life on the highway

When we visit my surgeon in Kansas City, we're actually in the Kansas side of the city.  And when we go, Michael likes to wear as many Mizzou clothes as possible.  This time it really paid off.  He got to talk sports with everyone from the waiter and waitress at Chili's to a stranger in the hospital hallway to my surgeon's residents.  (Not so much with my surgeon who apparently only appreciates sporting events for the beer and the ribs.  They serve ribs at KU games?)  Anyway.  I was really glad for all those takers, because I can't really carry on an actual conversation about basketball with Michael.  However, today I am really loving Missouri, and that's due in part to the Big Twelve conference champs - the Missouri Tigers.  Yes, I'm that kind of sports fan.  Give me a championship, and suddenly I'm really proud that you're more my team than anyone else and that I even attended a game in seats so close to the floor I was embarrassed by the length of the cheerleader's skirts.  So that's one reason I'm loving my state today.  Mizzou.  Rah.

Second - and this is far more in keeping with the normal tone of the blog - I am loving a good country highway, and Missouri is full of 'em.  I had some things to mull over today, and the mulling was so stifled in the monotony of the house where the cycle of trying to work while trying to parent Jake can eventually drive a person insane with its sameness.  Then Felic emailed with the very cool news that an old college friend would be eating with her in the town where she lives and works about an hour away.  I finished up the work I was doing, clocked out, and hit the road.  

There is nothing like a drive on country highway to clear the fog, except maybe time with my sister and parents, which is what I would find on the other end of the drive.  And I needed to clear the fog.  Technically, it didn't work.  I'm still a bit unclear on the job thoughts I was trying to settle.  But, oi vey, the change in perspective.  A long stretch of country highway makes me feel suspended between obligations.  Jake relaxed the whole way to a movie in the back seat, so I knew he wouldn't need anything the entire trip.  And somehow even in the age of cell phones, I feel unreachable on a drive.  At least, I feel like I let go of that feeling that I need to be available, constantly in contact with someone.  It's like an escape seeing nothing but trees, pasture, and highway behind you and nothing but more of the same ahead.  

I usually glamorize city life.  It sounds so cool to me to walk city blocks to work, have a favorite coffee shop two doors down, a hot dog stand nearby, and Chinese delivery every night.  But today I've got nothing but love for country highways, small towns, and Mizzou-Rah.  That's what a good long drive can do for a girl.

most exciting thing that ever exited a furniture truck outside my door

Important update to to the category of what I'm looking forward to most:  He's going to SING AND DANCE.  Hugh Jackman, I mean.  (pictured here by edison0618 on Flickr).  I heard it from his own mouth.  (Although not technically in person of course).  I stand firmly in the camp that believes almost any program - or, you know, moment in LIFE - is improved by a song and dance number.  I'd rather watch a really cheesy Nick-and-Jessica type variety show than song-less, monotonous reality t.v. any day.  So I have officially put this as number one - okay, maybe second to the montages - on my list. The Oscars are going to rock this year; I can feel it.

In other what-I-watched-while-recuperating-from-a-cold news, I saw The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants sequel the other day.  There was a great moment where America Ferrera's character talked about the delicious language used in the play she was rehearsing for.  She complained at how lazy we are now - how much prettier phrases were then and how much richer it felt to speak that way.  "Why don't people talk like that anymore?" she wailed.  I loved that part.  I love the idea that if we would just stop and savor the little things in life a little more, our lives would be so much richer.  We tend to live through life rather than in it sometimes. And I love it when a book or a movie suggests that we stop and take it in a bit. The  National Treasure movies have some great lines like that too, which brings me to my little Hollywood gem for the day.

Do you ever find yourself vaguely remembering a movie line?  You know it moved you, but you can't quite remember what it was.  Let me introduce you to (as if you didn't already know) a little thing called IMDB - the Internet Movie Database.  You know you can find out who was in what film there, but you can also find a wealth of great movie quotes.  The page is called "Memorable Quotes" for each movie, so I usually get there by typing that phrase and the movie title into a search engine.  You'll be spouting poetic in no time.  

In honor of living life richly, allow me to cyber-celebrate a little gift I received yesterday from The Man himself:  This dark wooden rectangle of wonderful, our new table.

