Santa

Belief in Santa seems to follow many of the rules of religion: there are basic tenants common to many variations on a central theme, it's an idea most commonly perpetuated between generations, there's some very hot debate over it, and there always comes a time when you really have to question its basic existence. 

Oh, come on!  Like you havn't questioned religion's basic existence.  Yes, you, the one who's been a good, faithful Christian your whole life.  No one's fooled. 

I don't remember how old I was when I stopped believing in Santa.  It wasn't cool to believe in baby things when I got to be an older-kid (called The Age of Not Believing in Bedknobs and Broomsticks) but a little piece of innocence sobbed and withered when that childhood magic was abjured. 

Man and I decided long ago to "not do" Santa with the kids.  Some people nod politely, others are shocked.  One little girl in Princess' class was completely floored upon learning that Princess doesn't believe in ol' Saint Nick, declaring "but Santa is as real as God!"  Man and I chuckled and felt good about our decision from nine years ago.

Tonight we had a chance to do a little shopping at our local PX.  I felt an old ache when I saw Santa loitering near a counter set up for Christmas photos.  This Santa was richly dressed in brocade and heavy velvet, and his long white beard was very real.  It appeared slightly yellow next to the pure white of his fur trim.  His coat was the longer sort, an apparent crossover between the old Saint and our own jolly Elf.  His eyes were blue and twinkly and his voice, though not deep, revealed inexpressibly endearing kindness.  My son loudly proclaimed that "Santa's not real!" right to the man's face and Santa merely smiled patiently. 

Later, as I wandered aisles with my two littlest girls, he came to play with the toys in a slow, deliberate manner as if taking both enjoyment and mental notes, and struck up a conversation with Pebbles.  He was generous in speaking with her, always inquiring about her interests and actively listening to whatever she wanted to share.  He enjoyed some interaction with Freida and remarked on her strong grasp of colors and counting, his eyes lingering over her smile and the fascination she had for one particular toy. 

I walked away from that encounter with one thought ringing through my head: if I had met that particular Santa at any time during my childhood, I would have believed for much longer.  I might still believe.  I wanted at that moment to buoy my children with innocent wonder and a rich understanding of the ancient myths of stockings and reindeer and an improbable but imminently possible race against time and science. 

I thought about his interest in my girls and the soothing kindness of his voice.  He didn't "HO!HO!HO!" with gusto, but merely chuckled quietly.  Nowadays, some parents might keep their kids as far as possible from a man who would randomly converse with a child in the toy aisle, no matter how he was dressed.  Santas only belong on ornate chairs in front of cameras or in front of stores swinging bells for charity and some Santas don't even have kids sit in their laps anymore.  Litigation and bitter fear have broken whatever lingering sweetness we might have felt about our childhood dreams. 

This Santa might have creeped out those who read too much into him, and those caught up in the traditions for tradition's sake would merely have seen him as a prop for the Christmas card this year and future memories already planned out in soccer mom style. 

I made my purchases and bundled my shivering babes into the van and longed once again for that old magic.  There was a thrill at seeing a full stocking Christmas morning; a thrill at seeing a plate, intended for cookies, sporting merely crumbs after a night of fitful sleep; and a thrill at wondering what miracles Santa might bring to pass on my behalf to make at least one day out of the year completely special and safe.  Perhaps such times as these make us long for simple miracles.  Perhaps we perpetuate that magic to feel like rockstars when we know that Santa's miracles are our own doing. 

All I know is that, tonight, the whiskers were real, the clothes looked incredibly gorgeous, the voice was like a hug, and I felt an odd sort of honor that he would take a special interest in my own children.  And there's nothing wrong with any of that.

Room swap and good weekend

You know those weekends that leave you tired but oddly refreshed?  Yeah.

Friday night we had the missionaries over.  They always, no matter who, where, what, or how you are, ask whether there's anything they can do to help you.  We've always said no after a polite pause where we pretended to ponder the question.  However, Man's shoulder prevents him from doing some things around the house like lifting entertainment centers and it's nice to have strapping young lads willing to lend a hand.

My beautiful, wee girl-children don't need as much sleep as their old mom and they go to bed early besides.  We moved into this house a year and a half ago in the spring and unwittingly put them into the coldest room.  Couple that with two windows that seem to catch every vibration of the 0630 Reveille and you end up with a 0632 Reveille for one tired mom in the form of two giggling, shivering, bickering lumps fighting over who gets to lay directly on top of me and who gets to wiggle into the warm spot at the small of my back.  Even if I kick them out of bed so I can doze until my 7:30 alarm, they can't reach the cereal and their rumbling stomachs soon get the better of their good natures and my rest.  I've considered leaving some sort of small food offering on the table overnight, as a Breakfast option to be followed by Second Breakfast after I wake up, to buy me some time.  The fear of pests has prevented any action in this direction.

At any rate, warmth and less noise has meant a weekend of little girls leaving us alone until 0800.  Bliss, I tell you.  Even if we only have a few more months to enjoy this arrangement, it's worth it and I don't have to grit my teeth and remind myself why it would be unethical to dose them with Nyquil every eve during tooth care time. 

It's also a smaller room which suits the mass of their possessions and persons. 

Tag has also needed less space.  I considered putting him into the room in which his sisters now live, but that seemed to be a little tight.  He has shelves and a desk and a powerful need for a room that's calming and safe.  First thing he did when he moved into the little girls' old room was take the butterflies off the wall.  It's a cozier fit and he no longer shares a room when the pantry and some miscellaneous storage.  The one closet is easier to close, which is important to him since it "freaks me out, mom."  The room he was in before has closets that have to be beaten shut.

So now we're all happier with the current arrangement.  I'm glad for the extra rest we've been getting.

