I came across this little list I made in a notebook. I want to toss (I mean recycle!) the paper that it is on, but save the list. So here it is. A list from the first time I drove through Missouri, on my way to Arkansas, to see my new nephew Thomas. I remember being like "what is up with these wacky trees?!?"
Missouri Trees
fluffy green sticks
fake
a prop in a jr. high play
pole draped in a green boa
projections, hands, fingers.
Perching in a peach tree
To see what I can see,
Cuz there ain't nobody anywhere
Exactly like me.
I have composed the above especially to announce that We Are Moving to Georgia!
There's peach trees there, I'm told. (Millions of peaches, peaches for me. Millions of peaches, peaches for free.) Also, I'm hoping to record here some of my observations about our experience. We'll be alighting in Georgia for two years or so, we expect. I've never lived in the South before -- in fact I think the only time I've been to the Southern states was a quick weekend trip to Arkansas, most of which was spent in close proximity with Jacob's family, who are the same no matter where they get together.
Anyway, I figure I'll be surprised and interested by some things, and I'd like to commit to writing those down. Because anybody can go to the South, but I am the only me, and I can only move there for the first time once.
Jacob will be working as a Postdoctoral Fellow at Emory University, beginning in July. (Yay, Jacob!) Being a postdoc at Emory will give him both research and teaching experience he needs in order to fulfill his dream of becoming a professor of Chemistry. That Jacob is always headed toward his aspirations. He's an achiever.
I've heard they have cockroaches in Georgia. I don't think I've seen one since my AZ days. I don't remember seeing any in my UT time (though maybe I just saw fewer?), and there are none here in IL. Illinois has cicadas, which I did not know about -- could not know about -- until I lived here.
I've heard it's hot and humid in Georgia. That doesn't really scare me (yet?) and I was looking longingly at the Atlanta forecast (60 degrees) as I watched light snow fall all day today.
Other rumors:
Atlanta traffic is horrible
People in the South are nice (but sometimes it is fake-nice)
They have these things called hurricanes?
There are loads of counties in GA. Atlanta itself is in 2 counties, to say nothing of the metropolitan area. I think there are, like, 15 counties in all of AZ. I can probably still name most of them.
It's only 6.5 hours from Disneyworld.
My first ever trip to Georgia will be in late March. (We've got to go find a place to live! Preferably before I go into labor!) I will let you know what I find out. Anything you want to know?
We had a lovely time on our vacation; but, if I'm honest, I feel a little shortchanged. Let me explain.
My parents have a cat, Ichabod. They call him Icky for short. (Benjamin calls him IchaBOB) One day my brother observed a funny scene with Icky and Levi:
In typical toddler fashion, Levi was meandering along. In typical Icky mode, the cat was trying to stand in front of the person's legs, ("He always does that!") in order to get attention, or play, or whatever. Well Ichabod couldn't guess where Levi was going to step next. So Levi is walking along and Icky is hopping around like a crazy cat, trying his darnedest to get in front of his legs.
Funny! Cute! A Cat/Kid Tango! Right? Wrong. Oh, the dramatic irony. Little did I know what would happen next.
Later that day out in the yard Jacob was digging the foundation for a chicken coop. Levi had his new awesome light-up bouncy ball and was throwing it in the dirt.
"That works better on the driveway, babe!" I coo. And in an effort to help my baby have more fun, show him how it's done, AND get him out of the way of his dad's shovel, I say, "Toss it over here!" to Jacob, who has retrieved the bouncy ball.
He gives it a nice toss and in a moment I realize that it works WAY better on the driveway than the dirt and I'm going to have to grab that (precious, special, light-up) bouncy ball (now sailing over my head) before it bounces off into the desert. Or that big stack of hay bales over there.
I turn, step, see a flash of unmistakable Icky white, and plant solid on the driveway, hands and knees. I take stock. I decide to stay where I am.
"Are you okay?" says Jacob.
"Nope." I say, and sort of slump down into a worshipful position.