We have never in our married life bought ourselves a table.  Hand-me-downs work just as well for eating on.  Only I so don't believe that now.  This glorious piece of furniture has officially become the centerpiece for my lucky life.  I touch it every time I walk by.  We christened it last night with company and everything - company I would have the previous night seated in the living room with a t.v. tray rather than sit at our chipped wooden table with the hard, flat decades-old benches.

I'm working on the song and dance routine as we speak.

books on film

It's Oscar week.  Meaning, that on Sunday night you should be able to find me on a couch somewhere with popcorn, Reeses Pieces, and a Diet Coke literally glued to a television screen while Hollywood celebrates itself and produces the most glamorous commercial ever for pretentious movies we might not otherwise have seen - as well as a few nods to those we all saw.  

In honor of that, my favorite night in television, I'm talking movies this week.  That may mean this is the only post you get, because it's not like I have it all planned out.

You may notice this is not a picture of a movie but of the book that birthed a movie.  I just read it as I loved the movie, and friends told me the book was so much better.  I assumed I would agree with them but also felt a little trepidation having seen the movie first and loved it so much.  Sure enough, in this case, I prefer the movie.  Now, I'm pretty sure there's a club I'm being kicked out of right now.  It's literary and writer-supportive and thoroughly convinced that the book is always better.  And I just totally shamed them.

I love books.  Love, love, love them.  I write them for goodness' sake.  And I read them, and I adore them.  This one is truly lovely.  The premise is absolutely beautiful, the characters are loveable, it's realistic and uplifting.  It's just very good.  Almost the only major plot difference is that the movie is set in America about an American who fell in love with an Irishman.  In the book, they are all, of course, Irish.  I really enjoyed that aspect of the movie - probably because I saw it that way first.  The relationship between Holly and her husband in the book is kind of plain in comparison.  In the movie, it is rich and poetic and unique.  Also, his letters to her in the movie just have more umph.  He is not just giving her a list of things to get done but a journey for finding herself again.  I think this was the point of the book as well, but it wasn't as poignant.  I missed the soundtrack, the gorgeous clothes, and the tighter humor that comes with the collaborative effort and condensed time frame of film.

Also, I missed the creative aspect.  That was the most relatable part of the film for me - the way she used to want to create things.  In the book, she simply finds a job.  In the movie, she finds a beautiful creative outlet you can't help but think she was destined for.  

I think the reason the book is usually better is because it is more.  It develops the characters more thoroughly.  It tells the story at a slower, richer pace.  It requires more imagination and therefore gets inside you in a way movies sometimes can't.  In this case, I felt the film gave me more.  It's possible that I was just swept up by the dreamy Irish guys, the moving music, and the pretty shoes.  Which are all things the film medium loves to give us.  There's another club that celebrates that.  I'm a member of it too, but you just can't always please them both at once.

it's February fifth - this is only the beginning

"Well," John Michael said yesterday, "My career as student of the month ends today."  I've never known January to fly before now, but it seems like he was accepting that bright orange cup and handful of restaurant certificates just yesterday.  I guess I need to update my pictures in the side bar.  You should probably expect lots of mush this month.  Not mush as in nothing-much but mush as in, if you think I talk about Christmas magic a lot until the end of the December, just wait 'til I unleash my V-Day love on you.  

My first date with Michael was on Valentine's Day, so February 14 makes me all giddy inside and February in general makes me pretty nostalgic, and 1996 was the best year EVER.  I have all boys, so we don't make our valentines from red construction paper and white doilies like we used to with my Mom when we were little.  Unfortunately, they usually have light sabers or Spongebob or something.  Of course, there was the year John picked the God ones.  Proud mama moments were gushing all over the place the night he filled those out with commentary about the friend whose dad doesn't like him, "So I think I'll give that friend the one about how God is love."  That's very nice, John, and if you'll excuse me I have to go write in your journal how completely awesome you are.