Yesterday we went to a ward Christmas Party where the food was a little ugh but the company was great.  Someone actually cooked bacon and then kept it warm in a crockpot...  it was spooned on to plates.  I reiterate: ugh.  Tag asked Santa for a motorcycle, Freida asked for a birthday, and Pebbles asked for a flashlight.   Princess was too old for such foolishness and uttered a tween harrumph at the thought of visiting with the patient, old elf, but happily made reindeer candy canes and sugar cookies. 

We set out to visit my sister in law and had a blast!  Clam chowder for lunch and then we decorated cookies.  Her husband "went out and got a deer" because our state is so thick with the critters that you can drive 10 mins down the road and bow hunt, field dress, and return with your trophy in a mere two hours.  The cookies were exceptionally delicious and it was the first time I've ever seen a fresh kill that close before.  Once again, it was some excellent company but the food was also excellent. 

We stopped at the temple on the way home and enjoyed the breath taking glory of the Christmas lights.  The colors were rich and magnificent but had the inexplicable understatement of LED lights. Every tree and bush around the parking lot was embraced with Christmas celebration.  It was so crowded that evening that the stake center parking lot next door was filling up fast and parking lot attendants worked chilly shifts making sure that patrons of the temple had closer access than light voyeurs.  Tag almost got creamed by a bus once and I found the voice of a crazed grisly bear ripped out of my chest in warning.  It worked and he jumped back in time but we were both shaken. 

A quick stop at Chipotle brought us home in time for a bite and a timely bed time. 

All in all, a great weekend. 

Home shopping

Man wants to buy.  He wants to buy soon.  I'm nervous about that idea.

Here are the current plans: He has the opportunity to participate in occupational rehabilitation which will help guide him to a job that utilizes his various talents, which he will then either enjoy or have to swallow the tangy pill of realization that when you're upset at your ideal job it's time to buck up and get over it.  He seems to be hopeful, which is nice.

So, part of the occupational therapy is training in the field of his choosing.  Yes, more school.  He is, even now, enrolled in an online college where he's taking the one capstone class he needs to graduate with a Bachelor's degree in liberal arts.  I was a little upset by that, seeing as he could quintuple major in Chinese, Music, German, Computer Crap, and National Defense.  Whatevs.  At any rate, he's doing this online class in ethics, which has brought up some lively debate regarding euthanasia and the fundamentals of morals themselves.  He'll be getting his degree some time in the spring at which point I'll be throwing a party to which you all are invited.  Details to follow. 

So, we'll be moving at some nebulous point in the future.  The idea is that we'll move to where the job is.  Failing a decent job, we'll move to Kansas which is where my people are.  Now he wants to move to Colorado because the houses seem to be about $100k cheaper due to the tanking of the housing market out here which he says will make up for the difference in living expenses.  Right, says I, but it's still far from my family.  Well, replies he, at least it's way closer than any other place we've lived the past 4 years.  Whatever, sigh I, living that far away has taught me longing and appreciation.  Closer is better, but I'll go to CO if the job is good.  A day's drive is much better than a full days' drive (9 hours vs almost 24 if you factor in hourly potty breaks for little people), but I've got this pit in my stomach over it that says "I don't wanna and you're not the boss of me!"  That's the same pit that sometimes wins when I do my own menu planning and contemplate scrubbing behind the toilet. 

The problem with moving where the job is that he won't be getting a job while doing the occupational rehabilitation.  Really?  Really.  Makes me nervous?  You bet your sweet Sosa.  Which means that there isn't likely to be the sweet job in CO that'll make it ok for me to be far from home.  All of this is still in the incubation/theoretical stage which means that we're still arguing about it none of the above may ever come to pass.  He could land a sweet job in Europe or Iceland just in time for the cancer cure and common global language to shake hands.  Who the heck knows.


Anyway, looking at the price difference on these houses has got me thinking.  In real life, cheaper isn't always a good thing.  A decent rule of thumb can be to determine the level of quality you want to go for, often associated with a brand, and then find the cheapest price on that exact item.  Houses don't often have brands.  When they do, they're out of my price range in any case.  How do you know what the true value of a house is?  How do you know it won't be a money pit?  How do you know if you can afford it even if the price is great?  Do I have to learn a new level of home maintenance when we buy a house?  Dude, it's a headache. 

In the mean time, Tag's teacher called in a tizzy the other day.  Apparently he's still refusing to do his work in class so I've gone all Mr. Monk on him with checklists and consequences with if-then statements and loud lectures which (bless the little guy) he took with humility and resignation.  It breaks my heart.  It's looking like a strong possibility that he'll fail the 9 weeks, which could lead to failing the year, No Child Left Behind notwithstanding.  He will, however, get an IEP which might help somewhat.  Yes, ADHD is finally official, diagnosed, on the record, and snickering at us as we glare at it and frantically research our eyeballs out and work with at least four entities besides his normal doctor to come up with a way to get this child some academic and behavioral success.  I don't want him to fail the second grade especially if it's because of frustration as opposed to a real intellectual deficiency.  I wouldn't mind a dumb kid.  Someone's gotta have them.  But he isn't dumb by any stretch and my sense of justice is not ok with a failure of this nature when something could be done about it.  Yes, I'm taking it personally.  He really is trying, sits (mostly) nicely to do his homework at home and finishes it in reasonable time with only occasional intervention.  The problem is primarily in the classroom and I'm not there to see it.  All I have is the teacher's word against his and that poor lady has 28 kids who are all precious snowflakes wilting under the burden of his squeaky-wheel-ness. 

I love my boy.  He doesn't hurt anyone at school, doesn't break stuff, doesn't vandalize the bathroom, I've heard no reports of name calling or bullying.  All he does is refuse to do academic work while his teacher hovers over him.  I strongly suspect that we have a serious case of bad behavior cycle.  Once again, whatevs.

Two classes have come back with A's, just waiting on one class to see if the GPA stays at a 4.0.  I should know by this afternoon.

That's all from H land at the moment.  Happy holidays, Reader!

the delicious end

Oh, there are delicious ends.  There are heels of fine bread, the last lukewarm sweetness of an herbal mocha, the last end woven into a deep, fluffy scarf, and a final exam that takes 30 mins to whip out.

