Tag: personal

Resolution 1 – Keep Tongue in Cheek

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My buddy posted a photo of me on Facebook with my tongue sticking out. The hubster has posted a photo on Facebook and My Space of me with my tongue sticking out. All embarrassment aside about why I’d have “My Face” accounts, I really need to examine my tendency to sabotage photos with my tongue.

My mother used to say, “I wouldn’t want that nasty thing in my mouth either.” In today’s parlance, I think that means, “Whatever.” While she found the stuck out tongue offensive, in one of my most memorable photos of her mother, the tongue is out. Apparently, I’m passing the proclivity on to my own progeny.

Tongue Twisters

This is my kids’ favorite:
Unique New York

This is Guinness’s hardest:
The sixth sick sheik’s sixth sheep’s sick.

This is the least appropriate for children:
I’m not the pheasant plucker, I’m the pheasant plucker’s son,
And I’m only plucking pheasants till the pheasant pluckers come!

Are these facts true?

* If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee. Anyone wanna come over for a piping hot brew?

* The catfish has over 27,000 taste buds. That’s sad news for bottom feeders.

* Every person has a unique tongue print, though I am sure the blotters don’t taste all that great.

Great Tongues Behave Alike


Mental Note

Sticking out your tongue isn’t the only way to goof in a photo. In the New Year, I will place my tongue more firmly in my cheek in favor of less bacterial photos.

Recognizing Realities

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  • August 27, 1989 – age 18. Too old for Seventeen Magazine.
  • May 22, 1992 – age 20. I would never be on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.
  • May something, 1995 – age 23. No longer eligible for collegiate athletics.
  • August 27, 1995 – age 24. Too old for The Real World.
  • March 8, 1996 – age 24. I would never be Miss America or any Miss.
  • December 2, 1999 – age 29. I hate school.
  • February 10, 2000 – age 29. I should have worn more bikinis.
  • September 1, 2000 – age 30. Oklahoma may not be the only place in the world.
  • September 9, 2005 – age 34. Some things don’t get fixed, but friends surface like cream.
  • January 3, 2009 – age 37. Listy, sell-out, blog cliché.

New Year’s Kiss Off!

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You see that? THAT is how I feel about the new year thus far. It’s only puke, cleaning up puke, and being flipped off at the In-N-Out on New Year’s Eve. Okay, that latter part is actually quite funny, don’t you think? The hubster is HILARIOUS.

I spent forever on an end of the year photo retrospective. It was going to be awesome and you would have loved it. Sadly, I never saved the project and it was gone in a flash. So, too bad for all of you ’cause it would have been the bome (inside joke – too bad for you again)!

Did I mention the puke? As in clean it up with a dustpan volumes of puke. Puke from every member of the family except the person who had to clean it all up – me. Puke in the minivan, which requires 24/7 open windows. Puke on the carpet, which has had to be shampooed twice in the last two days. Puke that you slip on when you hit the concrete floors. Puke. That reminds me, I’m not feeling so well.

Speaking of bodily functions, I visited Milk Breath today. She posts about Google Analytics and requests key word search information from other bloggers. Overwhelmingly, poop brings people here. My most viewed page is the chocolate chip cookie post. It would be easier to just look at the bag of chips for the recipe. In any event, I hope poop searches have nothing to do with my cookies.

That cookie post is about accepting imperfections. Having recently returned home from home, I am reaquainted with all my imperfections past and present. If I cared about continuity in writing, I’d say it makes me feel “pukey”, but really it feels like shame. Shame, shame, everyone knows your name. I wondered about this today with a friend. I’ve done a thing or two that I can’t be proud of, but overall I’ve worked hard to be honorable. WHY do I have to feel shame and why is the shame illusive and not tied into a particular event? My friend said it’s because people have a fixed frame of reference. It’s the you 20 years ago that they can’t let go because it’s familiar. That past you was still trying to figure out how to be and they don’t know the current you. Perhaps, but that’s their problem. Why do I have to feel the shame?

Two days into the new year and here I am. Spinning wheels, puked on, poop reputed, and shamed. Pluck you 2009! I’m resolving to outlast all 365 damn days of you.

Drowning

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So last night I had to be in the bathroom long enough for a woman to dye her hair. I’m not saying I dyed my hair, I’m just saying I was in the bathroom that long. While I was in there, I removed mineral deposits from the shower head. Soak, scrape, soak, scrape.

After picking at white rock cakes with metal prongs for 45 minutes and then getting into the shower, something glorious happened. Large, soft caresses of water fell down upon me like rain drops. I could actually determine the water temperature because I wasn’t focused on the icy burn of a singe drop of water shooting out at a zillion miles per hour straight into my eye.

My rejoicing was short lived. For one thing, I don’t get nearly the exfoliating I had previously. Additionally, I relied on that bullet of water to blast out hair dye from under my fingernails. I mean, it sometimes happens when my friend asks me to color her hair and, oh, point is that sputtering drop magically removed grime from under my fingernails. Also, we lost the low flow feature of the crusty shower head and my hands pruned up. All that work to make something great just back fired.

