what i see when i look in the mirror

doog si efil

adrenaline is your friend

q. shenaynay

It's intriguing to me how we silly humans will give a task as much time as we have available to perform it... rather than how much time it should realistically require.

Case in point: The Shieldmaiden's packing procedure.

We travel a good bit, and both the girls are admirable packers at this point. Honestly, it's rather astonishing how many days they can live out of a single carry-on size suitcase and yet manage to look reasonably fetching.

But I digress ever-so-slightly. Back to my point.

The Shieldmaiden approaches packing very methodically. Two days prior to departure, she compiles lists in a notebook, planning each day's wardrobe to the detail. The day before, she gathers, launders, irons and mends. That night, she meticulously folds each piece, and then sorts them into stacks according to the day she anticipates wearing them, which she then arranges chronologically in her suitcase, which by this time looks as though it's headed for a Samsonite photo shoot. The suitcase is then placed in the car that night, ready for morning departure.

That's the usual progression.

However, today The Shieldmaiden decided on the spur of the moment to leave with her grandparents to go spend the weekend with them at their farm. At the moment this whim overtook her, la grandparents already had their car loaded, keys in hand, and were all poised to receive their departing hugs. To my utter shock, the dear girl threw method to the wind and had her suitcase packed in under ten minutes -- books, hair stuff, skin stuff, ipod, clothes, hats, sunscreen, you name it. Huh. Fa and I were pretty much awestruck.

Two days of effort compressed into ten minutes. Huh.

I wonder if she could fast-forward through Algebra like that this fall?

sitting on the porch with Davis

q. shenaynay


me, to Davis, who is 5: Who do you think you look like?

Davis: I look like Davis.

(I put my huge sunglasses on him.)

me: Now you look like me.

Davis: Yeah, except for only one thing.

me: what's that?

Davis: You don't have a cookie.


****


Davis: I think we should have a secret.

me: Okay, if you think so.

Davis: Let me think of one. You can't tell, remember that.

(is blogging the same thing as telling? hmmm.)

Davis: Okay, ready: Dan likes to sit by Caitlin.

me: Wow. You think so?

Davis: Shhhhhhhh.

me: That's a pretty good secret, Big D.

Davis: Well... (big dramatic sigh) I'm glad we don't have to have any more secrets. They're too hard to keep up with.


***

Davis: So how old are you?

me: How old do you think I am?

Davis: Umm, I'd guess 16.

me: But Davis, Caitlin is 17, so I don't think that works.

Davis: (dead serious) Well... in that case... I'm guessing you're probably one hundred and eighty.

(So are we smarter than they think, or just more cynical?)

q. shenaynay


"Everyone should stop spinning. Because America is now a country composed of people who know better than anything how to deconstruct spin. It's our great national talent."

-- Peggy Noonan, in a recent Wall Street Journal editorial column, on the media's penchant for putting spin on news and thinking they're fooling all of us.

Big Country

BIG is the only word to describe it. This is the most beautifully filmed movie I have ever seen -- the only movie that has ever made this TV-loathing gal pine for a media room with an oversized plasma rig. Almost every frame looks like a painting -- the color palette is perfection. I would watch it with the sound off, even.

The cast is superb as well - and all the men look like men. (How many movies can you say that about?) And the story is... well, big. A classic tale of honor.

But mostly, it's just breathtakingly beautiful. This is how a movie ought to look on a screen... a really BIG screen...

Why didn't I think of that?

"It is no less difficult to write sentences in a recipe than sentences in Moby-Dick. So you might as well write Moby-Dick."

Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

What goes through my head while I'm trying to concentrate on something else

q. shenaynay


Funny how I think better right after I brush my teeth.

Unhappyish families should try keeping ice cream bars in the freezer for a while.

Oh, and watermelons. Watermelons help people visit. Visiting is good.

I dig those yummy free facials they give you when you buy stuff at Origins.

Girls should wear more pink dresses.

Garlic-stuffed olives are necessary for disease prevention and proper perspective.

I feel better when I sing. I feel way beyond better when I sing with my friends.

Sweet husbands deserve to drive sweet cars.

Ben & Jerry's Neopolitan Dynamite ice cream makes you prettier.

Black & white movies are good for you.

Wow, I like my family.



What goes through yours?

What Penguins Want

q. shenaynay

Since some have asked, I suppose I should clear this up. Spuddy Buddy understands it perfectly, so it's only fair to inform our gentle readers as well.

If penguins come into your room at night, and if they then opt to speak to you, there will only be one topic: FISH. They want fish. Nothing but fish. But they only want live, wiggly fish with crispy, crunchy scales.

Since we only keep the filleted, frozen variety of fish on hand here at the Beehive, it behooves us not to speak back to them. They don't understand the concept of non-wiggly fish, and they do get so brusque and uppity -- and to be honest, excessively flappy -- if you try to explain.

But hey, if the penguins should migrate to YOUR bedroom some night, and if you happen to be one of those families who keep wiggly fish around, feel free to do whatever you deem most hospitable by your household standards. But don't say I didn't warn you about the flappy stuff.

I hope that clears things up.

Speaking of Spuddy Buddy .......

Great Scot

Spuddy Buddy is a HUGE 7 year old baseball fan, including playing it, watching it and talking about it. He really is a pretty good player for his age. (Dad's chest is swelling a bit at this point!)