I keep journals for all the boys.  John's is full of super emotional mama trauma while I navigate not-getting-a-puppy-for-Christmas and starting him in public school and apologizing profusely when we added another sibling as if perhaps he wasn't enough all by himself.  Drew's is the future script for a stand-up comedian.  Jake's is one giant love letter as well as a new round of trauma as I try to figure out how to raise the baby of the family without making him one and how to celebrate the heck out of the miracle that is his existence while letting him be his own person.

I started John's journal before he was born.  I bought it while out of town with my family.  My brother told me it was awesome, "I mean, he won't appreciate it until he's, like, 35, but still - very cool."  Now that I have three boys, I'm actually wondering if they'll ever appreciate them.  Do they really want to read about the first time they said "I love you"?  The way I felt about their kindergarten teacher? The little hand motion he made as a baby that looked like he was revving a motorcycle?  I'm not sure.  Their journals might just be for me.  A way to freeze time a little.  Which, if I do right by them, isn't something they're going to want to do with their childhood.  

Except maybe Drew.  He's so going to want to remember the time I was stressing in the grocery store about all the things I had yet to do that night, and he waved the spaghetti noodles at me and said with ultimate sensitivity, "And you gotta fix me some supper, because I'm hungry." 

I'd like to buy the world a book

I recently joined a Facebook cause. I don't usually join Facebook causes because I can't see that they actually accomplish anything at all. The last one I was tempted to join was my friend Den's. It was the Put An End To Facebook Causes cause. But before I could join that one, I found a cause I said 'yes' to before I even had time to think about it. The cause is "Buy a Book Save the World."

The premise is that you promise to buy at least one book this - huh, holiday season, year? I can't remember when you're supposed to fulfill it. But I'm thinking those of us who join it have every intention of buying more than just one. The publishing industry is just one of the many out there hurting from the economy trouble, and this cause is our way of helping to keep it alive.

Above is a picture of how much I love books. When I joined the Literary Guild a few years ago, this is the stack of books that I ordered first and which came in the mail in one big, very happy box. That was the best day ever - having all those brand new books delivered to my house in one box. I spread them out and took a picture of them like they were my children's artwork.

And you know how your kids come home from school about every week with bookmarks from the library, with safety instructions, or even homemade? There are two kinds of paper I always save when it comes home from school. Anything with sentences the children made up all by themselves, like "My brither and I like football because we just have a thing about football", and those bookmarks. They get tucked into a pretty, round vase I got for my wedding, because you just never know when you'll need a bookmark. Especially since I'm usually reading more than one book at once.

The boys have two book shelves in their room - the one for paperbacks and early readers and cartoon characters like Spongebob, and the one they can't reach by themsevles with fairytales and hardbacks and Winnie the Pooh collector's edition and any others that I can't bear to find orange marker throughout or ripped-off corners or gum. I really like books.

So I was really happy to join the save-the-world cause by buying a book. I really want this industry to stay in business what with hoping to be a part of it and all. And this morning I was thinking we should all feel free to purchase things deliberately from now on from any of the industries we don't want to live without. Books of course, cars I guess - if you can afford it (just think of the single mom secretaries and dad-of-five-kids mechanics out there instead of the CEO's who flew to the meeting in their private jets, and you'll feel more motivated I think) - but there are so many more as well: Shoes (can I get an amen, ladies?), being able to watch television on the internet on our own time with less commercials (last season of LOST, I'm talking to you - I have to watch you again anyway because your producers spread your seasons so far apart), children's pajamas (I can do Christmas without Nintendo, but I can't do it without new pajamas), chocolate (hello, that goes without saying). You get the idea? Buy what you love, save the world. And let it start with a book.

A Book Review, A Friend Review: The Miracle Girls

I recently won this book on one of my favorite blogs, Anne & May.  I couldn't wait to devour it so that I could give them a glowing review.  I'm not exactly objective, because I love Anne & May.  By the end of this post, hopefully you'll know why.  And hopefully you'll know enough about their latest book to buy it for your nieces, little sisters, your daughters, and your friends. 

I learned of Anne and May back in 2005 when I saw a book listed in a magazine called Emily Ever After.  The title alone made me know I would love the book.  The premise had me hooked as well since it was about a small town girl trying to make it in New York City - with her faith intact.  Unfortunately, I got cancer and pregnancy shortly after, which really hampered my joy-reading.  Plus, my wish list for books to buy always exceeds my book-buying budget, and I let this one slip through the cracks.