I wrote until my hand shook, which wasn't much considering my generation Y upbringing.  Then I sold back my text books and skipped down the hall with a whistle on my lips and a laugh in my throat.  An odd combination, but I didn't care.  The door to my freedom opened with a blast of frozen air that felt like baptism on my flushed face. 

It was most welcome.

I'm taking spring off, unless I take just one online class.  House hunting, job searching, school looking, but first, there is Christmas.  I'm going to take off my shoes and take a hot bath.

Oh, and I had another book idea when Freida came to visit my bed at 3 am, complaining of her fear of crickets.  It kept me up for an hour. 

From my facebook page:

From my facebook updates:

For the first time in (mumble mumble) weeks, my house is almost clean. I'm sure the Chesapeake isn't thanking [me] for all the spraying and scrubbing, but neither are several trillion microscopic beasties.

 Vacuuming in the blackness of space beneath furnishings, I'm very carefully curbing my curiosity about the blub-cha-clank going on in my long suffering vacuum. Was that a toy? A hair clip? No, don't think about it! FWOOMP!! Oh, crud, that had to have been a sock or a tissue... NO! Don't think about it. Crackling hiss! Sand. It had to have been. Or cracker crumbs. Rattling clink might have been money... No. No. Don't think about it.

 I did end up taking those two finals yesterday.   The psych final was my one and only chance (as far as I know), but the sociology test is a three striker, with the prof taking the highest score out of all three.  He'll email on Monday to let me know if I need to take another whack at it, but with 38 points of extra credit to apply to a 100 point test, I'm feeling pretty darn good.  

 Last but certainly not least, my English final is this Thursday.  It's going to be four questions regarding the plays A Doll's House by Henrik Ibsen and Fences by August Wilson.  If you have the chance, A Doll's House is a completely haunting movie as well (1973 version), starring a startlingly young Anthony Hopkins and including the lady who plays Miss Prism in The Importance of Being Earnest.   

 It's felt really good to feel like I have the time and energy to give the house a good scrubbing.  I've gone through a lot of cleaning supplies today and I may actually go through more than one whole vacuum bag.  Of course the kids havn't been as enthusiastic as I, but everyone seems to breathe much more easily when you can stride through a room without kicking anything, or easily find towels and clothes and cups and forks.  We're starting to get the rearrangement itch as we learn that the three youngest kids seem to have too much room.  We're moving the spare room into the former master bedroom on one side, which is where Bren is living.  We're going to get him a smaller bed and a smaller room and a room with fewer closets to worry about.  So that's going to begin in earnest this week, and then we'll have missionaries over for dinner to do the heavy lifting since Man isn't up to that sort of thing anymore.   

 Also, the kids are getting older and wanting more money.  So now I have to start calculating how much money I'm going to offer for extra chores.  Hehe.  The chores have worked very well in the past but they've been more sporadic.  One time I charged Bren a lot of money to let him make a dinner on a night he didn't like what I made, but I let him do chores to earn it all back.  We havn't repeated that since then, since the little stinker really needs to eat the food I make and I don't want him thinking he can just throw money at something he doesn't like to fix it.  So I'm wondering what it is they can do for money that isn't something they should be doing for themselves or the family anyway.  Claire should be doing her own laundry here pretty soon, I'm thinking at the beginning of the next school year.  Basic yard care, dishes, caring for their own and public space, cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming, and cooking once in a while are all part of being in a family.  So what's left? 

WEBstraunt

I'll write a full review of my newest favorite website after the semester is over, but I just have to geek out about it for a moment.

I originally found WEBstaurant when I was looking for pizza screens.  Since then I've fallen in love with it over and over again as I browse and dream.  I want to open a bakery just to get my hands on all the wonderful goodness to be found on this amazing website!

Anyway, I wrote two reviews for the things I bought there, and they were both accepted!  They're giving me a $2 credit for each review that they publish!  I know it's only $4 but man, that's a new set of stainless steel measuring cups right there!  What a great incentive to keep reviewing. 

Hm... what else can I do with my $4?  I'm oddly giddy over that tiny sum of money. 

Almost

The end of the semester is almost here.

It's almost Christmas.

It's almost time to visit family and friends.

Man is almost out of the Army (no disability rating yet).


The kids' long string of birthdays is almost here (Dec, Jan, Feb, April) and they all want parties.

I have a new story idea that I'm almost convinced I should start writing on right away.  Almost.

I'm almost convinced that we need to swap three bedrooms in my house.  Heh.  I need to decide before I have the missionaries over for dinner, so I can get them to lift the furniture for me.  They're always asking if there's anything they can do, and Man sure as heck can't lift.

I'm almost done Christmas shopping. 

The kids are almost... no, not almost.  The kids are sick, have been sick for a long time, and they're not better yet.  Should that keep us home for Christmas?  It might if they don't get better, and I can't tell you how awful I'd feel if any family got the lingering crud we're fighting. 

All this almost is making me a little crazy.  I'm so not used to much sugar anymore that when I sat and nibbled on Hershey's Kisses all day yesterday without eating real food, I went nuts.  I suddenly have a lot of sympathy for those who suffer with bipolar disorder. 

Two more class periods and one day full of finals.  Yep, all of my finals are on the same day.  ALL.  That's six hours of hard core testing, man.  And a lot of #2 pencil lead.  Thank goodness there's only one hand written exam.  The other two are a combined 160 multiple choice questions and the turn in of one take home essay test, which I've already completed. I might actually try to take the psych test early this week.  Hm... time to get one that, I think.  Wish me luck!

Fun little project

I was fiddling around with blogs and started this little guy:

Something Clever and InconsisTent

Check out my fish!

I was thinking about doing that blog for product reviews.  I don't want my blog to become a commercial but there are some consumer items I'd like to share and discuss, for better or worse.  Amazon has a nice program that gives me the power to easily link pictures of what I'm preaching about, including a little photo carousel. 

