Goodness, me! It's been a long time!

Sorry..life has moved into the insane, 'Oh, my gosh! What have I done!' stage.

I recently signed on as Girl Scout Leader for my daughter and a few of her school friends. It's been a blast, but preparations keep me pretty swamped.

So far, we've visited The Mill City Museum


saw a production of Raven and Zomo at the Guthrie




visited Japan via family day at MIA



Not to mention, violin and gymnastics...Yikes! What happened to my free time?

But, no worries. I don't need sleep, right?

I'm just preparing for this fall, at which time I'll be a part time law student and full time chemist. Good gracious.

Here's me...

more later...

Alrighty, then

I've about had it with this middle of the road fluffy stuff. I need to vent. I've been reminded of the radical, quick with the verbiage girl that I once was and it's about time that I payed her a visit.

My perspective is shifting back to thoughts of literature, politics, law, and music...and I'm getting tired of overhearing crap conversation about crap TV, crap music, crap food, and crapcrapcrap. There's a reason why our culture is consistently fed worthless, mind-numbing garbage...it's because we tune in, people! Don't tell me about the latest sitcom on the CBS reality-tv lineup directly after you've derided your neighbors for not recycling. Please. You are just as guilty. So, until I hear you tell me that you've killed your TV, ended your subscription to USWeekly, and stopped buying 'organic' food packaged in some foreign country...back off.

The Birth of Venus

‘Despite my sins, you should know that I am not a bad man, Alessandra,’ he said after a while.
‘What about in the eyes of God? You don’t fear the burning sands and storms of fire?’
‘As we said, at least in hell there will be a memory of pleasure.’” (155, The Birth of Venus)

Questions of who

Elusive shadow of my substance, stay,
Bewitching image that I want too well.
Illusion fair for whom in joy I die,
Fiction sweet for whom in pain I dwell.

If to the magnet of your gracious charms
My breast obedient as steel is drawn,
Why do you entice my enamored arms
If you would but escape me then in scorn?

Yet you must not think in your tyranny
That you quite succeed in vanquishing me:
For although you mock the tenuous ties
That ever will your phantom form despise,
What matter if my arms and breast you flee
If I keep you prisoner in my fantasy?

Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz
(c. 1650-1695)

Fun in our bodies!

Conversation during nightly story time:

Gillian: Did you know, Daddy, that we have a horn in our butt that makes the toot sound?

Nathan: Whah?

Gillian: Yeah! And, I know that our heart and lungs are really squishy!

I miss the old times.

Let me start by informing everyone how much I love movies. A lot. And we never see them in the theater. Ever. Ever. There are so many reasons for this, but the biggest one is: $$$$$

Why spend all that dough when, with patience, you can see it in the comfort of your own home? Exactly. So, we nearly never go.

BUT! The other day I thought I'd treat Gilly to a movie. We were excited to get out of house and see something in a 'moodie-teater', as Gilly used to call it.

We arrived ten minutes early. [Isn't that how you do it? Huh? It used to be! The only way to get good seats was to arrive early and sit quietly in the semi-darkness until the previews started all the while whispering in hushed voices about what was about to unfold before you. Someone would inevitably 'shush' you and you'd roll your eyes and giggle. Right?]

No. Gilly and I did not walk into a quiet theater room. We did not get shushed after whispering. We had no opportunity to roll our eyes at our fellow neighbors. We did, however, walk into a barrage of loud commercials advertising inappropriate television shows and various soft drinks. How utterly annoying! I mean, come on! Don't we get enough of this crap already? Now, we're paying them to chuck this junk at us? Seriously! This is one of the main reasons we got rid of our TV shows in the first place! Cripes!

In about six months, when we go see another movie, I'll be sure we come in late. Grrr.

Don't step in it!

Ummmm. I've blown a gasket. For real this time. See that disgusting ooze on the floor? That's my lifeblood. I'm leaking cheap chocolate products, butter, and eggnog. HELP! Grab the Christmas stockings and make a tourniquet!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

We're visiting my brother and his fabulous family.
Need a funny? My sister-in-law Fran has got one:

Fran- Have you heard the joke about the skunk?