Felicity found the Anne & May blog a couple years later (how did that happen, Lic?), and I was hooked forever.  

Their writing is a partnership, which fascinates me, and they say they wouldn't want to do it any other way.  You have to admire people who have learned to give and take so brilliantly.  Their writing is also deliciously witty.  Their blog makes me smile, relate, and feel I've made true friends.  The first few pages of their second book, Consider Lily, made me laugh to tears.   

Anne & May's first three books were chic lit while The Miracle Girls is Young Adult.  In The Miracle Girls and the three sequels to follow, they intend to explore the crazy difficulties of growing up.  The heroines are four teens trying to maintain important friendships while navigating high school and the sometimes tricky bridge between childhood and independence.  Through it all, each character searches out the relevance of their faith in an unbelieving world.

The Miracle Girls made me love Ana, Riley, Zoe, and Christine.  I was embarrassed when they were, traumatized by their Mondays, in love with their crushes, and so glad they had each other.  There were a few sanctuary moments in the book in which I felt I was there with them, remembering what it is I believe and how deeply it affects me.  The relationship between Ana and her parents grew beautifully throughout the book.  It was both realistic and miraculous.  

I love that Anne & May have taken on the dilemma of those terrible but wonderful years of high school.  I love that they have made it their mission to inspire girls and women, to relate to them, make them laugh, believe in their dreams, and help them apply their faith to this hazy, unpredictable life.  I love their Miracle Girls.  And I cannot wait for sophomore year.  

This and That

Whew! That last post was quite a ride. I'm going to be so sad now when my comments section doesn't top 40. I was thinking today we could talk about the financial bail-out. Um . . . as they say in cyber world, j/k. I.e., I'm totally kidding. I don't want to talk about the financial bail-out, because I have very little understanding about it and even less of an opinion. You should, however, feel free to discuss it amongst yourselves.

Also, I'd like to address another very important topic from the comments section on the last post. Yes, I am using a rotary phone at this time. Our cordless is on the brink. It doesn't charge even on the receiver, so it often dies mid-conversation. And for quite some time now, I haven't been able to dial any phone number with a 4 in it. (Lori, not that you would notice, but this is why I always call you from my cell phone). About the rotary, which came out from under the bed until we finally remember to add "phone" to the shopping list, it sits right beside me at the desk and is extremely loud. So if I sound a little testy when I answer the phone, it's not you. It's that my eardrum has just been punctured by the loudest annoying sound in the world.

Now, how sweet is this? (The object of the picture above). My name, believe me, has ended up on several things way less flattering than this little blue-green bit of wonderful. So when I see it on things like this, I'm so happy.

Now, technically I only actually drink tea when I get a painful chest cold. And even then, it's more that it seems like the perfect thing to do than that I have actually developed a taste for it. Nikki knows this about me, but she knew I would love this anyway. And she was so right. It's adorable. It's the most calming color, and it's a symbol of how very cool it is to have friends who like you enough to think about you when they're in a store and find beautiful things.

Although it's supposed to hold a dripping tea bag (maybe I will start drinking tea, just so I can use this!), I use it more like a stress reliever. I just look at it, tap that lovely color and familiar word with my fingers, and wah-lah, sereni-tea now.

These are the only clothes good enough for this face

Traditionally, you give the bride and groom a gift at their wedding.  I know this - thus the "Live, laugh, love" picture frame I gave at the shower and which, fortunately, the bride told me she loved.  But at the actual wedding, I'm afraid those two busy souls gave me the gift.

Lest this "Do I look alright?" straightening of the tie pose doesn't convince you that I got the better end of this ring-bearer deal . . . then the last picture will.  That's where he spent the entire ceremony, rather than up front as he should have.  Thankfully, his older cousin held the pillow with the rings.  Jake probably would have eaten them along with the chicken nuggets I used to bribe him earlier in the evening.

I get these pictures forever.  Burned into my memory the delicious imagery that makes people say, "I didn't even know they made them this small."  I mean, those are real live cuff links in that toddler-sized cuff, people.  

