In my next life...

I live in Northern California, in the central valley.  This is not southern, 78 degrees and breezy, California.  Nor is it fogged in until noon, sunny until four, fogged in until noon, San Francisco.  But the climate here is mild enough.

Well, that is only half true.  The summers are so hot small children have burst into flames crossing the street.

The winters however, remain uneventful compared to the mountains and mountains of snow blanketing most of the northern hemisphere lately.  The main feature of winter here is the cloudy sky.  By winter, I mean mid-December through mid-February, because that is really all we have to offer.  Almost every day of those two months is overcast.  High, dull, impotent clouds.  Broken up sometimes by fog.  Sometimes by rain.  Though most of our rain comes in early spring.  Day in, day out, there is a grey blanket of gloom as far as the eye can see.

But, not today.  For the first day in about twenty, the sun came out, strong.  It was not warm, but it was bright.  Today, I sat in a sun beam.  I sat in a sun beam drinking a cup of tea and I resolved that in my next life I shall come back as a spoiled house cat, because this sitting in a sun beam thing is for me.

The Assassin of Sleep

About three weeks ago, Sam started climbing out of his crib.  We were surprised it had taken him so long.  I am sure he could have climbed out much sooner, he had simply chosen not to.  Once he started to climbing out of it whenever being in it did not suit him, it was time for it to go.  In fact, due to the perpetual bouncing and sheer strength of the boy, the crib itself was held together with wood glue (broken slats) and zip ties (broken springs).  The whole thing was probably a death trap (I exaggerate) and should have been scrapped ages ago.  The only reason we left him in it was so that we could leave him in it -- when he wasn't asleep, but was supposed to be, or he needed a time out.

Well, the crib is gone now, dismantled and taking on rain beside the house, waiting for the next big-garbage-pick-up day.  Samuel now sleeps (if you can call it that) in the bed that was the top bunk of the now de-bunked bunk bed.  My boys aren't ready for two story sleeping.

The first day, he was so excited about his big boy bed that he declined to take a nap.  No biggie.  But around four o'clock he got down on the floor to chase a car under the train table, and...well...fell asleep there.  He slept like that for ninety minutes.  At one point, Catherine even used him as a chair to sit at the table and drink her juice, but he did not budge.  This was to be the last good sleep Sam had for awhile.

The first week, he did not stay in his bed for nap.  The second week, he would stay in the bed, but not sleep.  He would sing and talk loudly to himself.  But, at least he stayed in the room, so I was happy to have the break.  Yesterday, finally, he took a nap, with sleeping and everything.  Here's hoping for a repeat performance this afternoon.

Nighttime is a different matter.  Sam has become a sleep terrorist.  He goes down okay.  He is usually exhausted from no nap.  But he wakes up very, very early.  Sometimes as early at 2 am.  He turns on the light and carries on loud conversations with imaginary trains or Veggie Tale characters.   Poor Jonah is trying to sleep in that room.

Then there is the sneak attack.  Do you know how disconcerting it is to roll over at 4 am and find your 3 year old sitting bolt up right, in the center of your bed, staring at you like some would-be assassin, waiting to whack you?  He has startled me more than once.  It takes a long time for the heart rate to recover after that.  Forget about sleep.  Apparently he climbs over Hubband to take up this position, which begs the question, why doesn't Hubband put him back to bed, but I digress.

A few mornings, after an hours or so, I have coaxed him back to sleep, only to have to turn around and wake him up to get him ready for school.  This madness must end!  It must end I tell you!!

Coming Clean

In my family, well, not my whole family, but among many solid and entertaining members of my family, we have a motto.  You can't let the truth get in the way of a good story.  And, I don't.  I am not a liar, it is just that sometimes I like to exaggerate for effect.  It is usually quite obvious.  But not always.

It is with this in mind that I must confess, my last post about the accordion band, featuring the Dorothies, named the Polka Dots, is a fraud.  Well, an elaboration.  Calling it a fraud implies that I am trying to get away with something.  Which I am not.  I was just trying to tell a good story.  And the theme was polka dots for crying out loud!

dotty: adj. informal, chiefly Brit. slightly mad or eccentric.

