Wee Willie Geekie

Our house is brand new. We went this route because between the two of us there is not a lot of handy. You could fit all our handy in a thimble and still have room. We figure we have at least five years before things start to fall apart. Given our track record, we will be long gone before then.

Because it is new our driveway had not yet been poured when we moved in. We had to wait until there was pretty much no more chance of frost before they would pour it. Then we had a month of rain. So, I've had a driveway of dirt and gravel for the past two months. This really isn't a big deal but I was still delighted when the concrete dude knocked on my door last Thursday and told me they would be pouring the driveway on Friday at 10:30.

I was a little less than delighted Friday morning at 7:30 when there was a knock on the door. It was another concrete dude asking me to please move my vans as they wanted to pour our driveway. At that moment.

My kids were having their breakfast. I was attired in a housecoat and jammies. Classy.

So, off I ran to move both vans. Immediately.

There were several things wrong with this picture.

1. I was leaving a two year old boy alone with a bowl of yogurt and a spoon.

2. We live in the midst of a construction zone and there are no close by parking spots. The vans would need to be moved about a block away. There was not room for both vans at my first parking spot, so I had to move van two a block away in the other direction.

3. Did I mention the seven year old fleece house coat with moons and stars all over it? Plus the floral PJ pants?

So, now neighbors up and down our street (and around the corner) have seen me running around in my nightgown.

Not to mention about 20 different construction dudes.

All of a sudden I feel the urge to move again.

Grammer

I've got a bit of a confession.

I really like to tease Way Cooler.

After twelve years I have pretty much figured out what buttons to push and do so with alarming frequency. My reasoning is, I don't knit, scrapbook or quilt and a girl has got to have some sort of a hobby. (While some might say our hobby is moving, that's more a couple thing. I want a hobby all for me.)

One of the easiest ways to get his gander up is to misuse the English Language. His mom was a teacher. She was the sort of teacher that people line up to get for their kids. She made those kids work hard and pushed them to do well. After only a year kids left her classroom with a great grasp of all the basics, especially grammar. Way Cooler had her as a "teacher" for 22 years of schooling. She proof-read all his papers right through to his PhD. You don't get immersed in that without really loving all the rules of syntax and the like.

He hates to see English misused, so of course, I butcher it on a regular basis. I say gems such as "them thangs", "I ain't", "I don't got" "you did good" and frequently make up words. Instead of saying "go farther to the left", I take the shortcut and say "go lefter". Funner, greeny, and cookingly have all been uttered by these lips.

I know. It's a gift.

A gift that I was delighted to see has been passed on to our offspring. Spud needed to describe something this week and proclaimed, "it's, it's, it's hugeible."

I've just never been so proud.

P.S. I know the title is misspelled. That's on purpose. Don't e-mail me. Unless it's to tell me how funny I am. Then go for it. You can even send chocolate if you like.

Joy

Have you ever had one of those a-ha moments? A moment where the murky and seemingly unobtainable becomes plain?

I had one the other morning in church. Our pastor was wrapping up a series on Philippians. It has been a really great series and I have learned a lot, but something he said this week resonated within my soul and caused it to sing.

"Joy is not a set of circumstances, it is not a choice, it is a Fruit of the Spirit."


What?


I have always known that it is part of "the Fruit" but I've always seen it as something that I have to do. Not something that is done in me.

I think it comes out of the Baptist tradition in which I was raised. While we understand that God's redemptive work is a gift and not something we earn I think deep down we are still a little suspicious of that. We receive the gift and then work as hard as we can to please God. Not that working and growing isn't good, it is, but sometimes the Holy Spirit gets shuffled aside and left for the Pentecostals.

I realized at that moment that sometimes I will not be able to "choose joy." I couldn't during our season of loss, I don't have the strength after a full day with cranky, strong-willed children and sometimes I plain just don't want to.

But as I abide in Christ and allow his Spirit to change me, I will have joy. It is not the buck-up-and-grin substitute I often try to manufacture but rather a state of contentment even when the tears are flowing and my heart is breaking.


