PENSIEVE

Well, it rhymes with Venus!

Giving birth to two sons was tantamount to delivering comedians.  Both boys live for the laughs.  Victory is particularly delicious when I'm rolling on the floor or tears sprinkle my giggles.  Those are their proudest moments.

Perhaps the funniest moments are the unintended ones, when they have no idea how funny they are!  My youngest seems to have more of these than his older brother, but sometimes he doesn't appreciate my response.

Take our recent "educational" conversation about the gender of planets:

Stephen:  "Saturn is definitely a girl planet."

Me:  "R-e-e-ally?  Why's that?"

Stephen (incredulous he needs to explain his logic):  "It just SOUNDS like a girl."

He continues:  "But Venus...Venus is definitely a boy."

Everyone, but my son apparently, knows Venus is the Goddess of Love, Beauty and Fertility, and I'm confused at how he could possibly think it sounds like a boy.  But then it hits me--

Me (thinking my powers of deduction border on brilliance and/or I'm now channeling the mind of a 12-year-old male who appreciates the art of bathroom humor):  "Ooooh...because Venus rhymes with penis?!" 

Stephen:  "Great, Mom.  Thanks for putting perverted thoughts in my head...."

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I never did find out why Venus sounds like a boy planet, but I thought it best just to walk away before I planted any more seeds of perversion.  

Your turn:  Jump in the boat with me!  Share your kids' funniest moments or how you've misinterpreted something they told you :).  Art Linkletter & Bill Cosby made a mint off of these jewels!! 

How I learned I have caterpillar eyebrows...

The Inspirational Writing Workshop at Blissdom remains a warmfuzzymemory for me; Hallmark cardwriters Sarah Mueller and Molly Wigand joined bloggers Casey Mullins and Stephanie Precourt for an inspiration-filled session.  It's apparent they love what they do and their hearts lead their writing.  That connects with their readers, whether it's a 30-word card or a 300-word post.  

Later, Sarah Kolell with Hallmark Cards and Fleishman-Hillard's PR team, Liz Hawks and Amy Smith, hosted a booth where conferees could wander through the new kids card collection, and share feedback with creators Sarah M. or Molly.  I had the privilege of doing so with Sarah, and while I had FUN in the process, now I'm cringing just a little--a) I do NOT like my left profile (and now I understand what actors prefer a "side"!), and b) my eyebrows are really, REALLY wiggly and dark, and the left one is higher than the right!  Plus, I have the crazy eyes.  Plus, I never knew how animated I am when I speak...people who know me, AM I ALWAYS THIS EXPRESSIVE???

In hindsight, I'm wondering if Hallmark wanted to hear this much opinion 'cause I was shoveling them like a thoroughbred stall tender.  

I hope you'll watch til at least the four-minute mark; there, you'll find my video is educational...you'll learn what in THE world a "lenticular" is!

Thanks to Hallmark for their imaginative, interactive sponsorship of Blissdom!  For more blogger videos, check out their youtube page.

Tween talk

My 12-year-old son:  "I'm glad I don't have a girlfriend for two reasons...."

Me (glad he doesn't have a girlfriend for ANY reason):  "Oh yeah?  How come?"

Son:  "One, I don't have a cell phone.  Two, I don't have any money."

I think we'll keep him disconnected and unemployed til he's 21. 

;)

Levity of the male persuasion

Realizing I was out of coffee tonight angrily demanded I make a grocery run when it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do.  Well, a much uglier fate would have been not discovering our dilemma until morning--hell hath no fury like a woman scorned uncaffeinated--so I suppose I should be thankful.

Thinking some company might improve my sour disposition, I opened the door to our playroom and yelled upstairs to my youngest, to see if he wanted to go to the Publix with me.  From our downstairs bathroom four feet from where I stood (door closed), loud and proud he yelled back, "I'll go with ya in a minute if you can wait...I'M TAKING AN EPIC POOP!"

My first thought was "ONLY a boy would refer to a bowel movement as EPIC," thinking about the grandeur and dramatic impact of, say, "Gone With the Wind" or "Gladiator", but then I thought about the definition:  "extending beyond the usual or ordinary especially in size or scope".  

As I bolted for my car--alone--I decided I didn't wanna stick around to see how this movie ended.

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Love lettered

One day I returned home to find my daughter's friends had graffitied the hall mirror at the top of our stairs...

They're teenagers...and I haven't been able to bring myself to Windex their sweetness.  Would you?

