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Sunday, December 25, 2011
Shoes Really Can Change Your Life
While I was out shopping one day I noticed a small plaque hanging on the sales rack that read: "Cinderella is proof that shoes can change your life". I had to giggle. Now this one little phrase is funny and I give tribute to my friend Kristy who has more shoes than a shoe store...but if you sit and think about all the shoes that have impacted peoples lives there really is some truth around this one little statement. Dorothy was saved from the land of OZ with her red glitter heels. There's no place like home. Cinderella lost her glass slipper, but found her one true love and a prince no doubt. Forrest ran for miles in his Nike's because he just felt like running.
My son has a life changing pair of shoes. In fact we've bought several since he was a young boy. From the moment he put on his first pair he was one with them. Now....they didn't lead him to a princess...they didn't help him find his way home...but they did lead him to a sport that he lives and breathes for.
The next time you are peering at those perfect shoes on the rack and hesitant to buy them, think about this: "Where could those shoes take you?"
My son has a life changing pair of shoes. In fact we've bought several since he was a young boy. From the moment he put on his first pair he was one with them. Now....they didn't lead him to a princess...they didn't help him find his way home...but they did lead him to a sport that he lives and breathes for.He laces up the boots, steps out on the sheet of ice, and speeds by with a swooshing sound echoing behind him. The sound of the blade cutting the ice and the chill in the air makes the excitement of the game that much more exhiliarating. All this while he contines to wear his life changing shoes.
The next time you are peering at those perfect shoes on the rack and hesitant to buy them, think about this: "Where could those shoes take you?"
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The Infamous $2.00 Bird
I pondered tonight what to blog about - narrowing it down to two different stories - The Infamous $2.00 bird won!
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| Infamous $2.00 Bird |
My sister always has these cute little things sitting around her house. Me, being the neat freak germophobe, I don't really do knick knacks because it typically is just another item to dust. I take no offense when people call my house sterile. Tonight though - I was drawn to this bird and wanted to take him home with me. It was something about his blown glass appearance and his wire frame that made him the coolest thing. I had my eye on him, asked about him, obsessed over him, only to find out this phenomenal bird was purchased at some store I had never heard of and he only cost $2.00. Even though his purchase value seem to diminished when she told me he was $2.00, his value was still exponential to me. I wanted that bird.
So I stuffed him under my shirt and out the door I went stealing my sister's $2.00 bird. About now you are gasping. Go ahead and take your breath back, I'm only kidding. I didn't really steal him. I'm a germophobe not a kleptomaniac. I wanted to see if I could get a reaction out of my readers.
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| "You can't have my bird" |
Rewind. OK, so what really happened was....I hid the bird behind a picture frame to see her expression when she saw it was missing. Not like I could get far with him anyway because she knows where I live. I figured at 1:00am while she is sleep walking through the house and realized that darn bird was missing, she'd drive to my house at 1:00am in the morning to bang on my door and find out where on earth was her $2.00 bird.
I tried to get a hand written note on a napkin that she could sign leaving the bird to her lovely little sister, but she wouldn't sign the darn napkin. Boy, about this time I'm thinking that bird must be more valuable than $2.00 for her not to part with it. After exhausting all efforts to possess the bird I realized he will never be mine. I've wiped the tears off my cheeks and have improvised by printing the birds picture [awe] and I'm hanging him on my wall. Funny though - the flat picture doesn't seem to have the same resounding impact as the real bird himself.
Hey sissy, want to give me your bird?
.....If you see my sister out shopping on Black Friday be sure to tell her you read my blog and she needs to give me the bird.Thursday, November 17, 2011
IT'S BEEF JERKY!
This story is slightly dated, its been a few years since it occurred. I was driving home from work today and a mother/son country song came on causing me to chuckle as I thought of this story. We aren't talking shoot milk out your nose funny, but definately a chuckle in my gut.
My oldest son, at the time this story occurred was only 16, and he had a few friends that were dipping. Yuck! Yep, I said it. Makes you want to vomit just to think about it, but they were dipping nonetheless. I had told my son repeatedly that if I caught him engaging in such filthy, disgusting behavior, well you can fill in the blanks. He assurred me that he would never do such things, he didn't want to mess up his pearly whites or get mouth cancer. Smart move and consideration on his part.
