impossible as keeping steroids out of professional sports, marijuana off the street; as impossible as keeping people who are not Americans out of America. The government can't keep up with illegal aliens. They will certainly not keep track of all of the pregnancies of all of the women in the country. It would probably come down to everyone in the USA being required to get a shopper's card at the local supermarket, and each purchase of pickles and ice cream will be seriously scrutinized.

And people are celebrating all over the country that abortion is legal. Well, maybe they are. But it doesn't make it an occasion to be joyful, an occasion that Hallmark would have a marketing frenzy over. Heard you had a problem to fix/thank goodness for RU486. As if.

I can understand the perspective that abortion should remain legal. But I cannot understand how abortion is a something to celebrate.

small talk

We were blessed to be invited to Friendtabulous, the yearly shindig thrown by friends of ours. They always host it this very same weekend, year after year, for the express purpose of being in the same place as the people they love best. I really enjoy their company, their children and their home, as does the rest of my family.

I admit with embarrasment that I was dreading the party. Nothing different than any other party...I dread them all. I have Small Talk Anxiety, which, when coupled with Meeting New People Anxiety, practically gives me a stomachache. I've been this way all my life, I think, at least as much as I can remember. I was terrified of college, knowing that I knew a grand total of zero people there. Conversation with people I don't know is completely frightening.

Does anyone else have this problem? That is what I would like to know. I don't understand it at all. I am a fairly intelligent, well-educated and well-read person, I am pretty much up-to-date on what is going on in the world, and have a well-rounded pool of interests. And, as a parent, I know that in a room full of other parents, I can count on making Child Conversation, that is, conversation based on the interesting/ridiculous/bathroom-related things my people say and do. And yet anxiety sets in.

Part of the work I've done with Habitat for Humanity of Genesee County is to stand in front of groups of strangers and speak at length about what we are doing in my community. I can ask for large amounts of money, I have been known to challenge people to volunteer, to donate furnaces and shingles and things, and for the most part, it's worked pretty well. I can even stand in that same group of people and talk with each individually with confidence.

But tell me I'm going to a social event and I'm weak in the knees.

It must be the structure. At Habitat events, there's a point for me to be there: to get those people interested in what I do, to "make the sale". But I have such stress about making my sale. It's as if I have laid my worth out before these people I haven't even met prior to leaving the house. Waiting to meet them is like waiting to meet my judge. Even before sorting my thoughts out here, I felt ridiculous about this. And now that I'm seeing my (yes, crazy) thoughts, it seems even more silly. It is such an engrained monologue in my brain and I haven't been able to find the off switch. Where did I learn this? Why did I learn to think like this? I don't believe people actually come with such faulty wiring.

And now, post-party, I am still a little bit stressed. Everyone was lovely and there was great conversation about interesting subjects. OF COURSE it was a great time. We have wonderful friends, and wonderful people really don't hang out with obnoxious people when it can be avoided. The kids played together so well that we barely spoke to them the entire evening. It was great.

I hope there is an enormous 90-gazillion watt halogen bulb in my future, set out for the express purpose of shedding some light on crazy old me.

bread and life, bread of life

I am the most extreme example of a novice bread-maker. Maybe novice is not quite the right word. I try again and again, each time creating something even hungry birds and squirrels find completely inedible. It's odd, really, considering most of the time I work in the kitchen I can come up with something pretty decent. I have read about bread, how long to knead, how to tell when kneading is over, how much flour is too much, proof the yeast or don't proof the yeast.

When you get down to it, bread is flour and water. That's all. Yeast makes it puffy, sugar makes the yeast happy, salt makes the yeast stop being happy. Bread is so basic, and yet what I make doesn't even register on the Bread Radar.

So today, as I was trying again, I was thinking about all this, how my making was so pathetic, and how it seems so difficult. My thoughts drifted to the ingredients, how I have my flour, yeast, sugar and water set out before me, and even with the right stuff and the right formula (at least I am trusting that The Williams-Sonoma Essentials of Baking won't let me down) I continue to fail. Then, being the Person I Am, I started to think about my life, and how I have all my ingredients set out before me, and I have the Guidebook that has proven successful for generations and generations, and still I continue to fail. I fail when I lose my temper with my children, when being annoyed with The Mister fogs up my perspective, when I decline the opportunity to bite my tongue. I fail when I am so bound by my fear and insecurity that I forget my Life Ingredients and my Guidebook and change my prayers from "Change how I'm seeing/reacting to this" to a whiny "God, why (hu-waaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiii...you know, Toddler Whining Style)????"

Then I thought of God Himself. Creating the Universe, Master of All, Known and Unknown. No ingredients for Him. He just whipped us up out of Hisveryownself. Creating, not making. Something from nothing, a vast difference from my paradoxical bread: nothing from something. How awe-inspiring, how amazing to be able to create. And since our God is omni-everything, He had to know back at creation's beginning that I would be pondering this today.

So Lord, give me this day my oatmeal-molasses bread. And forgive me my sins, and help me with all of my nothing-somethingness.