That’s how my karma works out at the moment. As with last night’s shower, I had early indications today that my labor may bear bitter fruit. After a series of frustrated errands, tasks, and obligations, I found myself this morning in a public restroom. The automatic flushing toilet provided me with an unwelcome bidet experience as I reached for toilet paper.

I quit.

These Gifts Knocked My Socks Off

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Every so often someone surprises me with a gift so special that I can’t possibly express my gratitude. After I was presented a Molly Pitcher award, which is unquestionably the highest honor I’ve ever received and an embarrassment of riches I did not deserve, my father-in-law enlisted my sister-in-law’s help to purchase sheet music to the Molly Pitcher song he sang as a child. It wasn’t the sheet music that was touching, but what it represented. Acceptance from in-laws doesn’t come easy. That’s one thing you can’t buy at the Walmarts.

I can appreciate an expensive gift as easily as an affordable one if the thought is there. My parents and brother gave me a necklace one pearl at a time over 20 years to commemorate big days in my life. Last year Mom strung my pearls in a gold cup pattern (that’s like a tin cup only instead of singles, the pearls are in groups of two and three). I did earn this gift and it was presented to me over time by three people who know virtually every rotten thing I’ve ever done in life and politely don’t mention them. I don’t know if I’ve seen anything so beautiful EVER as my necklace and my kids had better not let it go in a tag sale upon my death.

I am again the lucky recipient of yet another gift to remember for the rest of my days. Today, my daughter’s teacher, who was also my daughter’s teacher last year and my son’s for the two years prior to that, gave me a pair of socks. These are the most fantastic socks I have ever or will ever own. They are colorful and comfortable and hand knitted by a woman so committed to children, families, and community that it’s folly for her to waste time on me. She used Japanese wool that she had been saving for a special project. As she knitted, loop by loop, she thought of me and the cold weather I encounter when going home for Christmas.


The teacher shared the socks with her students at “Tree Talk”, her version of show and tell. After school, my daughter joined her teacher to witness the giving. As I waited for my surprise, I tried to pry the secret from my daughter who was looking up at me with her sparkling eyes and an expression of pride. She would not tell, but the silly grin on her mug showed that she was excited.

Here again, the thought and meaning behind a gift launches it into the forever of my memory and teaches me about being more engaged in giving. The socks are indeed warm, gorgeous, and fit just right. The socks represent that another person in this world sees me and thinks of me when I’m not around. The gift of these socks elevated me in my daughter’s eyes. How could I ever express my appreciation to a woman who is already such a part of so much of what is good with my children? The woman who got my son through his father’s deployment, the woman who welcomed my daughter into her class before she was even a student, the woman who lets me into her class and share in the breakthroughs of her students. It’s impossible.

Thank you.

GO VOTE!

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I had to put in a plug for my daddy-o’s blog today. He’s pretty much on politics like stink on shit, as the saying goes. In fact, the saying goes that way from my dad’s mouth pretty much a lot. This blog especially resonates with me because Dad recounts a story about my great-grandfather finding a way around a disenfranchising poll tax so that he could vote.

If I didn’t make the case before, please, please, don’t let this election, any election, pass without voting. GO VOTE!

Election Results In


Obama in a landslide!

Twenty-eight ballots were cast in the 8 YO Boy’s classroom. We voted on three candidate races and three propositions. Here are the results*:

  • Presidential Electors: Obama – 23, McCain – 2, Barr – 1, and no vote recorded – 2
  • Prop 105: No – 18, Yes – 8, and no vote recorded – 2
  • Prop 300: Yes – 15, No – 12, and no vote recorded – 1
  • Prop 403: No – 15, Yes – 10, and no vote recorded – 3

We had no reports of voter fraud or intimidation at the polling place. Voter turnout was high with only one absence among Ms. P’s “Big Wigs”. To background these results, a sizeable number of children from this class went trick-or-treating together. It was their experience that upon arriving at a house with an Obama sign, they were greated with laughter and “good” candy. Four houses later they came upon a house with a McCain sign out front. The lights were on, but no one was home. A basket on the porch had two solitary (not packages but individual) LifeSavers in it. This isn’t typical for all of Tucson as reports from the foothills residents on the 8 YO Boy’s soccer team indicate that the trick-or-treaters supporting Obama were asked to redistribute their candy – an idea on which they weren’t too keen.

I had a great deal of anxiety about real-world voting. I don’t do well with parking lots, people, waiting. I heard all these frightening stories about bringing the correct identification and wearing the appropriate clothing. I’ve had bad luck in the past with being turned away from the polls (never successfully) and I am tired of the fight. I just want to vote. Please? Can’t a sister vote without turmoil? Isn’t this why so many women have rocked the vote since 1920?

So I put on my big-girl panties and went to my local precinct polling place. I walked right in, stepped right up. I was the first in line and I threw down THREE different pieces of identification. Hither thither and yon for signing in, slips of paper that trade in for actual ballots, and a nosy black box operator later, I was finished. My number was 168 (I think) at 11 a.m. No need for all the fear and loathing.