He settled in for bed as it was late and proud of my mad parenting skills, I exited stage left to work on some laundry. I tossed the first load into the washer, pushed the appropriate buttons, and settled in to my relaxing few hours of downtime in between laundry movements. Once I heard the buzzer screaming from the laundry room, I climbed to my feet and started the daunting task of moving the clothes from the washer to the dryer. I noticed as I picked up a pair of HIS basketball shorts there was something in the pocket. I immediately thought, "Oh boy, he left his cell phone in the pocket and I just washed it." Ugh! To my surprise, it was a round plastic can.
"DIP!" I shouted.
He was already in bed asleep, but I took those shorts, threw open his bedroom door so hard I broke the door stop, turned on the light, marched right up to the edge of his bed and yelled "GET UP!"
He doesn't move so I smack my hand down on the covers on the bed, "I said GET UP!"
He stirs, "Huh????"
I threw the damp pants with the can in the pocket at him, "LOOK IN YOUR POCKET".
At this point I am fuming. Did we not just have this conversation less than an hour ago?
As he fumbles to the first pocket he pulls out an empty pocket, "The other pocket", I snap.
He goes to the other pocket and pulls out the round circle can. I yell some more, something to the effect of .... blah blah blah ... which is all he heard and he gives me this mean look.
"Now hold on there buddy, don't look at me like that, when you're the one in trouble here," I thought.
He pokes the can at me.
"Oh no, he did not just poke that can in my face," more silent words race through my mind.
And then, from between his lips came the words, "IT'S BEEF JERKY" in a very loud voice.
I snatched the can from his hand, "let me see that", as I inspect the can more thoroughly. Might want to consider doing that first in the future in these types of situations. There were no words to explain the moment. I quietly set the infamous dip can down on his desk, picked the wet shorts up off the bed and left the room. We never spoke of this night again. I wonder if he even remembers or perhaps he slept through the entire thing. Chalk that one up as a learning experience - always read the labels on the can first before you accuse your son of grotesque behavior.
My oldest son, at the time this story occurred was only 16, and he had a few friends that were dipping. Yuck! Yep, I said it. Makes you want to vomit just to think about it, but they were dipping nonetheless. I had told my son repeatedly that if I caught him engaging in such filthy, disgusting behavior, well you can fill in the blanks. He assurred me that he would never do such things, he didn't want to mess up his pearly whites or get mouth cancer. Smart move and consideration on his part.
He settled in for bed as it was late and proud of my mad parenting skills, I exited stage left to work on some laundry. I tossed the first load into the washer, pushed the appropriate buttons, and settled in to my relaxing few hours of downtime in between laundry movements. Once I heard the buzzer screaming from the laundry room, I climbed to my feet and started the daunting task of moving the clothes from the washer to the dryer. I noticed as I picked up a pair of HIS basketball shorts there was something in the pocket. I immediately thought, "Oh boy, he left his cell phone in the pocket and I just washed it." Ugh! To my surprise, it was a round plastic can.
"DIP!" I shouted.
He was already in bed asleep, but I took those shorts, threw open his bedroom door so hard I broke the door stop, turned on the light, marched right up to the edge of his bed and yelled "GET UP!"
He doesn't move so I smack my hand down on the covers on the bed, "I said GET UP!"
He stirs, "Huh????"
I threw the damp pants with the can in the pocket at him, "LOOK IN YOUR POCKET".
At this point I am fuming. Did we not just have this conversation less than an hour ago?
As he fumbles to the first pocket he pulls out an empty pocket, "The other pocket", I snap.
He goes to the other pocket and pulls out the round circle can. I yell some more, something to the effect of .... blah blah blah ... which is all he heard and he gives me this mean look.
"Now hold on there buddy, don't look at me like that, when you're the one in trouble here," I thought.
He pokes the can at me.
"Oh no, he did not just poke that can in my face," more silent words race through my mind.