A-ha.


Amen.

Senseless

So.

I know you've been dying to know how Sense and Sensibility is coming.

It isn't.

I wanted to like it, I really did. Sue and Janet like it and they are the cool bloggers, so I thought that if I could read it I'd be cool too. Maybe someone would even send me popcorn!

The problem is, I've only read 30 pages and it feels like an eternity. Was she paid by the word? She goes on and on and on. It's a torture chamber you read. LONG on words, short on plot.

So, it's official, I am a literary hillbilly.

Just another thing for my already impressive resume.

Bookie Lookie.

I got tagged for a book meme. I was game because I love anything to do with books.

Except for Sense and Sensibility, but that's another story for another day.

So, I got started right away.

These are the rules:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.


I was surrounded by books but none of them had more than 20 or so pages. I would have been hard-pressed to find eight sentences on one page as well. However, I wanted to be faithful to JCK's tag so I ran downstairs and continued the quest.

Turns out the phone book does not have sentences on page 123.

Carrying on, I thought for sure the next book would be applicable. It was a non-fiction book on the decay in western society. Unfortunately page 123 was describing a rather questionable piece of art labelled "The Dung Virgin". It described it in detail. Lurid and gross detail. Imagine the weird-o Google hits I would get after that one. Moving on.

I was beginning to dislike this game.

Finally:

The following morning he would travel by train to Yaroslavl, where he would open a factory before returning to the capital to attend a performance by the Bolshoi Ballet. From there he would take the midnight train to St. Petersburg. Connor had already decided to shadow Zerimski in Yaroslavl.

Intrigued?

The book is The Eleventh Commandment by Jeffry Archer.

It's really good. Even if that excerpt is not. Could there possibly be more Russian words in three English sentences?

Thank-you to the incomparable JCK at Motherscribe for the meme.

I don't tag, (reminds me too much of exercise) but if it intrigues you and you have more than Happy Baby ABC at your disposal than go for it. My meme is your meme. Or something like that.

The Legacy

This past Sunday was our fifth Father's Day without Way Cooler's dad. He passed away suddenly and very unexpectedly and is still missed tremendously.

My Father-in-law never had the opportunity to meet our kids and I often think of how much he would have enjoyed them. While it may be theologically suspect, I like to think that he has already taught Noah how to swim and is working on his pitching as we speak.

However, while he is gone, I still catch glimspes of him. He appears in things my husband says from time to time, to the point that I do a double take. Just last week Way Cooler was lamenting the driving skills of those around him and I swear I had heard his dad say the exact same thing when he and I used to commute together. (Scariest three months EVER by the way. He was a very good driver but I felt like I was riding with Mario Andretti across the Pitt River Bridge.)

While I hear him in my husband I see him in my son. In a million ways.

MY F-I-L was a larger than life character. He never met a stranger, everyone was a friend waiting to be made. He was confident and driven. He was full of life, mischief and advice. This is the exact description of Sprout, minus the advice, but give him another 6 months or so.

When Sprout cocks his head at me and grins, usually because he is trying to get out of a pickle, I see his grandpa. The go-for-it attitude and love for life that shines in his eyes has shone elsewhere before.

It is so good to see it again.

My Dad

So here it is, Father's day part deux.

(All that high school French really paid off. I can now be boring in TWO languages.)

Antique Mommy asked us last week for a fun tidbit about our dads. It was so hard to nail down just one. This would be because my dad is fun. Period.

I grew up in a normal home with normal ups and downs. Hallmark we were not, but we didn't take the fun out of dysfunctional either. Just normal.

However, one thing seemed to set us apart from some of my friend's families and that was how much fun we had.

My dad loves a good time. I remember dinners where no one could talk we were all laughing so hard, goofing off in the snow, begging my dad to tell us another funny story from his childhood and as teenagers laying on their bed talking and laughing way too late.

In fact, one of my earliest memories is laying in bed at night listening to my dad laugh at something funny on TV or that someone from their company had said. His laughter was reassuring and often lulled me to sleep.