I voted for my presidential electors and at least 10 Democrats, 4 Republicans, and 1 Green candidate plus some others who aren’t identified by party for local governing boards. I chose to retain or not retain 21 judges and I voted NO on 7 propositions and YES on two. I have no clue if I made good choices, but they were at least partially informed ones.

Tonight the fam, which includes Todd-o, will be eating hot dogs with yellow mustard and watching the returns. We are going to party like the Sooners won the National Title! I mean, we are going to honor what a freaking awesome country this is where we get a say in the political process regardless of whether or not everyone goes against my better judgement to select boneheads for offices and can’t figure out a proposition from a wide stance.

If you haven’t already, please go VOTE!

* Corporation Commissioner and TUSD Governing Board results were not tallied. The expectation is that the children will take their ballots and electoral maps home and follow the returns.

Halloween Snapshot

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Okay, I wanted to blog all this stuff about Halloween, but I neglected to attend to one of the more important tenants of publishing – deadlines. Of course for a blog, I don’t have to plan as far ahead as traditional publishing, but perhaps some of this would have been more interesting/useful BEFORE Halloween. It’s highly unlikely that my three readers would take a look at this today. In any event and without further ado, here are my Halloween snapshots.

First, we picked pumpkins. This was a time for funny faces and produce bigger than my baby. In AZ, we sell our pumpkins alongside dried chilies.

On to the massacre. The Weisers continue to invite us to Pumpkinpalooza in spite of the fact that we ALWAYS come. Robyn is a great pal who shows us a good time and feeds us well. Chili – YUM! I took a photo of my dinner. This year, I let the ankle biters carve their own designs with actual knives. No trips to the ER. Phew!


The 8 YO boy carved a bat in flight and the 6 YO girl carved a kitten cat. I scored a surplus pumpkin for free because someone dropped it. I carved snakes coming out of the resultant crack, which I had enlarged. We coated our pumpkins with Vaseline so that they would keep. We didn’t do such a great job this year and that, partnered with the heat, saw two of our pumpkins turn gross-out mushy.

I painted the girl’s fingernails orange, but it didn’t last. Then we roasted our pumpkin seeds. We washed the 3 or so cups of seeds, boiled them for 10 minutes in 14 cups of water and 14 tablespoons of salt, then coated them in olive oil and roasted them at 400 degrees for 20 minutes. YUM! Better than I thought, though I’m not the sort who cares for the outer shell.

Finally, we are looking forward to Dia de los Muertos. The kids made sugar skulls at one of the school’s fundraisers. Cute huh? These were made sans glue, so they are entirely edible.

Anna and I have been talking about how fun and inspiring Dia de los Muertos is in comparison to the more somber Memorial Day. They each have their place. Grace St. Paul’s Episcopal Church is celebrating the Feast of All Saints on November 1st and the Commemoration of the Faithful Departed (All Souls’ Day) on November 2nd. I’m looking forward to bringing photos of my loved ones who’ve passed on to the services.

Check out posts from last year. Here, Here, Here, and Here.

Ballengers Biking

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Now and again, between soccer practices and music lessons, we’ll take to the streets to revel in the freedom of two wheels and no particular place to go.

(Production Note: 1) Grrr! I tried saving this in a zillion formats. Quicktime was the only one that actually displayed the movie. 2) I had an aged film effect going, but what were static-y, scratched images at first became simple, elegant black screens. No cute hubster and children biking. My intent in attempting aged film was to pretend that this ride was filmed long ago – before little girls on their bikes were made to wear helmets. Clearly, I need more experience with the iMovies. And I need to remember helmets for BOTH the kids.)

Bloggy Style

Your Blogging Type Is Clever and Witty

Of all blogging types, you’re the best with words.

Almost every blog post you write has legendary quality.

You have a perverse sense of humor and often play devil’s advocate.

Impatient and picky, you tend to go off on funny rants from time to time.

Aren’t these Cosmo-style quizzes meant to stroke blogger egos? I mean, as though the blog wasn’t about ego from the get-go. This four-question quiz supplies only two answers per question, neither of which fully apply to my style, if indeed I had one. Since I started this blog, I’ve actually put some thought into what I hope to accomplish. What is my niche? I can honestly say that I have none. Although, the characteristics in my blogger type quiz result may be fitting descriptors of some of my old MS blogs, which are safely tucked away from the multitudes who would wish to do me harm. Yes, I’m talking to you. No, not you. You.

Point is, I’d like to see a result that reads, “Your blogger type is boring and sophomoric.” Perhaps, “Your blogger type is mushy and pointless.” I would also appreciate the honest, “Your blogger type is arrogant and self-indulgent.” My blogger type quiz result is a little more than a load of crap. But, honestly, aren’t I just the tiniest bit witty and clever? or was it clever and witty?

Oh, and since I’m feeling all quizzey. I took the what would Sarah Palin name you quiz and apparently Mommy Palin hates her little Puck Mule. Thanks to Rocks who directed me to that one some weeks back.

Now the truthy blog, I don’t think the hubster likes to be mentioned in my blogs. Even so, I’m thinking quite fondly of him since he’s the morning parent. He’s also running off some paperwork I need so I can sit on my behiney, drinking spicey creamed tea, on a slightly chilled evening while inflating my ego.