And then, from between his lips came the words, "IT'S BEEF JERKY" in a very loud voice.
I snatched the can from his hand, "let me see that", as I inspect the can more thoroughly. Might want to consider doing that first in the future in these types of situations. There were no words to explain the moment. I quietly set the infamous dip can down on his desk, picked the wet shorts up off the bed and left the room. We never spoke of this night again. I wonder if he even remembers or perhaps he slept through the entire thing. Chalk that one up as a learning experience - always read the labels on the can first before you accuse your son of grotesque behavior.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Photo Op of Pooh
I am not speaking of the yellow, honey eating bear when I speak of Pooh in this instance. Oh no, instead I speak of a very different kind of pooh.
The sun was burning the tears right out of my eyes, the running water muffled the distance between us so I couldn't hear their instructions, but wouldn't it figure a small branch was right in the way of the picture. One of my sisters decides to come down the rocks with me and move the obscure branch. Coming down the rocks was easy, getting back up was an experience. She struggled a bit, but finally found a great spot to put her hand and grab a hold raising herself to the top. "Hmm, what is this as she takes a peek at her hand."
Eureka! I think she found something. It was one of those somethings that you wish you had never found. Leaving nothing left to the imagination she quickly announces to us, "I think it's animal pooh". All I heard was "Pooh" and since we were in the Smoky Mountains the only kind of Pooh I knew of would be a big black one running around in the woods. This brought my photo op to a screeching halt and I scurried back up the edge of the creek side, but not before they all warn me, "don't put your hand in the pooh".
And so my two sisters concluded my photo op with a review and study of pooh! Next time I'm seeking a spot for a photo op, I think I'll stick to a backdrop within the confines of a photographer's studio.
Climbing down the rocks into the running water of the Smokies was the easy part. I was seeking nothing more than a pretty photo op moment because my kids always say, "We don't have any pictures of you because you are always on the wrong side of the camera." Out with my Mom and sisters, I thought I'd have the girls take some pictures that my kids could cherish.
Eureka! I think she found something. It was one of those somethings that you wish you had never found. Leaving nothing left to the imagination she quickly announces to us, "I think it's animal pooh". All I heard was "Pooh" and since we were in the Smoky Mountains the only kind of Pooh I knew of would be a big black one running around in the woods. This brought my photo op to a screeching halt and I scurried back up the edge of the creek side, but not before they all warn me, "don't put your hand in the pooh".Monday, November 7, 2011
Mouse in my House
The evening this event occurred, during the moment it was chaotic, hysterical, and crazy. Afterwards when composure was regained, it was just plain hysterical. Now a mouse in the garage - OK - but a mouse in my HOUSE - no way! So here we go...
It was bedtime I was standing at my night stand handling those last minute motions getting ready for bed - one of those being placing my cell phone on the charger - when I saw movement from my peripheral vision. Unsure what it was I leaned back a bit to see around the edge of the sleigh bed footboard and saw a small mouse flutter across the floor and under the night stand. Oh my gosh! What the heck! In that instant and one fail swoop, I leapt to the bed and began screaming my husband’s name over and over and over again. I know that as loud as I was yelling that man and everyone on the block heard me, yet he did not come back in from taking the dogs out soon enough.
As he hears my pleas, he steps in from the opposite end of the bathroom with a frustrated, "What are you yelling about?"
"A mouse, there is a mouse in the house," I yell back.
In his continued frustrations and whatever disbelieving tone he proceeds to tell me, "There is no mouse in the house."
"Oh yes there is," I insisted.
"WHERE?" he grumbles.
"Under the armoire," but only seconds later as my husband made his move into the room the mouse darted from under the armoire into the bathroom and behind the door. While it was a flash in the pan movement, it was enough that he finally saw him, "Oh there is a mouse," he says nonchalantly.
I threw myself down backwards on the bed, what the heck, I don't often jump to the middle of the bed screaming and practically hyperventilating.
Proceeding to my rescue as he sashes’ across the room, so does the mouse back towards my bed and into the closet. If I could get a strong hold of the fan blade and raise myself to the ceiling I would have, but instead I stood firm on the bed looking and watching.