I tend to be a bit uptight (understatement of the century) and often take myself and situations waaay too seriously. Often though, when I am really getting my knickers in a knot, that legacy of laughter and joy comes sweeping back and I am able (occasionally, but I'm working on it) to step back from the situation and see the humour.

Because you know, there is always humour to be found. My dad showed me that.

Happy Father's Day Dad.

Way Cooler

I have been thinking about Father's Day posts. I have had several ideas and all would serve as great posts by themselves.

So.

That's what I'll do.

This is the first in a series of posts commemorating dads.

Lucky y'all.

As some of you know, we were married rather youngish. We then proceeded to do more schooling than you could shake a stick at. All this schooling was rather expensive and time consuming so we held off on having babies for 8 years. We really wanted me to be a SAHM and Way Cooler to actually have time to spend with his kids, things that would not have been possible had we not waited as long as we did.

In the meantime Way Cooler continually would refer to babies as "ugly little things" (sometimes frighteningly close to new moms) and refuse to even hold them as they might be contagious.

This caused me to be just a little worried about his own parenting skills.

However, whatever doubts and fears I might have had all evaporated about .013 seconds after he held his son for the first time.

He was a mushball. The world's biggest. My solid, stoic husband cooed, talked baby talk and nibbled at his son's arm. This really was not what I was expecting and melted me completely.

He still is a mushball. He is loving, gentle and utterly protective. We had read in Bringing Up Boys that moms need to be sure not to over-protect their sons. I am not the problem. Way Cooler would wrap them in bubble wrap if he could. I think he has a small heart attack every time I take them to the park as I encourage climbing to the very top of the biggest equipment. Way Cooler encourages playing in the sand. Less dangerous.

I am so thrilled and delighted with how much my husband loves his sons. They will never wonder at his affection as it is lavished on them. I don't think they will ever know how blessed they are in that regard.

But I do.

Happy Father's Day Way Cooler.

Your sons and I are so blessed to have you in our lives.

P.S. Can Someone tell Way Cooler he might want to actually read my blog today?
Thanks.

All Polished Up

Last week on our vacation I decided to get a pedicure. It was not a decision I made lightly. My calluses and I are quite attached.

However, I wanted my toes painted in a desperate attempt to draw people's attention away from the flabby, white rest-of-me this summer.

Unfortunately, if I did the painting it WOULD draw attention. Too much attention. As Way Cooler so kindly put it one time, when Geekie paints her toes it looks like a little girl got into her mother's polish. (Yes, sometimes it IS hard to believe that he taught communication for a living.)

So, off I went for a pedicure. I saw that for only ten more bucks I could also get a manicure. Hey, why not? So, I got all polished and spiffed up. This is TERRIBLY unusual. Other than high school about the only time I ever painted my fingernails was when we lived in Texas and that was because I was the only female at work who didn't and I did not want to stand out.

Looking back on it, being the only Caucasian in a staff of African-Americans and Hispanics might have been a bit more conspicuous than nail polish, but hey, I did what I could to blend in.

I realized a little too late after picking out my finger nail colour that styles may have changed since the 90's. My shell pink polish just didn't look as cute as it did when I teased and sprayed my bangs into submission.

I also submitted to a brow wax after the nice Vietnamese lady doing my nails asked for the third time if I was sure that I didn't want them done. Apparently unibrows aren't everybody's cup of tea.

So, after everything was all done I looked in the mirror and thought, "wow, am I cute or what?" "I might be "with it" after all."

Then I put my hand in my pocket to get my keys and totally scrunched up the polish on one of my fingers.

I hear being "with it" is over-rated anyway.

Liar, Liar

Spud is nearly four. Just saying that phrase can reduce his poor father to mush. He hates to see them grow up. Have I ever mentioned how much I adore a man in love with his kids?

Adore it.

Anyway, as he approaches four we are hitting a new phase. Lying. Not exactly my favorite, but right now he is pretty lousy at it.

Not only does his face give him away, so does the fact that he is usually clutching the evidence.