The bride was beautiful too, and I did take pictures of her.  Maybe when I pass them on to her, I'll at least be returning her gift a little bit.  Until then, I'm just going to keep enjoying mine.  Thank you, Riki - and especially Justin for putting in the initial request for this little guy to participate.  Thanks for giving me the chance to finally wrap this little gift the way my adoration for him deserves.  I'll love you forever for it! 

I want to be Taylor Swift

Okay, she's no Carrie Under-
wood as far as powerful voices go, but this girl just keeps growing on me. I don't know the first single very well, When You Think Tim McGraw, but I love those songs that play on how intricately our favorite entertainment tends to weave into our lives. When Our Song came out, I knew I loved her. And now she's done it again with Love Story.

This isn't the Love Story that I've only heard about that made one entire generation of women weep every time they heard the song on the radio. This is the happy kind, the stuff of Disney movies. And I love it. You can watch the video on CMT online. Although, I think it's probably one of those that will resonate with me differently than most normal people.

People like to say this kind of love doesn't really happen. That stories and songs like this give girls the wrong expectations for life and marriage. But there are people who stay married forever. So no matter what the statistics against it, no matter what trouble may come - I still believe. I no longer think that Ever After is simply something you decide on faith and that as long as you work for it perfectly, it will happen. Now I think it's partly luck as well. You are fortunate enough to keep fitting well together despite life's ups and downs. Technically, you can't possibly know if all those things will always work for you when you're first in love. But because they sometimes do, I still think there's a permanent place for songs like this. And I love Taylor for writing it.

My favorite thing about Taylor Swift, though, is the way she ended her awards speech when she won for best new artist. She was living a dream, and she knew it. And she was appropriately grateful. But her response made her so relatable to the rest of the world.

"This is definitely the highlight of my senior year."

(Photo by whittlz on Flickr)

some of my friends

Do you ever have those days where you get up deter-
mined to have a good day - you push past the stubbing of your toe on the end of the bed and the fact that no one from McDonalds is standing in your kitchen to whip up your favorite biscuits and gravy and even the tiny little sniffle you cheerfully chalk up to an unexpectedly high pollen count? But then the day just keeps piling those things on? And you think, are you just trying to wear me down?

I've had a couple of those in a row. Today, for instance, that tiny sniffle became the kind of allergy and sinus issue that made me wish someone sold Benadryl from a tap. And that was just the lovely foundation for all the other toe-stubbing kind of fun. Yesterday was similar. I try to just steal myself on those days, you know - center down, focus, pull up by the boot straps, pray. But sometimes I need a little material help.

Yesterday after work I put on my iTunes play list while I cooked supper. And it worked so well I made two new recipes without stressing out once. I have enough songs from iTunes finally that they sometimes take me by surprise. And, you know, they just fix me. They unclutter my soul. (Cleaning the kitchen kind of does that too, but I don't like to say that when Michael is sitting so near).

It makes me think of a Friends episode - Friends also makes me happy almost every time. In it Monica and Chandler are jealous of the couple in front of them at the airport (and the hotel) who keep getting cool upgrades because they are on their honeymoon. When Monica complains, the other couple goes on and on about how they don't care about the stuff - they're just happy to have each other, blah, blah, blah. Chandler and Monica pause. You kind of think they have learned their lesson. But then Chandler admits, "Yea, we need the stuff."

I think I'm a pretty good attitude adjuster these days. (Hush, Michael. Remember I was much worse eleven years ago). There is way more happiness in my life than not, and I just remember that. But it sure helps to turn on great music, or a sitcom that feels like going home, or maybe look at great pictures of my life since marriage and motherhood.

I'm trying to teach my kids about self control. Counting your blessings instead of your woes. It's working great. If you remember, John has even thrown that easier-said-than-done cliche right back in my face. But once they get that self control lesson down. Once they know the rule - how to comfort themselves like a baby learning to fall asleep without the pacifier - once they get it, I'm flippin' on the iTunes. I'm putting it on random play, turning it up, and letting them in on lesson number two: Sometimes you need the stuff.