Suddenly it hit me, "Do not hurt him", I yelled - what a mess that would be. "Catch him, catch him, and set him free outside."
"Oh yeah right, I'll just catch him, how do you expect I will do that?" and he proceeds to ask me to come down and help him move the stuff from the closet so he can find where the mouse went. Reluctantly I climb down off the bed and assist moving some things out of the closet, but to both of our surprise there was no mouse in the floor of the closet.
Where did that darn mouse go? My husband continued to search closely for a hole in the wall as I asked, "Do you think he went to [my daughter's] room."
During his pause he steps back, looking, looking, looking, and finally he quickly grabs a coat hanger and starts swatting at the clothes hanging in the closet. My eyes refocus as I see the mouse scampering side to side running along the clothes hanging in the closet.
"Oh my Lord! He can climb!" I shouted as I levitated myself back to my safe position on the bed. From my view I could no longer see into the closet, but I could see the hanger in his hand flying this way and that way. Yeehaw - here we go!
I yell again, "Don't kill him; I don't want blood on my clothes."
And finally he [my husband] dropped to his knees and grabbed a shoe box, throwing my shoes into the air.
"Not my shoe box", I thought - - - and my view of any action was completely obscured by my husband's back as he leaned into the closet trapping Mr. Mouse into the shoe box.
As he proceeds to advise me to open the door, I hear him say, "Where did you go?"
I was already down the hallway and unlocking the back door, 50 steps ahead of him and that mouse. I slammed the door behind him as he and his mouse in a box exit the premises.
Phew! What a night - - I leaned over the kitchen cabinet regaining my composure and grabbing a cup to get a drink as I hear a quiet little voice behind me, "Mommy, are you ok?"
Laughing hysterically, she proceeds to tell me that she could hear all the commotion from her room and she had snacked on her comforter for fear that the mouse had come into her room.
Needless to say I lost much sleep the next few nights, just waiting for the mouse to return and end up in our bed standing over me, shaking his foot in disappointment for exiling him from the home.
It was bedtime I was standing at my night stand handling those last minute motions getting ready for bed - one of those being placing my cell phone on the charger - when I saw movement from my peripheral vision. Unsure what it was I leaned back a bit to see around the edge of the sleigh bed footboard and saw a small mouse flutter across the floor and under the night stand. Oh my gosh! What the heck! In that instant and one fail swoop, I leapt to the bed and began screaming my husband’s name over and over and over again. I know that as loud as I was yelling that man and everyone on the block heard me, yet he did not come back in from taking the dogs out soon enough.
As he hears my pleas, he steps in from the opposite end of the bathroom with a frustrated, "What are you yelling about?"
"A mouse, there is a mouse in the house," I yell back.
In his continued frustrations and whatever disbelieving tone he proceeds to tell me, "There is no mouse in the house."
"Oh yes there is," I insisted.
"WHERE?" he grumbles.
"Under the armoire," but only seconds later as my husband made his move into the room the mouse darted from under the armoire into the bathroom and behind the door. While it was a flash in the pan movement, it was enough that he finally saw him, "Oh there is a mouse," he says nonchalantly.
I threw myself down backwards on the bed, what the heck, I don't often jump to the middle of the bed screaming and practically hyperventilating.
Proceeding to my rescue as he sashes’ across the room, so does the mouse back towards my bed and into the closet. If I could get a strong hold of the fan blade and raise myself to the ceiling I would have, but instead I stood firm on the bed looking and watching.
Suddenly it hit me, "Do not hurt him", I yelled - what a mess that would be. "Catch him, catch him, and set him free outside."
"Oh yeah right, I'll just catch him, how do you expect I will do that?" and he proceeds to ask me to come down and help him move the stuff from the closet so he can find where the mouse went. Reluctantly I climb down off the bed and assist moving some things out of the closet, but to both of our surprise there was no mouse in the floor of the closet.
Where did that darn mouse go? My husband continued to search closely for a hole in the wall as I asked, "Do you think he went to [my daughter's] room."