For example, I hear screaming and come racing upstairs. "Spud, why is Sprout crying?"

"Well, well, well, well, he bumped his head against the wall."

"If he bumped his head against that wall on the far side of the room why is he lying at your feet with a welt on his arm?"

"well, well, well, well"

"Sprout, why are you crying?"

"Spud hit truck"

"Spud hit you with the truck, the one still in his hand?"

"Weeees" (accompanied by heart-wrenching sobs - I've got an Academy Award winner in that one for sure.)

"Spud, did you hit Sprout with the truck?"

"Well, well, well, he ran into it"

"So, let me get this straight, he didn't hit the wall but rather ran into the truck while you were holding it? Sprout, I'm pretty sure you're going to live so knock it off."

"Well, well, well, yes."

"Mmm hmmm."

(I should point out that Spud did have a problem with stuttering. It's basically cleared up except when he is making up a story. It's a PRETTY BIG clue that what you are about to hear is probably fabricated.)

The conclusion of of that particular incident came when Spud demonstrated for me how Sprout came to run into the truck. We discovered that Spud's arm had to move pretty fast and pretty hard to "coincide" with Sprout's exact position so that Sprout could "run into" the truck.

Whenever I am dealing with Spud's dissembling (and trust me, we are really really dealing with it, I need to be able to trust my kids) I can't help but think of all the parents over the years who would tell me "Mrs. Geek, I know my kid pretty well and they don't lie" "Why would my kid lie to me?" Or my FAVORITE "My son has never lied to me in all his ten years."

I really must be doing something wrong then.

Snort.

The Vacation Lowdown

It was good.

Very good.

While I could ramble for days about how much I enjoyed my holiday, there are mountains of post holiday cleaning that still need to be dealt with.

So, I'll give you my top ten things I enjoyed about my child-free extravaganza.

10. Chai tea lattes every morning. From Starbucks no less. I normally have a big hairy fit about paying four bucks for a drink but it was my holiday so I splurged. Mmmmm.

9. Lake Louise. If you have not been there yet, put it on your bucket list. The pictures do not do it justice. I always have this overwhelming urge to burst into "How Great Thou Art" while visiting, but if I did Way Cooler would probably push me into the lake. It still had ice in it so I stayed quiet.

8. Having conversations with my husband about subjects other than speech delay; potty-training; buying, selling and packing the house and behaviour management.

7. Lying in bed, eating potato chips, watching Obama after he clinched the majority. Say what you will about his politics, the man can give a speech.

6. Reading a book in the outdoor hot tub surrounded by the Rocky Mountains. It was rough but someone had to do it.

5. Visiting the washroom alone. For 4 days. And you know, I wasn't even lonely once.

4. 5 days without Bob, Larry or Junior.

3. A long visit with a good friend who I don't see nearly enough.

2. Dressing up for dinner. A steak dinner. Need I say more?

1. Seeing my babies again after a four day absence. Being away is good, being together is better.

Oh The Places We are Going to Go!

Way Cooler and I are taking a holiday this week.

First time in seven years.

To say I am excited is the understatement of the century.

Spud and Sprout are off to Camp Poppa and Nana and we are going to the Canadian Rockies.




I'm back. I was just back-flipping.

Part of the time we will be in the mountains, part visiting with friends and part time just hanging out here.

We had considered going to Vegas or on a cruise but we don't have one of them money-trees in the backyard and anything longer than 6 days with my kids will probably break my parent's will to live.

So we'll keep it simple this time round. We really need to just law low and get some rest anyway.

However, part of a romantic get-a-way with your spouse does not include blogging. At least according to Way Cooler. So I'll be AWOL for a while.

I did however, get a couple of books to read, including Sense and Sensibility.

Yep, Janet and Sue, you persuaded me. I am going to give it another try and see what all the fuss is about. If I fall asleep reading it in the hot tub and drown though, it's all your fault.

So, when you read this I am already gone attempting to do as little as humanly possible. I may pour my own cereal in the morning, but that will be the extent of my work for the day.

See ya next week!