It happened in a book I read

I'm reading Chocolat.  I was sort of trying to cut back on sweets before I started that book.  But now I feel that any day that goes by without a petit four is a complete waste of existence.  I haven't finished the book, so I can't decide if I will love it until the end.  But for now, it's a pretty little literary treat I get to open in all my free time.  I love the way it feels like a fairy tale even though she uses words like television.  And I love the different points of view.  And the imaginary rabbit.  I don't remember the movie, so I can't possibly have seen it.  

One of my favorite Anne books talks about a Dickens novel.   A character in the Anne book says when she reads the Dickens one she always gets ravenously hungry because the people in it always seem to be eating good things.  Kind of like the fact that every time I think of Heidi I get a craving for cheese and milk.

Do you know what I mean by Anne book?  That's what I call the eight-part series by L.M. Montgomery that begins with the children's classic Anne of Green Gables.  It could really be bad for my literary future that I love those books so much.  I'll never think I've written a lovable  character unless she has red hair.  And a book will never be good enough unless I think my reader will want seven more in the series.  

But I'll push past those feelings.  Just like I pushed past the feeling that life wasn't worth living unless it was the late 1800s again.  Just like I pushed past the craving for the petit four.  I'll just write about regular old dishwater blonds and dull brunettes.  And then I'll go eat those chocolate donuts in the refrigerator.  Pre-processed, factory-packaged donuts.  It won't look or smell like it came from a chocolaterie, but my taste buds aren't nearly as picky as my soul.  

And also, he named the boy Knox . . . that's my county!

When I was in the store Tuesday night, I realized a tremendous oversight. I had not yet bought the People magazine with the new Jolie-Pitt twins on the cover and the 16-page Jolie-Pitt album on the inside even though it had been in stores since the day before.

I remedied that immediately. Michael thinks I have a problem. I told him he won't think that when I make money someday on that novel about a girl obsessed with fame and that this is "just research."

But despite the fact that I don't think I have a problem, I do refuse to comment about how beautiful the babies are or on the fact that I was moved by how normal and tired the parents seemed and how normal and un-polished the other children's clothes were. It's one thing to buy the magazine; it's an entirely different thing to bring it up in discussion (or on a blog) as if the birth of two little babies really deserved all that attention.

Actually, you know what I really believe? They did deserve it. Every baby does. But there aren't nearly enough magazine issues for that.

what to do while I'm waiting

So, I told you I have the end-of-
a-book blues. I haven't been able to shake them yet and move on to the next one. I glanced at Sense and Sensibility in its display corner today, though, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Ah yes, I thought, the old favorites. That will get me through this.

"This" of course is not just the end-of-a-book blues but the pre-publication impatience. As I said in an earlier post, for all I know Jesus will return before my memoir is ever actually published. But knowing this and resolving to be patient have not actually made me so. I wish I could be in that Sesame Street documentary about how crayons are made. I loved watching that wax roll around in the big old vats and eventually get wrapped into paper and put into that wonderful smell-good box. I wish I could watch every step of my book that way. Starting now and without any other responsibilities until its finished.

Mom says the thing to do once one book is out of your hands is move on to the next. That's what she is doing while her first is being edited. I know she's right. But I haven't done it yet. I feel too uncertain of who I want to be as a writer. It's not like I've found my niche with memoir - there's only so many of those in one person.

I think there is only one thing I know for sure. I'd like to write books that give people the feeling I had when I glanced at Sense and Sensibility today. The feeling that they can trust me to make them feel better. That would be a lovely accomplishment.

I can still hear them taunting him, "Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids"

We all know my passion for finding the mundane, meaningful. But this might very well be the greatest stretch of that talent yet. My attachment to breakfast cereal.