After a few more moments I decide I'm probably okay enough to get into the house for some first-aid, as it appears no one is rushing up to me with ice packs and bandaids. I stand.
My pants, new pants, have a hole in the knee. And that's what really did it. I liked those pants. And now they would be ruined and I could not take them back to the cold Illinois winter and just wear them with a hole in the knee because it is COLD for reals in Illinois.
I was hurt. I was sad. I was, for a short time, angry. If that cat had crossed my path again that day ... things might have gotten ugly.
But let me tell you something. There's nothing like having your mom treat your skinned knee.
She washed it out for me (while I whined to her about my pants). She told me the story of her most memorable skinned knee: She came into the house after wrecking her bike. Her dad looked her up and down and said, "Is the bike okay?" A shocking inquiry. "You," he said, "will heal. But is the bike okay?"
So she understood about the pants.
She set me up with the finest in her medicine cabinet -- spray, ointment, frozen peas, tylenol, chocolate. And my brother (he who provided the foreshadowing) was dispatched for special, bigger bandaids.
All this is to say that I couldn't go horseback riding the next day. *clink* (Can you hear the sound of my change, coming back short?)
But I guess if a white cat crosses your path it's not all bad. My dad took Jacob and Benjamin, and snapped a few photos to bring back for the injured. And for the sleeping Levi.
We all belong to a mother.
When I became a mother, I felt accepted into a worldwide sisterhood. I went out with my newborn and women would stop me to look at him and would share glimpses of their own experiences with motherhood: how many children they had, little bits of advice that revealed in some small way the things that they had experienced as mothers. Smiles. An extra hand that held the door or the receipt I was supposed to sign since my other hand was occupied.
At first, this reception surprised me. People who never would have spoken to me were talking to me now. And then, as I thought about it, I was amazed. Because here is the thing: everyone here on earth, all the billions and billions of people had been born.
And that got me thinking about birth, and how much work it takes to give birth, to deliver a child, to be born. And how miraculous and awesome it is that so many people were born! And so many women gave birth! It is astounding.
I know a lot of mothers. I always have. As a child I knew my mothers and my aunts and my grandmothers and my friends mothers and other mothers in my church or community. Now, as a mother, I know even more mothers, and more intimately. And yet, there are SO MANY mothers that I don't even know! That I've never seen! Whose names I've never heard! Whose names I probably would mispronounce if I tried to say them.
And so many more women, young women, and girls are future mothers! It boggles my mind, and I love it.
I love motherhood. I feel extraordinarily lucky in motherhood.
First, that I became a mother on my own terms -- accompanied by a husband I love so dearly, and at the time in my life when I wanted to start a family. I didn't have the jolt that an unexpected pregnancy must bring, or the drawn out stretching of having to wait to become pregnant. Or any of the million other scenarios and ways there are to become a mother that would have been less than ideal to me.
Second, that in motherhood I am fulfilling my dreams. I was taught from a young age, by my church and more importantly by my sincere and loving parents, that to be a mother is a holy calling. I learned that mothers must nurture and protect their children, guide them as they grow, let them fail when necessary. I learned that God was very interested in mothers, and in helping them raise children. That, at any time, a mother could call on Him for help and expect miracles. I was explicitly prepared in my youth for motherhood. I learned how to change diapers and entertain children. How to teach them and how to discipline them with love. I practiced on my younger siblings and on children that I babysat. And, because I was given such instruction and practice, I knew that motherhood was a path I wanted to pursue.
I love being a mother. One day, a few months (weeks? time then is fuzzy) after Benjamin was born, I said to Jacob, "I think I love being a mother. Because I loved being a student, and motherhood is way better." Or something like that, anyway. Isn't that how life is? We all have different lives, and different experiences and who knows what life will bring until it has arrived.
Anyway, these are just a few of my thoughts at one moment in my life. Happy Mothers' Day.