(My favorite part is the fish, which I may have to integrate into this blog as well.)

Reading

In an effort to understand and work with the people with whom I live, I'm currently reading Men Are from Mars and Women Are from Venus, and The Parenting Breakthrough. 

I read Mars/Venus quite some time ago and thought it made a lot of sense.  This time through it's making me mad.  It has a lot of anti-feminism undertones that just rub me the wrong way.  The author comes across as some sort of male apologist who's trying to coax volatile yet delicate females into getting along with their mates. 

"To expect a man who is in his cave instantly to become open, responsive, and loving is as unrealistic as expecting a woman who is upset immediately to calm down and make complete sense.  It is a mistake to expect a man to always be in touch with his loving feelings just as it is a mistake to expect a woman's feelings to always be rational and logical." (Mars/Venus, page 37)

I understand that when he says feelings can't always be rational and logical that he is NOT saying that they never are.  That first sentence is the one that gets to me.  Perhaps it's an irrational feeling of irk that cannot make logical sense because life has me by the nads and I'm incapable, due to my female nature, of calming down and making complete sense.  Jerk.

The Parenting Breakthrough is a really great book though.  The author is funny and visual, laughs at herself and has a lot of very practical solutions to teaching children that have astounded me. I didn't know how to be a mother or even a babysitter when I brought home my first beautiful, impossibly tiny and delicate baby.  I didn't know what to do about kids or babies or homemaking or finances.  I was so afraid of finances that I just spent as little money as possible when I got out on my own.  It kept me out of debt, but money didn't do me any favors either.  I'm learning more about how to be a practical adult from this book than any other book I've read.  Have you ever heard of something called E-Trade or Ameritrade?  The stock market has long been one blurry mystery to me, something that accountants and rich people who employ accountants know about and something you need $1 million to even begin to play with.  The author talked about buying a small online trading account for her teenager to give him a feel for what stock markets are like.  What??

Obviously I'm getting more out of one book than the other and I switch between them as I get too irritated to keep reading with interest (Mars/Venus) or too overwhelmed by what I don't even know about myself (Breakthrough) like interior decorating as a means of teaching, life plans, and investment banking. 

I feel too tired to roll up my sleeves right now.  I feel like I don't have the strength to do much of anything besides get food on the table once a day and churn out homework and tests like a cross eyed pasta machine.  Similes that don't make sense?  Largely inexplicable irritability?  At least one hot bath a day to scorch some endorphins into my screaming mind?  Dragging myself through exercise only to want a nap right afterward?  Check, check, check, double check. 

And now I must go grocery shopping.  Work on the van plus getting Man into one last college that only requires that he take one class and transfer his 250+ credits in before FINALLY getting a Bachelor's degree (which may actually turn out to be a double or triple major, thanks to the military) means beans and rice for a week or two, but really, it doesn't get much better than a good pot of beans and basmati rice.  I thank God for times when I can really enjoy simple things. 

Chalk mat

This is for Amber!

Here is a link to a tutorial for a chalkboard mat that's a bit more stylin' than the ones I made, but the visuals may be useful.

Link.

Here is a reworded version from the directions I used (clarifying, mostly, and getting rid of some yokel grammar). 

Supplies: 

1 piece 10x13.5" chalk cloth (aka blackboard cloth)
2 pieces 12x20" cotton fabric
1 piece 5x12" cotton fabric
1 piece 12x20" fleece (either fusible or baste it into place)
1 piece 12" elastic
1 piece 12x20" fusible interfacing
Chalk, half a sponge

First half:

Pin or fuse the fleece to wrong side of one 12x20" piece of cotton. 

Second half: 

Fuse interfacing to wrong side of the other 12x20" piece of cotton fabric (to prevent the fabric from bunching when sewing on the chalk cloth.  A simple way to overcome this is to use a quilting foot if you happen to have one).  On the piece of cotton that's 5x12", finish one long edge by folding over twice and then top stitching.  Align the unfinished 12" edge with one of the 12" edges of the larger piece of cotton, mark the center, and stitch straight from the edge to make a divider for the pockets.  Each pocket should still be loose except for the one stitch in the center.  Center the chalk cloth in the remaining open area of your fabric and zigzag stitch around the edge of the chalk cloth.  Pay close attention to any bunching.  Pin the ends of the elastic to the edge directly opposite of the center stitching on the pocket, making sure the loop of the elastic is toward the center of the fabric. 

Putting it together:


Put both pieces of cotton right sides together, pinning the edges.  Sew together with 1/4-1/2" seam or whatever seam securely catches all of your edges (this was a Souper Saturday project, so it wasn't too precise) leaving a window on one of the long edges open for turning (preferably away from the pockets so they get caught in the initial stitching).  Turn and top stitch around the entire edge.  I ended up not top edging the pockets on one of them because the fabric was too thick for my machine. It turned out fine. 

They're cute, easy, infinitely customizable, very inexpensive relative to color wonder, compact, and durable.  I want to make a couple more for the older kids but this time actually use a cutting mat and some decent fabric scissors. 

author

Princess:  Mom, how do you spell author?

Me: [we live in a loud house, I didn't hear her very well]  What do you mean?  Arthur or author?

Princess:  Author, like the guy who drew the map.

Me:  [distracted]  Um, c-a-r-t-o-g-r....

Princess:  Wait, what? 

Me:  Cartographers draw maps, not authors.

Princess:  [grunt in exasperation]  Never mind!!!

Yeah, wrong teaching moment.

various halloween pics

This makeup was for a costume birthday party.  The face paint was for the trunk or treat, and the pics without makeup were from the school's costume parade.  

Fire and Ice Ball

It's that event that middle-upper class husbands dread.  It the means of raising many thousands of dollars for many larger charities.  And it's where the wealthy go to "get a good deal" on jewelry and sports memorabilia.