It started when I was pregnant with John Michael. Breakfast cereal wasn't so much a craving as it was for some reason the only thing I felt I could stomach. Sometimes three times a day. Usually Fruit Loops if I remember correctly. Nothing too flaky or granola-like - I didn't want to risk the chance of anything getting caught anywhere and screaming at the gag reflex to catapult the whole thing back where it came from. But this next part is much prettier: My love for cereal further grew when the older boys were much younger. Drew had just started voicing opinions about things, and it had become apparent that he and John had different personalities. I loved watching that. I love watching it still. It's amazing to see three boys from the same two people be three such different souls. But besides that, it's lovely to watch them trust us enough and feel comfortable enough to be their own people. Michael and I cringe any time it seems otherwise. And like so many other epoch revelations in life, it manifested itself in breakfast cereal. I was completely, almost-to-tears, moved the day I realized that John liked Rice Krispies and Drew Cocoa Pebbles, John hated cinnamon and Drew loved it. Drew lived for donuts, John felt they were simply too messy. It's not like fixing your child a second supper because you're not up for the fight that ensues over the one you slaved over half the evening. Getting each kid their own cereal is a complete thrill, like refusing to name them Michael Jr., Michael, Jr., Jr., and - you know, Junior. They get their own name - first and middle - and their own cereal. And it completely thrills me.

Incidentally, Jake's following in Drew's footsteps so far with the Cinnamon, but you can bet I'll write it in poetry the first time he tells me, "Not that one, Mom. Bring on the Cap'n!"

Other breakfast cereals we love: Honey Bunches of Oats, Honey Nut Cheerios, chocolate marshmallow Lucky Charms (do 5-year-olds invent cereal now?), Golden Grahams, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. When I'm feeling strangely nostalgic for strange childhood cravings, I want Pops or Honey Smackers - those are the weirdest cereals. And any of these that can be purchased in the Malt-O-Meal brand will be. It's way more breakfast for your buck.

average photography, excellent life

I'm off to organize pictures soon.  The word organize implies that I'm really on top of our family history through photography, but not so much.  I'm way behind in ordering pictures online and will currently be placing September and October o4 in the albums.  Yikes.  I think that I adore pictures.  I consider photography one of the dreams I just missed actually wanting to pursue.  If I had inherited a great professional camera at some point in my life instead of having journaled my little heart out like it was going to save the world, you'd be looking at a photo gallery right now.  So, anyway, I think I adore them and that I take a lot of them.  But it's true what they say - for every 100 pictures, I only get a few real gems.  I have them faithfully stored on my computer and in cyberspace, but I fail to order them very often except for gifts or cards.  I've also noticed another problem - so often I would rather live the moment than take a picture of it.

As mentioned, I just read Celebrity Detox by Rosie O'Donnell.  She scrapbooks a lot.  And paints and does crafts and makes videos with family pictures.  And at one point in the book she said that she thinks sometimes she overdoes this because it is easier to be with pictures than with people.  Being with people takes more work.  She didn't give that as a suggestion but as self deprecation.  And I think she's right.  It's harder to glorify the mundane while we're living it than it is to put a colorful border around it and glue it to a scrapbook as IF to glorify it.  I am going to go organize those pictures - Cornfest 05 with 12 million pictures of the boys and their cousins riding ponies in a circle the size of a sedan - this won't document itself, People!  But I'll never take a picture or put it in a photo album again without thinking of Rosie's words and hoping to God that I strike the proper balance.

 

another favorite part of my day

You may have noticed, I handle childhood milestones with a smorgas -board of emotions.  They are equally thrilling and traumatizing for me, less so the latter now that I have faced the idea of missing out on them altogether - that would, after all, be much worse.  But I had not learned that lesson yet when John started kindergarten, and I viewed the entrance to his school building with simultaneous fear, gratitude, suspicion, and adventure.   But consider this beautiful woman:  She is my dad's sister, and for all three of John's first years of school, she has been the guardian of that entrance.  She asks for the job.  Standing at the door to greet every single child who enters it every morning of their lives.

She is like the mailman of Childhood:  Neither rain nor hail nor sleet nor snow.  I've seen her stand in the rain with the giant colored umbrella she is holding in this picture.  She wears mittens in the winter I can only hope are made from synthetic polar bear.  (Missouri winters - blechk).  She is the first kindness to touch their little souls as they enter the uncertain day before them, and it does wonders in easing my angst.  There are many kindnesses on the inside too - the calling of teacher is undoubtedly the highest in our civilization - all the more so because it is the least financially compensated for its level of difficulty.  But as I watch all of the other children, not related by blood, who stream past her each day, greeted by her high-five that in my mind translates through them as a benediction, I wonder if they can possibly know the gift of it.  She loves them.  And I love her for it.