During his pause he steps back, looking, looking, looking, and finally he quickly grabs a coat hanger and starts swatting at the clothes hanging in the closet. My eyes refocus as I see the mouse scampering side to side running along the clothes hanging in the closet.
"Oh my Lord! He can climb!" I shouted as I levitated myself back to my safe position on the bed. From my view I could no longer see into the closet, but I could see the hanger in his hand flying this way and that way. Yeehaw - here we go!
I yell again, "Don't kill him; I don't want blood on my clothes."
And finally he [my husband] dropped to his knees and grabbed a shoe box, throwing my shoes into the air.
"Not my shoe box", I thought - - - and my view of any action was completely obscured by my husband's back as he leaned into the closet trapping Mr. Mouse into the shoe box.
As he proceeds to advise me to open the door, I hear him say, "Where did you go?"
I was already down the hallway and unlocking the back door, 50 steps ahead of him and that mouse. I slammed the door behind him as he and his mouse in a box exit the premises.
Phew! What a night - - I leaned over the kitchen cabinet regaining my composure and grabbing a cup to get a drink as I hear a quiet little voice behind me, "Mommy, are you ok?"
Laughing hysterically, she proceeds to tell me that she could hear all the commotion from her room and she had snacked on her comforter for fear that the mouse had come into her room.
Needless to say I lost much sleep the next few nights, just waiting for the mouse to return and end up in our bed standing over me, shaking his foot in disappointment for exiling him from the home.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Happy Halloween!
This year as I prepared to blaze the Halloween trail once again, my kids decided to break free from Mom and do the infamous Trick or Treat with their friends instead. What on earth is a Mom to do? No walking for candy, no children to watch over. I peeled myself off the floor and decided to break free from my protective nature. I unlocked the key on the tightly sealed door around their very large hamster roller balls :-) and let them roam the streets with their friends, scouring each house for the next piece of candy.
And I spent the evening in a quiet house - which only lasted until they returned home - and I watched this video online. Too cute - kudos to the guy that put this together!
And I spent the evening in a quiet house - which only lasted until they returned home - and I watched this video online. Too cute - kudos to the guy that put this together!
Writing with Purpose
In my day job, I research, fact find, and develop curriculum. There is a correct and incorrect.
But in my own world, wrapped up in a furry warm blanket and drinking a hot Hazellatte, I spit words onto the keyboard that sometimes have no meaning. Some words I've made up and other actual words that my story assigns new meaning - like writing your own dictionary.
Breathing life into a character that no where in the world does this person really exist is FUN to say the least. I can close my eyes and envision my characters - what they look like, how they act, and how they sound.
The tricky part comes when its time to live real life, outside of the fantasy world. Putting the computer down brings a level of guilt as their lives are put on hold when my fingers stop typing. The characters remain in a state of limbo while I go off and live my life. They sit idle waiting for the next round of words to move them forward in their moment in time.
My genre (middle grade/young adult fantasy fiction) can sometimes be a struggle, but with my own captive audience of middle grade/young adult children I can test drive my story with my target audience. A few squiggled noses and some deer in the headlight looks, I've tweaked it here and there and everywhere, we've pulled together a great story! Something different - never what you would expect.
But in my own world, wrapped up in a furry warm blanket and drinking a hot Hazellatte, I spit words onto the keyboard that sometimes have no meaning. Some words I've made up and other actual words that my story assigns new meaning - like writing your own dictionary.
Breathing life into a character that no where in the world does this person really exist is FUN to say the least. I can close my eyes and envision my characters - what they look like, how they act, and how they sound.
The tricky part comes when its time to live real life, outside of the fantasy world. Putting the computer down brings a level of guilt as their lives are put on hold when my fingers stop typing. The characters remain in a state of limbo while I go off and live my life. They sit idle waiting for the next round of words to move them forward in their moment in time.
My genre (middle grade/young adult fantasy fiction) can sometimes be a struggle, but with my own captive audience of middle grade/young adult children I can test drive my story with my target audience. A few squiggled noses and some deer in the headlight looks, I've tweaked it here and there and everywhere, we've pulled together a great story! Something different - never what you would expect.
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