The Red Cross has a charity ball called The Fire and Ice Ball.

Here's the event info: Red Cross Ball

It was fun! We sat at a table with two other couples who had been sponsored that night (in other words, got in for free) -- one couple were injured soldiers and the lady in the other couple is a Red Cross volunteer. The other two couples at our table were there to actually donate money and/or bid since it was a charity ball. From what I could see, I believe that members of the armed forces, preferably injured, were placed at each table so that donors could rub elbows with the people whom they were indirectly benefiting.

Marine General James T. Conway was honored with a lifetime excellence award (40 years of service in the Marines!!), along with injured members of each branch of the military.  The Army recipient stood tall enough to reach Man's armpit, but that didn't stop him from performing some heroics and receiving a traumatic brain injury in Iraq.  The only honoree to struggle to contain his emotion was the Air Force guy.  You better believe that the Marine to receive the award was on his very best behavior with General Conway standing right behind him during his speech.  The poor guys barely spoke 10 words in acceptance. 

There were silent and live auctions on trips, jewelry, and sports memorabilia.  One man at our table, a former Soldier, commented on how good of a deal it was to have 4 signed baseballs (Ripkin, Ryan, Rose, and Aaron, whoever those guys are) at a starting bid of $800.  The most expensive sports item was a blueprint of a stadium signed by Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, and Joe DeMaggio valued at $16,000.  Lots of bats, jersey's and helmets were on display next to necklaces whose value I just didn't understand.  $1200 value for what, exactly?  I've seen similar stuff on WalMart shelves for $5.  The most expensive non-sports item on the silent auction was made out of mink, something I thought East Coasters would have a raging fit over (valued at $5,000).  The weirdest thing I saw was a salad bowl valued at $450.  It looked like beaten silver with sort of glass tongs.  Seriously?  It seemed like a lot of the items up for bid didn't get sold for quite what they were valued at.  At the end of the live bidding there was a push for straight up donations.  A large screen showed the goal ($20,000) and displayed names of those who were contributing funds via little machines that looked like iPhones.  There was a gasp and applause as the goal was met within a very few minutes and then exceeded. 

The food was 5 star catering, for sure. Menu included a squash soup, poached pear salad (on a bed of greens with fresh made Dijon dressing; a lump of mild but tangy cheese was nestled in a hollow in the pear), halibut (perfectly poached with a delicious sauce), guinea fowl, delicate veggies of many kinds (didn't care for the carrots or potatoes), and tiny deserts you only see on the food network (brie cheesecake, chocolate pyramid bursting forth with a caramel center, and mango sorbet in a little inverted pastry hat; each offering was the size of a golf ball; Man was the happy recipient of the diabetic lady's untouched dessert).  Gourmet cupcakes with mile high icing were piled high and available before and after the meal.

A live band played Big Band type music and some Sinatra and Tom Jones. A lady singer whaled on a tambourine and shook her booty in time to her maracas.  She minced her way out to the dance floor and gracefully interpreted direction from the sound crew when her position in the hall started giving feedback from her microphone.  Single soldiers stared at her with their mouths hanging open and one plump but brave young man danced with her while she sang with a slightly alarmed expression on her face.  After that she took a drink break and didn't leave the stage again.  One of the weirder songs was a jazzed up Ding Dong the Witch is Dead. 

Gift bags afterward included brochures on how to donate even more money to the Red Cross and a little flashlight that plugs into the wall and lights up in a blackout or whenever energy flow is otherwise interrupted.  They also act as nightlights.  Tag was happy to get one of those for his room. 

We rode down and back with some nice Sergeants and had some good conversation. One of them was in full dress blues and wanted to stay very late because "it took me all week to put these blues together, I'm going to ride them 'til the wheels fall off." All those little medals and things are difficult to adjust to Army standards.  Man looked very good in formal greens, which is just the Army dress greens uniform with a normal white shirt and bow tie instead of the green shirt with black hanging tie. 

All in all, a good time and I was glad to take my shoes off at home.  I still have a couple of flowers pilfered from the centerpieces.  Their heavy heads (three rose and one crimson Gerbera daisy) bow over the edge of a plastic glass, classy meets mom un-chic.  A girlfriend of mine helped me do my hair since my awkward attempts netted me a headful of fuzz and a few bent bobby pins.  Best comment of the evening came from my 2 year old "Oooooh, mommy's a peen-cess!"

Kojo!

My new fav radio program:

The Kojo Nnamdi show!

(I just love his voice and he's either good at picking topics or he's got some great producers)

update

 Official Army determination: Husband, due to injury, is no longer fit to be an active duty soldier. Which means he'll seen be a disabled vet at the ripe old age of 30-something. (this is something we've known for months, but now it's chiseled in stone)
 What does this mean?

Let's pretend, for a moment, that there are only two ways this whole thing could turn out (even though I giggle at how utterly ridiculous such an assumption would be):
1) We get a percentage we can live with, so we accept it, sign on the dotted line, and get some orders cut for separation from the Army.  This will take anywhere from 2-5 months, depending on how long it takes to cut orders.
2) We don't get a percentage we like, so we appeal.  Then we get out of here in a year or so.

Now, there are a lot of complicating factors going into this decision and subsequent decisions.  Where we move and when is largely determined by how good of a job Man can get, taking into consideration my desire to attend school. 

More news as it becomes available.

72 hour kits

Growing up, we were told that a great way to rotate your 72 hour kit food was to eat it over General Conference weekend.  I don't know that we really want to though, given that it's all Beanie Weenie, beef stew, and canned ravioli (whatever had a pop-top for convenience) and more granola bars than I'd eat on a normal day.  But, we could break out the wing stove and give it a whirl. 

The wing stove lays very flat, measuring about 1/2" thick when folded.  It is very easy to set up.  The sterno was most surprising.  Tag touched a match to it and nothing happened.  The only thing that changed was the heat distortion observable in its shadow.  We tried putting an unlit match over it to see if it really was heating (since we didn't believe our own eyes) and it burst into flame.  Alrighty, then.