Occasionally a poem pops out of my head during journal writing. Usually late at night, when my guard is down. Here is last night's:
Can't do enough in a day,
Ain't got no time for play,
Already forgot what I was going to say,
That's what it's like to be me today.
I'm sure there are some days when you can relate.
Edited to add: Mahaha! My brother has made this into a song. Accompanied on the banjolele he got last week! It is awesome!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FL0RHEwqiYI
Girl Scout Cookies. Mmmm. . . they're so good. I have long maintained that if I could choose the name for a boy band, it would be Girl Scout Cookies. Everyone loves Girl Scout Cookies! Plus, what do you want to bet that adoring fans would shower them with. . . Girl Scout Cookies? It's win-win. (Win for the band, win for the GSA.) Of course, it would have to be a boy band, because if there were any girls in the band it would be weird. It would be like "Were you in Girl Scouts?" "Well, no, not exactly. . ." It would be as bad as if there was a woman in The Barenaked Ladies. I mean, I love their music, but I can only (barely) stomach their name because there are no ladies in the group.
Anyway, back to Girl Scout Cookies. My favorite of the cookies are those cookies formerly known as Samoas! So delicious! Chocolate dipped and striped shortbread with carmel and coconut. It just doesn't get any better. But I am here today to tell you that my favorite of all cookies has been renamed. These tasty creations are now labeled "Caramel DeLites."
Say what?!
What I want to know is, did the Girl Scouts of America change the cookie name of their own free will? Did they feel it would be, somehow, more politically correct? Because let me tell you, it's not great for advertising, if you ask me. Sure, Caramel DeLites gives you the hint that there is carmel in the cookies. But it also implies that fake sugars (the most heinous of a confectioners ingredients) could be present. Lite? as in low fat or low sugar? Yuk! Who wants a cookie like that!? No, no, no.
To call the cookies Samoas would be far better. True, this former name didn't tell potential consumers that carmel could be found in the cookies. But it did hint of tropical shores and an island nation known for excellent cooking. And coconuts!
Now, like I said, I don't know what prompted the switch. But if I were in charge of Samoa, I would write a letter. It would say something like, "Please, Girl Scouts, change the name of your best cookie back to Samoa. Their tasty goodness reflects so well upon our country. Your sales have increased our tourism and our tourism has increased your sales for years and years. Why can't we be friends?"
What do you think? What is your favorite girl scout cookie? Also, please vote on the toothpaste poll in the sidebar.
P.S. Whoa, Wikipedia tells me that I'm not alone in the choice of my favorite Girl Scout Cookie. Samoa/Caramel DeLites account for 25% of sales.
After breakfast this morning I had this running through my head. I neglected to put a bib on Benjamin, and so this parody of Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)" was born.
(No, this is not Benjamin. This picture was yoinked from Google images.)Say, "I'm a little frog,
I'm a little toad.
I like to hop
in the middle of the road!
Don't run me over,
don't squish me flat,
I'm a little frog
and that is that!"
What can I say? This stuff just comes to me. Usually as I'm singing at the top of my lungs. Late at night. I'm feeling pretty swamped:
My Life -- Reprise
from "Alysa's Life: The Musical"
tempo 60-65, expressivo (a la Phantom of the Opera)
My life
is a story
of homework.
My life
is a story of
Pain!
My life
is a story
deadlines,
And deadlines
are all that remain!
So in my explorations of the blogosphere and the kidlitosphere (two words that I did not make up), I discovered Sunday Scribblings. It is a blog of writing prompts to be used in any way you'd like. After much debate, mostly internal, I think I'll participate. I figure I've got something kinda cool to say. So here is what I've got for this week's prompt, which is "Hi, my name is..."
Hi, my name is
Frank, and this is my beautiful wife
Annie. She keeps me sane.
Maggie is our oldest, mom’s best helper.
Ian our scientist comes next, and right on his heels is
Luke. He’s getting so tall! And
Yivette is the latest addition -- she just lost a tooth.
We’re family.