You see, I do have an Aunt Dorothy, who we all call Dot, or Dotty (and she is dotty).   Her mother was also dotty but was called Dorothy, and though she was not technically my grandmother, because Dotty only became my aunt once she married my mother's brother (that would be my uncle if you are having difficulty following), she was my cousins' grandmother and I always called her Grandma.  Come to think of it, there were many Grandmas in my family, only some of whom were, strictly speaking, related to me, but I digress.

While both Dotty and Dorothy are lovely piano players, neither, as far as I knew, played accordion, and the band, the Polka Dots, was a complete fabrication.  The picture is from a mid-western news paper in the 1950's.  I believe they were called the Accordion Queens.  That's a good name too, if no one in the band was named Dorothy.

When I mentioned my story to Dotty, she told me that Grandma Dorothy did play the accordion.  She lost two sons and her husband over the course of a few years and during that time she taught herself to play the accordion because it brought her great joy.  I bet it did too.

Grandma Dorothy was a character.  She was from Minnesota and the real person behind a Garrison Keillor  tale.  (Speaking of people who don't let the truth get in the way of a good story.)  I don't know where he first used it, but most recently he retold it in his Prairie Home Companion movie.  It was about a woman whose husband accidentally left her behind at a gas station and she talked the local law into giving chase.  And this story is completely true.  I swear.

Theme Thursday, Polka-dots

Theme Thursday -- Polka-Dots

I must be psychic.  My post from last Thursday featured polka-dots.  It is a fable for the new year, featuring a girl named Mia who lives in a polka-dotted toadstool.  You can check it out here.

For this Thursday, I offer the following.

My Grandma Dorothy, and my Aunt Dorothy used to have an accordion band called the Polka Dots.

Twilight-Schmilight

Okay, I finally broke down and read Twilight by Stephenie Meyer.  Well, I have started reading it.  I was not sure that I would like a book about vampires.  I like some fantasy writing.  Harry Potter, for example.  But, Vampires are creepy.  I don't like anything too disturbing.  I really am a rated-PG kinda girl.

Well, so far, I like the story.  I must, because I keep finding time to read it.  But, the words are slowing me down.  I come across sentences like, "The tall one was statuesque," the awkwardness of which stops me cold.

There are other quirks to her writing too, which I find distracting.  The vampire-hero, Edward, is good looking.  And, lest you forget, it is mentioned every time he is.  The book could have been twenty-five pages shorter had just half of the adjectives describing this boy's beauty been edited out.  He has ocher eyes and bronze hair.  Really?  He sounds like a paint-by-number set gone wrong.

I applaud any woman who can craft such a popular story while her three children sleep.  Good for her.  But, what about the women who don't have blockbuster films made out of their work?  What about some of my favorite women in Bloggyland?

Instead of Twilight, may I suggest the following.

If you want super natural stories, visit Tina at The Clean White Page.  She even does vampires.  Check out her Velvet series.

If you want to read about a small town in the Pacific North West, Rebecca from Letters to the World has lived in several and writes lovingly about them.

If you want to read a love story written by a Mormon (Stephanie Meyer is Mormon, but if you are a big fan you probably already know that.) then Fruit of the Carolyn has just that.

If you want to read someone dreamy and funky at the same time, go see Leah at The Weather in the Streets.

For heartbreak and happiness, nothing beats Kate at Calamity, Kids, and Other Stuff.

And these are just the ones suggested by Twilight.  So, put that book down!  And spend more time at your computer.

UPDATE, JANUARY 8, 2009

I am half way through the book.  I like the main character.  She is very likable.  And I am enjoying the story.

As an added layer of enjoyment, the hero's eyes have now been described as like honey, butterscotch, and liquid topaz.  Each new one give me a giggle.

High Five

The delightful young Rebecca, she of Letters to the World, has forwarded to me, with much compliment to myself and my blog, the High Five meme ~ My Top Five Highlights of 2009.