Into the oven it went, and we placed a mess kit pot of Beanie Weenie over it:

Within 3-5 mins, it was boiling.  That is some very hot fuel.  

I think the only things I need to replace this soon are the granola bars.  The slim jims were a little gross so I think I'll replace those, too. 

Coupons

I don't like couponing.  I never did it before I was married, havn't really done it after I had kids, and didn't understand doubling or Coupon Games or what the heck ever it is housewives crow about when their receipts end up at near a zero balance despite being about three feet long. 


I started to look into it in Kansas but it looked very complicated.  How do you organize that many pieces of paper with such a diversity of information on them?  How do you scour stores for sales like they say you should?  What if you never find a sale for the coupon you've clipped before it expires?  What on earth is doubling, how do you know where to double, and how often are coupons doubled?   I've even read about people hauling in tons of loot from playing CVS.  It looks like a hobby as well as a necessity in these troubled times.  One days says that she already saved over $700 this year and the year ain't over yet.


What what does it get you?  CVS lady has tons of deodorant and toothpaste in whatever brand happened to work with her game, in addition to other items of a drug store nature.  Other coupon deals involve junk food and other name brand items that I just don't often buy.  Aldi usually covers my itch for a good deal especially when I compare those prices with mainstream grocery stores out here.  You never realize how awesome the Commissary is until you stop by Giant just for one little thing and flee in a panic at $5 cereal or $2 bananas. 


As you all know, I've signed up with this menu planning place called E-mealz.  One of the money saving tips they have is to go to a website that sells coupons (just google "buy coupons") so you don't have to go to the expense of buying newspapers.  In my coupon readings I found one tip that said you should buy 2 Sunday newspapers per person in your family.  Is it worth buying coupons rather than buying Sunday newspapers?  Let's take a look.


My local newspaper is the Baltimore Sun.  There is no option to receive only the Sunday paper, so I'd have to subscribe to Wed, Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sun at $1.50 a week.  I don't really read the newspaper as all the comics and newsfeeds I want already hit my Google Reader.  I would literally be buying this for the coupons and to maybe mulch my garden (if I had a garden).  2 papers per person in my family of 6 would amount to $18 per week. 


I just got an order from TheCouponClippers.com .  I browsed their coupon selections and picked precisely that which I wished to purchase, carefully selected for the best deals I could find on items that aren't typically available at my go-to cheap zones and for name brands I prefer.  Examples include Bandaid brand products (Neosporin which we go through in quantity, Cortaid, and the bandaids themselves), and Ziploc brand for the bags. Also, you've heard it before but I'll say it again, it isn't a deal if you never would have bought it in the first place!  I went through this big "I cook from SCRATCH!!" phase where I scoffed at coupons because they were never for the basic items I bought like flour and milk.  But life is so busy now that I have no delusions about food preparation.  There are frozen pizzas and make ahead meals and on Saturday I make pancakes for breakfast which ends up being the most time consuming meal I make all week. 


So, between my carefully selected coupons, shipping and admin fees, I spent $7.  I will use each one of these lovely little coupons.  Total savings if I use these coupons amounts to $53.75 including the deduction for the coupon purchase. 


(full disclosure: the only time I buy Nutella is when I find a great coupon which I use on the smallest jar because I have no restraint around that stuff.  So I got one Nutella coupon, which doesn't technically qualify as something I'd normally buy.)

Bonus:  I didn't have to go through 18 newspapers to get the coupons I wanted, only a very tiny tree was sacrificed for my small stack of coupons, I don't have to deal with recycling a stack of newspapers, and I can buy whenever I want in whatever quantity I choose.  I can see myself doing this once every month or two, which is a far cry cheaper than $18 per week or $81 per month, or even 6.75 per month for one subscription which may or may not have one coupon I want.  

I really enjoy adding another smooth move to my money saving efforts.  If I find myself buying a frozen pizza, I may as well knock a dollar off that bad boy, eh? 

face paint

There was a really great face paint artist at Golden Corral tonight.

Pebbles asked for "rainbow princess."

She did this on a spontaneous request from him, from memory.  

I think that Princess had an artistic vision that wasn't communicated very well.  Oh, well.  We hear that she's there every now and then.  We'll have to go back some time.  She also works for tips only.   

 The flowers were awesome!

She painted a little boy's face to look like a dragon, complete with horns that appeared to erupt from his face.  She was very quick and detailed. 

The Big Two

My sister requested a reading of the whole document.  Be sure to leave suggestions.  I'm interested in fleshing this out even further just for fun.  It's due Tues morning.

The Big Two (M7.9)

            The first 20 minutes:  According to statistics found online, an earthquake with a magnitude of 7.9 will kill “1,800 people at night or over 3,400 people during the day, and seriously injury about 8,000 people at night or over 12,500 people during the day,” (1, 31-32).  10,000 commercial buildings will experience structural damage, “or about 15% of all commercial buildings in the study region, and includes about 40% of all commercial buildings in San Francisco and San Mateo counties,” (1, 30).  About 600,000 will be displaced from their homes, requiring alternate shelter either from the public or among friends and family, (1, 30).  Sewer lines will be disrupted as well the primary waterways that deliver water to the city, (2).  There is also the significant chance that fire will become a dangerous issue within just a few minutes of the initial quake, (1, 24).  Loss of water flow to the city will hamper firefighting efforts.  Loss of electricity will happen, automobile infrastructure will shift, bridges will break, phone lines and cell phone towers will experience damage, and some radio stations may cease to broadcast, (3).  The Golden Gate Bridge may or may not have been retrofitted to withstand great seismic activity as the project to thus retrofit it is due to be complete in 2012, but knowing government construction time frames (as well as extensive cost cutting measures) it’ll be late (and poorly done), resulting in a massive collapse of the entire bridge within minutes. 