{And, at least it wasn't the WALLS!}

Visit 5 Minutes for Mom for more mostly wordless pictures.

It's kind of like the baking equivalent of sushi, right?

One of my happiest childhood memories is licking the bowl.  Didn't matter whether it was a batch of cookies or batter for a cake, there was something deliciously forbidden about swirling my index finger around the rim of the bowl and savoring the sticky sweetness of sugar and flour and butter--oooh my! 

Susie's mom was the best--she actually left extra in the bowl so there really was enough to savor.  In our home, the bowl was nearly scraped clean; threading tongue through stainless beaters usually yielded a better reward.  Had the beaters been razor sharp, I'd probably be mute by now.

I've never lived in fear of salmonella poisoning from eating raw eggs.  If I think about that too long, it kind of wigs me out, but I've never gotten sick from eating batter or dough and I've never known anyone else to, either.

My husband is a raw dough and batter boy; my children are raw dough and batter kids.  We feel sorry for those who deny themselves the simple pleasure.

The other night my daughter decided to make chocolate chip cookies.  I don't know this for a fact, but I'd wager a quarter of the dough never made it to the pan.  When she finished the last batch, she began "pre-cleaning" the bowl. 

It's important to know she likes chocolate chips in the finished cookie, but her preference is to eat the dough plain.  With no one else around, she accomplished this by scraping dough from the bowl's sides and spooning it in her mouth...but the chips went back into the bowl.

With cookies in the oven for 12-15 minutes, Rachel went up to her room; shortly after, my husband came in from work.  He saw the bowl of dough sitting on the counter, grabbed a spoon and started scraping....

...never questioning why there might be a disproportionate amount of chips.

They aren't making eye contact and still aren't speaking.

Photo credit:  Strychnine on Flickr

What "blesses YOUR heart"?

What are the little, almost ignorable things that touch you...that can turn a frown upside down and absolutely make your day? 

It's almost a joke in my home, the teensy things that "bless" me.  {This is more a Southernism than a spiritual blessing, though sometimes they're 'bout one in the same ;).}  Though we smile at my sometimes insanity (getting downright giddy over the neighborhood mushroom explosion from recent Rains of Ark-like Proportion), I'm convinced receiving blessing in the little things does a body good.  

Recent examples in my sphere?

• Hot blueberry muffins with butter melting down the sides this morning (the aroma filling the kitchen is bonus!).
• One of my daughter's best friends wrote ME a love note!  "...hope you're having a swell week...I think your [sic] pretty, and a great role model..."  {Ummm, how much am I loving her right now?}
• My 12-year-old son, home a few days early from Fall break (school closed due to near-20% illness-related absenteeism) just says, "You wanna take a picture of something?  I just built something out of Lincoln Logs and you might wanna take a picture...." {meaning HE wants me to take a picture} {How many times have we thought it was "time" to pass along that old standard building set?  How grateful am I we still have it so he can be a little boy just a little bit longer??}

Now, your turn:  Share something that blesses your heart!  When you tell others, you'll be passing along some wonderful warm fuzzies (which, in turn, will bless the hearts of many! :) ).

Thief of memories

Breast cancer doesn't just plunder body, it is a thief of memories.  I have good reason to hate it, too: 

The memory album of my mother is too small. 

Blank pages are haunted with wonderings of "what might have been, if only."  If only.  If only.... They aren't words heart-whispered often anymore, but I'm acutely aware cancer robbed me of more memories, especially more good memories of Mama.

Flashback to 1971, Athens, Georgia, approaching the intersection of Milledge Avenue and Baxter Drive.  I don't remember where we had been but I do know we were headed to our apartment less than a mile away.  In her fourth year of battling cancer, Mama felt bad and needed to get home. 

In my eight-year-old way of thinking, I wanted to do something (anything) to make her feel better.  Children use whatever tactic they can conjure to stall bedtime, so I decided my gift to her would be going straight to bed without argument or "one more glass of water" as soon as we got home.

My intent was to let her know what she had to look forward to.  Subtle-as-a jackhammer in the sleepiest voice I could muster, I yawned, "I can't wait to get home and go to bed," and continuing my Academy Award-winning charade, "I'm almost falling asleep..." 

Stopped at the red light before my sentence was complete, Mama's car door suddenly opened.  The sound of violent retching followed by vomited splatter echoed throughout our sedan.  As she wiped her mouth and closed the door, her beleaguered voice took aim and fired over the back seat in my direction, "Well, just don't fall asleep in the car...!"