A meme, or internet meme, if you were wondering, and I was, is defined, according to  google, as "a catchphrase or concept that spreads quickly from person to person via the Internet."  You know the questions, quizes, fill-in-the-blank posts that get past about? 

I prefer to think of it as something that is about me, me!

So without further ado, the five highlights of my 2009, in no particular order, are...

1. I turned 40!  I was a nursing mother in need of bifocals.
2. Samuel learned to talk.  After three years of living in a house with two lawyers and Jonah, he figured his only way to stand out was to not talk.  But in 2009 he gave it a try.  He says great things, like, "Hello, Mommy.  How are you?"  and "Pappanono peeza".
3. Hubband and I celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary.  That may not sound like a lot to most of you.  But it is the first marriage for both of us, and we feel like we have worked hard at it.
4. We bought our first house!  Well, okay we closed on New Years Eve 2008, but I am still going to count it.
5. Cate learned to walk.

Now the nature of this meme is that I am to pass it on to five friends.  Well, the 2009 thing is going to get stale pretty soon.  And I have been working on a way to highlight some of my writer friends.  So, look for my next post.

A Green Bucket, a Pink Cow, and My Laundry Room's Dirty Little Secret

Okay, I have been blogging a little over two and a half months now, and I keep telling myself that I am not writing a "mom blog".  I am not.  I.  am.  not.

Well, lets face it.  I am a full-time mother and a full-time housewife.  If you are counting, that is two full-time jobs.  I spend a lot of time thinking about those things.

So, today, I decided not to fight it.  I am going to share a few of the things that make my life a little simpler.

The Green Bucket That Saved Five Thousand Steps

I have a small green bucket that cost a dollar at Target.  My mom left it here.  I kept it.  It sat on my kitchen counter for a few days until I realized it was the best invention EVER.  I call it the green bucket that saved five thousand steps.

It used to be, that any time I found something in my kitchen that didn't belong there, I would pick it up, carry it to where it belonged, and put it away.  This happened five-thousand seven-hundred and eighty-two times a day.

The situation was the same each time I needed to sweep.  I would pick up one or two toys, books, articles of clothing at a time and return them to their proper place, several times, before the floor was clear enough to clean.  Well.  No more!

I have my magic bucket.  It still sits on my kitchen counter, and now, when I find things in my kitchen that don't belong in my kitchen, into the bucket they go.  Size permitting of course.  Even the greatest invention ever has its limitations.

Then, about twice a day, thrice if necessary, I take the green bucket and make a sweep of the house.  I start at one end, and anything on the floor, or in the wrong room, goes in the bucket.  When I get to the other end of the house, I turn around and go back, putting every thing away where it belongs.

The empty bucket, goes back on the kitchen counter.

Why did I not think of this before?

Holy Cow, It's Pink

Holy Cow is a non-toxic, and PINK, multi-purpose cleaner developed by a mom who did not want to poison her kids, her pets, or her planet, but still wanted a clean house.

I swear by it.  And it is dirt cheap.  I pay under two dollars.  It is available at Wal-mart and other locations nationwide.  There is also blue cow for windows and green cow for your barn or boat, or in my case, bathtubs.

The Holy Cow company is nearby, but I don't know the people and they are not paying me.  (Though I am beginning to think maybe they should.)

My Laundry Room's Dirty Little Secret

It doubles as a diaper changing station.  Actually, the only one in the house.  

Once we had more than one child in diapers, and they were sharing rooms, having a changing table in the bedroom did not make sense.  We could not afford two changing tables, and didn't have room for a second one anyway.  And, one child would invariably need a diaper while one of the other ones was sleeping in the room.

Our solution was the centrally located laundry room.  I change diapers on the washer and dryer.  I have a front loader now, but I did not always.  I just moved the pad off to do laundry.  The diapers and paraphernalia are in the cabinets about the machine.  And best of all, I am right next to the door to the garage, so that is where we dump the dirties.  No diaper pail in the house!

So, there you are.  My housewife blog.  If any of you found any of this useful, I am glad.  I hope I have it out of my system for awhile.