            24 hours after earthquake: Stores will be unstaffed and won’t have electricity.  Some foods will begin to spoil if the earthquake happens during warm months.  Freezers have failed.  Medicine requiring refrigeration may not be available.  Some people won’t have access to their pantries if their homes have been completely destroyed.   Those who had a 72 hour kit available and were able to flee with it will have food, water, and warmth.  Hospitals and any impromptu infirmaries that happen to spring up will be overwhelmed with those seeking help.  The death toll, either from untreated injuries or due to critical damage with delayed mortality, will rise.  Those who are trapped in collapsed buildings will need water and medicine very soon.  Rubble will continue to shift as environmental temperature fluctuates, wind and rain occur, and any aftershocks perpetuate.  Gas lines will need to be secured to minimize fire hazards.  Reporters are on the scene already, giving you live coverage of the devastation as it occurs. 

            72 hours after earthquake:  The National Guard has been mobilized and may be arriving.  Fires have spread.  Firefighters and law enforcement from other states may have arrived to help restore order in the city itself and surrounding counties.  Efforts to evacuate are hampered by destroyed roads and airports.   Outbound traffic will be severely strangled.  People will run out of gas while still miles from their destinations or even other gas stations.  Fuel may run out entirely due to demand and tankers’ inability to restock gas stations.  Communication is still hampered by power outages and downed cell towers.  Some radio stations may have generators to help make emergency broadcasts.  Residents are in serious need of water and food, and some are in serious need of shelter.  Sanitation is becoming more of a problem as human waste and trash are not collected and removed from the city.  Lost pets may be loose and scavenging.  Some people may be resorting to raiding grocery stores and pharmacies for need or profit.  There are language barriers as rescuers seek to locate or treat the missing and injured. 

            One week after earthquake:  Some sort of benefit concert featuring a number of celebrities and music stars has been arranged.  Outrage over how this emergency has been handled is all over the news, along with scathing analysis of how much of the damage could have been prevented.  Fires are either out or under control and one half of the homeless have been put up in tents or farmed out to neighboring counties.  Relief is finally starting to pour in at a pace that was needed days before.  Blame is in the preliminary rounds of discussion and everyone is attempting to use the situation to their advantage.  There is a heavy Asian population in San Francisco, so allusions to the Japanese-American internment camps following the bombing of Pearl Harbor are flying across the media airwaves.  Hopefully this emergency doesn’t occur during a presidential election year.  Funds are allocated to send emergency aid to the area and California goes into receivership, (4).  Many will rally around California but will quietly move away to Colorado, throwing the Colorado housing market and public schools into disarray.  Several companies with headquarters in San Francisco have a stiff upper lip in the media, but prices go up on such products as Dolby, Gap, Gymboree, Del Monte, and Williams-Sonoma, Inc.  Servers have been disrupted at Wikimedia, Blogspot, Craigslist, and Flikr, further disrupting national communication.  Many fruit crops are declared to be in danger causing the price of artichokes, strawberries, lettuce, celery and peppers to go up dramatically and people horde seed packets and canned goods (where available) of the same. 

            One month after earthquake: Hard data begin to be available concerning casualties and damage assessments.  Outrage still circulates concerning the treatment of various evacuees, with declarations of“it’s Katrina all over again” in more than one media outlet.  By now several people in political positions have been replaced by other people with similar levels of competence but with nicer teeth and fresher faces so the common people feel that the movers and shakers are finally placing blame on the appropriate heads.  A national holiday is proposed but shouted off the table since it wasn’t an act of war that caused the devastation.  Media are finally catching on to the damage in surrounding areas, including the Point Reyes National Seashore, the toppling of flora in Mt Diablo State Park, and Henry W. Coe State Park (home of TarantulaFest).  Many people question whether San Francisco should be rebuilt, to which lobbyists for those companies headquartered there respond with vehement schmoozing.  Candlelight rallies take place where half of the candlelight vigilees wear tie-dye rainbow t-shirts, eat dim sum and sing Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay to support the city of the now fallen Golden Gate Bridge.  The country has recovered from its shock enough to finally start making fun of the tragedy, with Jon Stewart’s Chief Earthquake Correspondent reporting live from the scene that the greatest tragedy of the day was the loss of the Golden Gate Fortune Cookies factory.  California begins to relax its immigration rules when it becomes desperate for repairs to be stepped up so that tourists keep coming to spend their money in a state that was ailing even before the natural disaster struck.  Lax immigration regulation results in a sharp uptick in crime and drugs in the state, straining law enforcement resources.  It also creates a greater strain on state aid programs like WIC and some state health benefits, sapping away the money that the state was trying to bring in with cheap labor.

            6 months after the earthquake: Long term funds for reconstruction have been stymied in the senate since the Republicans are back in power and they don’t want to fund a city known for its socially liberal reputation.  They try to attach relief funds to a bill that defines marriage as between a man and a woman.  Further argument comes up when they realize that with the large Mormon population in the state that they also want the bill to declare marriage to be between one man and one woman, (5).  Damage has been assessed in the many delicate aspects of California ecology.  Biologists lament the demise of an entire species of shrimp, the sickening of two species of seaweed, and the disruption of both sealion and monarch butterfly reproduction and migration patterns.  All other potential for major disasters is ignored by the public because they live in a culture of instant gratification and little thought for the past or future.  Disasters have happened, the government came to rescue them even though they didn’t prepare emergency supplies, and they now have an additional form of entertainment: recreational outrage.  The tv movie starring Dennis Quaid and the Olsen twins entitled The Day the Iron Horse was Put Down (with distinct animal rights and environmental awareness agendas) has been shown twice during primetime and put out on dvd, along with a documentary by Michael Moore entitled They Gelded the Iron Horse: Why FEMA and Obama Allowed a Golden Symbol to Fall.  The government has made, more aggressively publicized, or renamed a committee to predict future disasters and prepare for them.  They’ll call it CARMA: Collectively Addressing Resoundingly Maleficent Ado (since it’ll be name by a hippy liberal who is native to San Francisco).  CARMA is intended to work closely with FEMA.  They end up having a public squabble on CNN after CARMA refuses to divulge its prognostications, whereupon FEMA refuses to respond to any disaster which CARMA doesn’t publicly predict. 