Me- No.

Fran- Nevermind. It stinks.

Wishes

When I was a little girl, growing up in Chicago, we had a number of Christmas traditions. We would visit The Museum of Science and Industry to see Christmas Around the World and pick out a new holiday ornament, view the holiday window display at Marshall Field's on State Street, and watch the lighting of the great Christmas tree in Daley Plaza.

But, honestly, the tradition that holds a special place in my heart was going to see a production of Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker. I remember sitting in the balcony, peering down at the orchestra pit, feeling the magic of the season and watching the story unfold. I was mesmerized.

So, this year, I realized that Gillian, my little baby, is growing up. She's old enough now to sit quietly in the theatre, use her manners when needed, and understand a story told entirely by music, dance, and emotion.

Last night was the night. Her first step into mini-adulthood. We saw The Nutcracker.

Earlier in the week, she considered her clothing options, picked out a 'grown-up' skirt, and, last night, asked for 'fancy' hair. My heart hurt to see this maturity, but I was so proud. We arrived at the theatre, she was on fire with excitement. We found our seats, in the balcony, and she peered down at the orchestra pit. Memories.

Then, she noticed a little boy sitting directly behind us. He, too, was 'fancied' up with a little tie and jacket. Gillian made goo-goo eyes at him until the production began. And at the Intermission. And after every curtain call. And,yes, she was completely captured by the story, held by the fight of the Mouse King with the Nutcracker, in awe of the Waltz of the Flowers and the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy. She swayed to the music, clapped, and shouted 'Bravo!' whenever she could...all the while looking sideways at that adorable little boy.

Now, I am a mess of emotion. My little girl is growing up. She's beginning to have complex feelings about life...and she's asking thoughtful questions about love. I am proud, and scared, and unsure of this new territory. It's a beautiful thing when you see the wheels turning in your child's head. But I am a bit lost.

I haven't asked for anything this year, but I realize now that there is something I need. My Christmas wish is for the strength and wisdom to guide her down a path that will help her become the confident, caring person that I know lives inside her soul.
I hope someone's listening.

Seriously, people.

This can't go on.

Nathan just emailed to update me on the morning routine. See copy below:

Violin, yes. Spelling words, yes. Big breakfast with chocolate ice cream for dessert? Check.

Check a load of this: While Gilly ate breakfast, I asked if I could go pick out an outfit for her. She said yes, but specifically pointed out that she had no clothes behind Mama's in the closet, so I don't need to look there. HAHAHA. I am the finder of hidden things! I should be an investigator. That's it. I'm dropping out to pursue a new career.

Nuts about and to you,
Nathan

P.S. I am going to put the whup on today's exam

Remember where the punching bag was hidden, folks?

Yeah, it's not anymore.

GRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

FYI: See previous two posts below for the lead up...

Never tell a secret to a seven year old. Ever.

Scene one-

6:00pm
Nathan and Gilly are crashed out on the couch. I'm taking a nap.

Gillian:
I know what your present is! Want me to tell you?

Nathan:
No! I like surprises!

Gillian:
Come on...I can't hold it in! How 'bout I just tell you what color it is? Huh?

Nathan:
(exasperated sigh)
Okay. Good. Tell me what color it is.

Gillian:
It's black!
(pause)
I know some other things that are black!
(pause)

Nathan:
(no response)

Gillian:
A punching bag is black! But you're not getting one. I'm just telling you about other things that are black.

Scene two-

Cancelled.

Shhhhh! This is a secret!

Yesterday, I cam home from work just exhausted. We had plans to babysit for the neighbors, so, Nathan wanted to run some errands before the cutie pie arrived.

No problem.

After he left, I noticed that he hadn't gotten the mail yet.

Kay. I went out to get it.

Guess what was sitting on the porch?

Nathan's Christmas present!

I had totally forgotten it was coming. Thank goodness he hadn't gone out there yet because this



was sitting out in plain view. Not in a cardboard box with a mailing address stuck to it, but in the Everlast box covered in pictures proclaiming exactly what was contained therein. Sheesh!