Spuddy Buddy and I were recently at a Texas Rangers baseball game. As we left and were walking back to our car, he asked, "Daddy, where do the players park?" At this moment, we were walking near a driveway that goes to a tunnel under the Ballpark, and so, I pointed at the tunnel and admitted that I really didn't know, but I assumed that the players parked under the stadium. At this point, he turned to me with some concern and further asked, "Will they tell me where I'm supposed to park?" This confused me for a moment, and then the lightbulb turned on. I assured him that the Texas Rangers would tell him where his parking space was!

The boy has it all mapped out.

Rules Are Rules, after all

q. shenaynay


Spuddy Buddy, like any respectable seven year old boy, grew weary of all the incessant errands we ran yesterday, and like any respectable seven year old boy who is weary of errands, he got in a little Trouble With Mamadah at semi-regular intervals throughout the day.

Spuddy doesn't like to be In Trouble With Mamadah. (You probably wouldn't either.)

At bedtime last night, I could tell he was feeling a little down about the whole day. Knowing I had pushed him pretty hard all day, I felt it would be merciful to lighten things up a little before sending him off to dreamland. So after we went through the usual story-and-prayer-and-sometimes-a-hymn routine, I said, "Okay, big fella, we've had quite a day and I think we need to go over a few rules."

He looked dismayful. "Okay, Mamadah."

"First of all, you are NOT to throw snowballs here in your room."

"HUH?" He look genuinely confused.

"I mean it. I don't care how much it snows in here, you know better than to throw any kind of balls in this house. NO SNOWBALLS. Got that?"

"Umm... (giggling tentatively) yes ma'am." He stared at me quizzically whilst I somehow maintained a stern face.

"Okay, another thing that's bothering me: From now on, you keep horses out of here. This is just not the place for them."

I should mention here that a) we don't have any horses, and b) have never let horses in the house. Just so you'll know. He was getting big belly ha ha giggles at this point.

"And another thing -- and this is what concerns me most, young man -- if those penguins come in here again tonight, DO NOT SPEAK TO THEM."

"PENGUINS? Huh huh. What penguins? Hee hee heee."

"Don't tell me you haven't seen them. I'm not kidding, DO NOT speak to them. Now get to sleep before they show up so they won't be inclined to speak to you. You don't want to be rude if you can avoid it."

He was gasping for air at that point. I sang him a folk song to settle him back down, with him shaking from suppressed giggles every few bars. In the silence that followed the song, his breathing began to settle into a rhythm, and I thought he might be asleep.

But then several minutes later he whispered, "Mamadah? You were kidding weren't you?"

I whispered back, "Get to sleep so you don't have to find out."

He giggled a little and went straight to sleep. And you know what? He didn't speak to any penguins all night. Such a good boy.

So be honest: Is Julia Roberts in your closet?

q. shenaynay


First, a word from your sponsors about the recent lapse in the travelog posts...

Yes, beloved friends, we are home now for a bit, and one might reasonably expect us to resume production of the Scotland posts now. But we have a legitimate excuse. Really we do. Our main household computer, the mothership from which we manage all our photos, hath died an ugly death. La-do-mi-do-la. So for now, we are limited to my beloved little laptop... and hence have no access to our photo program at present. Cie la vie. Manana. All that and a bag of chips. We'll get back to it when we can. A new mothership should land soon.


And now we return to the scheduled post...

I had visions of us not being terribly busy in our few weeks at home this summer, but here we are scrambling to get a bunch of Necessary Stuff done in the limited and waning days that we are here... sigh.

One of the items on my Stuff to Accomplish This Summer agenda was to tackle my long-neglected closet so as to increase my efficiency quotient on the hectic school mornings looming just ahead. See, when we moved into this house six years ago, I hurriedly piled my stuff in there and then immediately began working on renovating other rooms (a project that is just now winding down). And, because life never stops for mom to do big things for mom, I never got back to it. In Six Years. I'll spare you a description.

So on Saturday, I did a scary thing: I turned The Shieldmaiden loose in there and gave her free reign to play "What Not To Wear." With disturbing fervor, she proceeded to yank everything out for brutal inspection. Did I mention yet that it was scary? Mondo beyondo scary. Three stuffed trashbags later, she beautifully rearranged what remained. It's a sweet little closet now. I like it.

Those of you who know Miss Shieldmaiden are already anticipating that this process was not without a few twisted episodes of dressup. You would be correct. She came upon a vintage quintessential 80's power suit that I kept in the very back of the closet. I saved it for sentimental reasons: I had it on when I met the Scot. After gasping and eyeing me with newfound concern, she disappeared for a bit. We waited in fear. Presently she came catwalking out as Julia Roberts circa 1986 -- very large hair, black linen power blazer with linebacker shoulder pads, pleated and tapered linen trousers, the works. She was me. Horrors. Hard to believe we ever did that to ourselves. But there she/I was, mercilessly swishing about in a once beloved but obviously dreadful Liz Claiborne ensemble with shoulders the width of the closet door. Hey, I once got lots of compliments for that suit, I protested. Nabbed a husband in it, even. Oh my. Oh. Oh.

Maybe our brains were foggy from all that cheesy 80's pop music?

Round the Spinney

Fa-So-La-La

Well, I've not been around much of late. Been a little preoccupied and more than a little busy. But I'm back now... I think. I hope. I intend to be back anyway.

But before we crustimony proceedcake, there is something I must mention (though most of you doubtless know it already), because to do otherwise would not only be a Shocking Omission, it would cheat me out of a terribly fun blog post. :-)

Why, you ask, have I been so preoccupied? The answer to that question is rather long, so I shall summarize by saying...


...that this Whatever-It-Was has been joined by another Whatever-It-Is, and the two of them are now proceeding in company.

Round the spinney we go...