Stunned, I recoiled from her verbal dagger; my ears may have done the hearing of her barbed words, but it was my little girl's heart that felt them.  

I imagine it's why I still remember this scene.

I wanted to cry, but I knew that would just upset Mama more, and even then I knew she meant no harm.  Holding back tears, I mumbled something to reassure her I was fine and wouldn't be falling asleep in the car after all.

I don't remember anything after the light turned green.

Mama died the following Spring.

No wonder I h.a.t.e. cancer.

No wonder I'm grateful for the lessons Mama taught me in the nine years we shared.

No wonder I've walked in the Race for the Cure since I discovered it.

No wonder I celebrate and praise God my sister is a 12+ year survivor!

And because with all my heart I believe a cure exists in our future...and because I don't want children to grow up with ANY sad and too few good memories of their moms, it's with boldness I ask you to...

Click through to the Breast Cancer Site daily to provide FREE mammograms to those in need (it costs you nothing but a second of time!).  They'll even send you a daily reminder if you're prone to forgetfulness.

and

Make a contribution to National Breast Cancer Foundation or a similar organization. 

Stop that damnable thief from robbing any more memories from children; help stop it from stealing years from the lives of women.

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If at any time this month you've blogged about Breast Cancer Awareness, I invite you to share your link in comments; I'll add it below as I'm able.  And thank you for using your voice on behalf of others.  Your words are making a difference.  :)

Your stories ~
"Seventeen Years," The Gypsy Mama

"Grab Your Boobies," The Diaper Diaries

Click broken heart image to return to its original source.

Call me anytime...

"Call me anytime."  It was how all my phone calls ended with Daddy, usually the sentence just prior to the "I love yous" that substituted "goodbye". 

Though I never said it, I often thought "YOU call ME!" because I wanted him to want to call me, to be the initiator.  The thing is, I was busy with work, then a husband then a bunch of babies and life in general, and I'm sure he thought it was easier and more convenient for me to call him.  I wonder if I ever gave him the feeling he was interrupting Something Important. I hope not.

Had Lewy Bodies disease not pillaged my father's mind, crippled his body, and chauffeured him to the grave two years ago, he would have been 77 today.  His birthday has always trumpeted the advent of Fall to me, I suppose it's some sort of Pavlovian response to the actual autumnal equinox occurring just prior. 

I can't remember the last birthday I celebrated with him in person and at the moment that bothers me; was a one-way, three hours drive really not worth it?  He wasn't one to make a big deal out of his birthday and he'd discouraged me from coming, and his genuine, pleased response to a phone call indicated that really was all he wanted.

To be remembered.

I get that.

The other day I was walking into a store and I was stopped dead in my tracks:  an elderly gentleman walking out of the store could have been my father.  Never have I seen someone who so closely resembled him--his thinning gray hair, his olive complexion, his slightly softened stature, eye glasses with smudges...and a vacant expression that signaled he wasn't fully present.  I wasn't prepared for this chance encounter and I couldn't help staring through the rain in my eyes.  I wanted to speak to him, a kindness to a familiar stranger, but my feet were anchored and my heart was lodged in my throat.  I watched him as he shuffled to the parking lot.

It was the first reminder his birthday was this week and I could hear him over the din of busy shoppers and subversive grocery store Musak...

"Call me anytime...."

And because I can't...I write...to remember....

Because that mattered to him.

Beautiful Ending

Barlowgirl, a trio of musically-gifted sisters, has been a favorite of mine since their self-titled debut five years ago.  Lyrically, their music encourages, challenges and inspires; musically, their range will leave you ROCKIN' it OUT one minute, then weeping in confession and contemplation the next.  Their CDs are a must-have for anyone with daughters (especially tweens and teens); their lyrics often speak to issues common to middle and high school girls (boys in this age group will love Barlowgirl, too).

Beautiful Ending is the first release off their new album, "Love & War "; <--- click the link and buy it today.  The song reveals Barlowgirl's softer side and their voices melt into beauty; it reminds you it doesn't matter how you begin but how you finish.

Even though I'm probably not their demographic, I couldn't be a bigger fan.  If they're performing in your area, their concerts are worth the ticket price.  {Even if the worth is found, in say, a middle-age mom dancin' in her seat, totally mortifying her kids so much they have to go find friends to sit with ;)}    

Listen...enjoy...be encouraged!

Beautiful Ending @ Yahoo! Video