Rilla-My-Rilla

At the moment, I am non-fictioning myself to death.  I'm loving every word - how to help your kids thrive in public school, (Going Public, by David and Kelli Pritchard), a Christian's perspective on filmmaking (Outside Hollywood by Isaac Botkin), and You Can Market Your Book by Carmen Leal.  They're all relevant, and I'm enjoying them.  In between these I also read both of Rosie O'Donnell's memoirs, and it was at some point after that when I started wondering just which wonderful story I'm going to pick up next.  I can't wait to get lost in a good piece of fiction again.  

While thinking of where I will turn first in choosing my next great read, I can't help but think about the Anne of Green Gables series, my previously mentioned favorite fiction series of all time.  When I found this picture online and discovered I could own these books for the small price of 55.70 per book, I practically ran to Michael with the news.  He informed me that our closets and shelves are already overrun by my many copies of the series.  The fact that these are HARD BACK fell completely on deaf ears.

So remember how I want to get a book published some day and wish I could be in a movie - at least ONCE - and hopefully go to the premiere?  Well, here's another one:  Book 8 in this series?  SHOULD BE A MOVIE.  And I want to write the screenplay.  I don't care what you think of the flowery sunsets or flights of imagination in the first several books, you can't possibly hate the last one.  It's based during WWI.  It has courage, sacrifice, comedy, romance, horrible sorrow, childish thrills.  It's completely awesome.  As I told my dad once - there's a scene with a dog.  Dude.  You will never get over it.  And it belongs on the screen.  I haven't even begun to summon the nerve to make the call to find out who owns the movie rights to this book, but I'm convinced when I find them I will in very few words be able to convince them that I am the perfect person to pen its screenplay.  No one could adore it more.  No one could be better versed in all the wonderfulness that led to this finale.  I want the job.  

At the very least, don't let the same person write it who did Anne of Avonlea (The Kevin Sullivan version).  I have yet to forgive them for squishing three books together that way and leaving out some of the best characters ever.  It was so uncool.  Mr. Harrison and Philippa Gordon deserved to be heard.  I want vindication, and I want an Oscar for it.

Hold on - that's a different dream.  

another thing I love

You know what I had to realize about myself at some point?  I didn't appreciate home enough.  Not home.  I think I appreciate the heck out of that.  My boys, the first one included, and the life we have in these walls.  But I mean the little town our life is in.  And the region.  And the state . . .  It's not that I didn't like it.  I've just been sort of indifferent to it.  But that's changing.  I'm trying to appreciate it all more, to have favorite things about it, reasons to stay.  

So here's a tribute to a place I love.  You're going to be bored at first.  It's Long John Silvers.  I know.  Chains shouldn't count.  Nothing with national television spots can be on my list of favorite local things.  But you have to see it.  It sticks out all by itself way before the mass of fast food chains further down the strip.  It looks like it grew up out of the concrete in the parking lot of the old Wal-Mart and current shopping - um - corner?  

Anyway, I don't go there often, and every time I do - it makes me very happy.  First the workers.  They look sort of - well - tired.  And a bit tattooed.  Some of them very tattooed.  And many of them a little like they might be waiting for their next cigarette break.  But they are the salt of the service industry.  Every single time.  They act genuinely happy to give me the right sauce and to add those awesome little fried pieces of batter when they give me my chicken.  That's all I ever get there.  The battered chicken and cole slaw.  Those chicken strips are the most fattening delicacy I can't live without.  I adore them.  When I was pregnant the second time, they're almost all I ate.  And then there's this bell with a long thin rope dangling from it that hangs by the exit.  You're supposed to ring it if you think they did a good job, and people actually do.  And not only that, when you ring it, at least one - but often two - of the workers - counter and kitchen help alike - will yell out, "Thank you!"  It just makes me smile.  There may be a conglomerate on the billboard outside, but inside it's all mom-and-pop.  And I love it.  I'd love it more if it were called Small Town Guy's Shrimp Shack.  It would feel more like undiscovered treasure then.  But it's the closest I've got, so consider it appreciated.  And, no, it's not lost on me that I go to a seafood chain to eat chicken.  

Up next week:  Walgreens!  Just kidding.  Have you seen the price of toiletries there?