            1 year later:  National media ask the country to observe a moment of silence beginning the minute when the earthquake first struck the year previous.  The victims of the tragedy are still largely displaced and some of them are still very angry at insurance companies or relief efforts that they felt were insufficient.  A new ribbon has emerged in memory of The Big Two (otherwise known as The Second Big One):  black and gold striped lengthwise.  This ribbon appears on cars and windows in an effort to renew anxious awareness of a tragedy which happened very recently in the context of human history, but so long ago in the age of text messages and speed dating.  

 

1 -- http://www.1906eqconf.org/mediadocs/BigonestrikesReport.pdf

2 – A video found here:  http://www.1906eqconf.org/

3 -- http://www.training.fema.gov/emiweb/earthquake/NEH0103140.htm

4 -- http://www.slate.com/id/2246915/

5 – Full disclosure:  I’m LDS (aka, Mormon). 

part of my essay

This is for sociology.  I was told to write 5 pages on what the aftermath of another 1906 earthquake would look like.  Here's an excerpt from the half where I start to run out of serious material and now I'm just trying to fill 5 pages:

            One month after earthquake: Hard data begin to be available concerning casualties and damage assessments.  Outrage still circulates concerning the treatment of various evacuees, with cries of “it’s Katrina all over again!” in more than one media outlet.  By now several people in political positions have been replaced by other people with similar levels of competence but with nicer teeth and fresher faces so the common people feel that the movers and shakers are finally placing blame on the appropriate heads.  A national holiday is proposed but shouted off the table since it wasn’t an act of war that caused the devastation.  Media are finally catching on to the damage in surrounding areas, including the Point Reyes National Seashore, the toppling of flora in Mt Diablo State Park, and Henry W. Coe State Park (home of TarantulaFest).  Many people question whether San Francisco should be rebuilt, to which lobbyists for those companies headquartered there respond with vehement schmoozing.  Candlelight rallies take place where half of the candlelight vigilees wear tie-dye rainbow t-shirts, eat dim sum and sing Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay to support the city of the Wounded Golden Gate Bridge.  The country has recovered from its shock enough to finally start making fun of the tragedy, with Jon Stewart’s Chief Earthquake Correspondent reporting live from the scene that the greatest tragedy of the day was the loss of the Golden Gate Fortune Cookies factory.  California begins to relax its immigration rules when it becomes desperate for repairs to be stepped up so that the tourists keep coming to spend their money in a state that was ailing before the natural disaster struck.
            6 months after the earthquake: Long term funds for reconstruction have been stymied in the senate since the Republicans are back in power and they don’t want to fund a city known for its socially liberal reputation.  They try to attach relief funds to a bill that defines marriage as between a man and a woman.  Further argument comes up when they realize that with the large Mormon population in the state that they also want the bill to declare marriage to be between one man and one woman, (5).  Damage has been assessed in the many delicate aspects of California ecology.  Biologists lament the demise of an entire species of shrimp, the sickening of two species of seaweed, and the disruption of both sealion and monarch butterfly reproduction and migration patterns.

(5) - Full disclosure: I'm LDS (aka Mormon).

And that's where I sort of putt-putted out of ideas for the night.  I guess it's a good thing it isn't due until Tuesday.  The first few sections are missing from this, but it's mostly statistics and the demise of the Golden Gate Bridge since it is even now being shored up against seismic activity but we with military experience understand the integrity of government construction projects. I just need one more full page of jabber and then I'm done!

So busy that I actually....

Busy.    BUSY.             .......busy.

There are some days where I have about one hour of downtime (in 10 minute chunks) and, unfortunately, blogging tends to come last.

This morning I was getting ready to head out the door and I hollered out to the Things.

"Princess, shoes, backpack, jacket, homework, lunch, brushed hair?"

"Yes!"

"Tag, shoes, backpack, jacket, homework, lunch?"  (he doesn't brush his hair)

"Yes!"

"Pebbles!"

"What!"  (her voice echoed in the distance)

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah, on the potty!!"

"Ok.   Freida, got your backpack and shoes?"

"Yeth!"  (she has a slight lisp)

This whole time I was making a turkey and sprouts wrap in a low carb tortilla and cramming my binders into my backpack, running around with my head down in the sort of focus that running behind induces in large families.

"Princess, take my key and head out to the van please."

So they all troop out, buckle, I run out there, dump my stuff in the front seat, buckle Freida, and actually make it to the school in good time.  Everyone piled out when Princess suddenly asked "where's Pebbles?"


Oh.  My.  Gosh.


"Oh my gosh!  She's... she's.... on the potty!!"

A mom happened to be walking past with her little brood when the exclamation was made.  I looked around desperately and said "if my husband is still at home with her, does that mean I'm not actually a horrible mom?"   She laughed and said "of course not" and I laughed and then RAN back to the driver's seat.

So I put my cell on speaker, started to drive, and thanked heaven that Man had not yet left for work when he picked up my frantic phone call.  She was very upset since preschool is about her favorite thing in the whole world, trumping even Princess movies and ice cream. 

In my defense, Pebbles is by far the most quiet and, dare I say it?, almost the most compliant of all the kids.  Had she not been in the bathroom I know she would have gone out to the van like a shot and been happily belted and seated with her backpack and lunch box perched on her knees before I ever left the door.  She also sits in the very back of the van. 

There.  I've made my excuses.

All told I was only 5 minutes late for class which wasn't a huge loss.  We were discussing Faulkner's As I Lay Dying and I'm already sick of that book. 

And I cheaply learned a million dollar lesson today: always count noses.