I'm standing on the snow covered porch, in my socks, trying to figure out how I am going to get an 80lb. boxing bag into the house before he arrives home. AND where the heck am I going to hide an 80lb box that is nearly as tall as I am?

The snow is melting under my feet and Gilly comes out to investigate. She yelps an excited, "Daddy is going to LOVE that!!" Yes. I know. For those of you who aren't aware, Nathan used to wrestle in high school and college and was pretty darn good. We've got a box full of medals to prove it. When we moved to Madison, WI a few years back, he took up Ultimate Fighting (boxing/wrestling) and loved it. He knows a few local guys who compete (UFC) and has been hoping to train at home so he'll feel more confident training with them...plus it's just darn fun.

Alright, so Gilly and I figure that we can tilt it and push it up the stairs. We huff and puff, make unattractive noises, turn red with effort and, finally get it to the top of the stairs. Then what, right?

There's no way I am wrapping this monstrous thing. We've still got a couple of weeks until Christmas. It's not going in my closet and we've no time to push it down the stairs into the basement. Gilly's room it is!

We shove it across the floor and into her room. She's got a pretty deep closet, so I position it in the back. Totally visible! I grab some long dresses from my closet and hang them in front of it. Sweet. It's disguised. As long as he doesn't wonder what my clothes are doing in her closet, we should be safe. He's a man, right? He won't even notice.

Nathan gets home with about 3 minutes to spare. Gilly and I look at each other knowingly. We've got a great secret...

Now, how are we going to get it back out for Christmas day?

P.S. Let's hope he doesn't suddenly decide to start reading my blog.

Ahna, you knew this was coming.

I have to take a minute and thank my favorite neighbors:

THANKS TO THE BUNGALOGANs!!!!!!!!!!

Why, do you ask?

Here's why:



Fine. I'll clarify.

Today we had a GIANT snowstorm. Many flakes. Many idiot drivers. Many. As in, lots.

Guess which highway they took? I94E.

Guess which one I had to take? I94E.

Guess how long it took me to get home?

No, really. Guess. (Normally, I am home in twenty minutes. I leave at 3pmish.)

Come on. Take a crack at it.

An hour you say?

Nope.

One hour and a half?

Nope.

Two hours??!

Nope. Try two and a half.

Now, since we're playing this fun guessing game, try to figure out what time Gilly's bus comes home.

Fine. I'll just tell you. 4pm or so.

Was Nathan home? Why, no, of course not!

Did I make it home in time? Why, no, of course not!

Okay, let's up the stakes a bit...

Realizing that I wouldn't make it home in time, I called my good friends, the Bungalogans and asked if they would be so kind as to pick my sweet child up at the bus stop.

Being the wonderful folks that they are, they agreed.

Ahh. All's better now.

But wait! There's more!

Guess what arrived at 5:30pm? Ding, Ding! You're correct! Gillian's bus!!

Was Gillian on the bus?

Negative!

Did the Bungalogans panic a bit? Heavens, I hope so! Did they figure out where Gillian was?

Heck yes!

Now, who came home in time to learn of the new situation?

Right again! I did!

After spending 2 1/2 hours in the dang car moving at under 10 miles an hour entire way, I arrived home to learn that I would need to get back in the car and spend another few hours driving to Gilly's school (normally a 20 minute drive in the opposite direction)because she did not get on the bus. She went to Girl Scouts instead.

Now, picture me near tears at this news. Because, yes, that is how I felt. Like weeping frustrated, horrible tears.

And what did the male half of my wonderful, understanding friends say?

He said,

"Relax. I'll go get her."

And what did the female half of my wonderful, understanding friends say?

She said,

"Sit down. I'll get you a glass of wine."

And what time did my poor, starving child get home?

7:30pm!!

Rick made it back with an in tact, although weepy, seven year old girl and two large pizzas.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

We ate delicious pizza and watched Rudolph.

I've gotta say, somebody had an eye out when we found this house.

Somebody knew that we'd need those Bungalogan's and that they'd be there for us.

So, thanks guys. We love and appreciate you more than you'll ever know!

Uhhhh...

I got nothing you guys.

Shall we wax poetic on the meaning of nothing?

Nope.

That'd be ridiculous.

I'll try again later.