back

All 3 kids are back in school and they didn't even have a snow delay today!  Methinks Mr. B was milking it a bit towards the end of his sick leave, but how can you prove it?  I try to make their stay at Green Girl's Home for Convalescing Youth as uncomfortable as possible--no video games, for example, limited movie viewing, lots of silent time to sleep or reflect on their choice to skip school for the day.  Eventually their bodies heal or their brains melt from sheer boredom and they decide it's time to return to school.  As part of my celebrations today I'm getting a hair cut.  I'm going to get in the Momvan, drive across town alone and chat it up with Kristy about grown up things while she works her magic on my hair.  So. Excited.

I'm back into my YA manuscript, tweaking it chapter by chapter now.  Adding in the little details, changing the occasional character name, ramping up the foreshadowing--it's amazing what a well-placed line can do for the big picture.  The other picky-picky bit is checking the first line of every chapter.  I have a lot of short chapters--should I be condensing them?  Are they good or bad for pacing?  I'm confident about the dialogue and plot, but fear I'm too attached to bits.  I axed some great sentences because I couldn't write my way out of them.  I have  self-imposed deadline of Feb. 28th when I want to hand the work over to a teen reader for feedback.

Publishing Whipped, Not Beaten on Kindle has informed my use of "Insert Page Break."  I'm mindful of the potential of publishing this new book the same way, so I'm trying to format effectively as I work through this book and make life easier down the road.  Speaking of Whipped, Not Beaten, I can really use some more reader reviews on the Amazon site.  If you've read the book and have an Amazon account, you can post a review.  Please, don't make me beg.  If a girlfriend opened a restaurant, you'd bring your family in to eat a meal.  If a girlfriend opened a clothing store, you'd buy a sweater or a scarf to support her business.  If a girlfriend invited you to a home party (see a theme emerging?), you'd spend some obligatory amount.  It stands to reason that if a girlfriend published a book (on which she'll make $3.70 of every $5 ebook sold), you'd help spread the word.  This girlfriend isn't going to get her money back for the time she spent writing and revising this book, but gosh, it would be nice to cover a quarter of the cost of a plane ticket to Virginia.  Thank you.

I realized yesterday that I haven't seen the concrete surface of our driveway in almost two weeks.  Our garbage dumpster is drifted in and won't get pushed to the road anytime soon, so it's a good thing I don't fill it very often.  I'm headed back to the driveway to shovel again and I'm thinking of all my east coast friends.  Hope you're safe, hope the power doesn't go out, hope you get out of town, hope your back doesn't break under the weight of all that snow.   I know how awful it can hurt when you have to shovel out.

Mr. G's back on the wrestling mat this weekend, I'm hoping to head back in the woods on my skis and I'll run Mr. B and Mr. T back and forth to their activities.  Throughout it all, I'll have great hair and no one will need a spoonful of medicine to stop the coughing.  And a few branches I hacked off a forsythia earlier this week will be blooming on the mantel which is nice because we need a little springtime here.

Spill it, reader.  How are you forcing yourself through the last leg of winter?

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I have a guy for that

“You know how I’ve got a guy for everything? Well, they’re all in New York. My suit guy, my shoe guy, my ticket guy, my club guy… and if I don’t have a guy for something I have a guy guy to get me a guy. And oddly enough, his name is Guy.”

Every time Barney Stinson says "I have a guy for that" it totally resonates with me because I?  Say that all the time.   And it's true.  I have a guy for almost anything you can think of.  Need a plumber?  I can give you no fewer than four numbers of guys I know.  Carpentry?  Check.  Electrician?  You betcha.  Landscaper?  Yep.  Tech guy to fix your computer?  Heck, back in my teaching days (when kids brought in their work on floppy disks, yo) I had a rep of being That Lady Who Knew a Guy who could get almost anything--anything--off that disk so a kid could turn in their work.  I was legen (wait for it....) dary for knowing a guy who could pull data off a disk.
I have a small engine repair guy.  I have a car repair guy.  I have a tree guy, a wetlands guy and a prairie guy.  I can find a guy who can get you hooked up with fireworks and game tickets and used cars and custom-built cabinetry (actually, these are four different guys).  I have a guy who does brick work, I know a floor guy, a pinball machine repair guy, a guy who paints, a drywall guy,  a guy who can fix your antique grandfather clock, a guy who can clean your carpet, a guy who can dig a pond in your back yard and sell you the gravel to line the bottom of it.

It takes a village to keep Green Girl's world running in perfect order.

I'm always handing out the name and/or number of a guy to friends in need.  It's my special gift, I guess, to know all kinds of people who do all kinds of things.  Waaaaay back, during my bartending days, I used to collect jobs the way some people collect shot glasses or bells.  A guy would come into the bar and I'd say, "So, what do you do?"  It was interesting to hear what people did for a living and I heard it all--from blues traveler to professional wrestler to dry cleaning equipment repairman.  That's partly why I know a guy for almost anything you can think of.  Plus, a lot of my regular customers were plumbers, electricians, construction workers and car repair experts.  It was really convenient as a poor college student to have any number of people at my disposal to give me a hand when I had car trouble.  I'll never forget one guy in particular who ran a salvage yard--he replaced a broken windshield on my Pontiac LeMans for me for free.  Because I was working my way through college.  Such a kindness.

Here and there I continue to collect all nature of guys who do various things.  If you required a guy, I could recommend my financial adviser guy, my bank guy, my butcher guy and my heating and cooling guy.

Yeah, I have a guy for that.  And they're all really good guys.  When a fellow Bumble Book Clubber, girlfriend, neighbor, mom at a baseball game muses, "Oh, _____ is broken at our place and we need to find someone to repair/build/replace it."  That's when I announce, "I have a guy for that."   It's true.  I always do.

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real good

It's snowing right now.  The light, bright, powdery, snow globe kind of snow that a girl can sweep off her driveway and enjoy.

Listening to people speak French.  Hands down it's the sexiest sounding language on the planet.

FINALLY reaching the end of a MS edit.  Revising verb tense is a putsy, putsy job and I'm SO pleased to be done with it.

Realizing Mr. T and I see eye to eye (almost).  When did he get so tall?  And suddenly care so much about his grades?

My camera returned--along with a very sweet note from my sister-in-law.

Looking at all the pictures from our Iowa Christmas--boy did we have a good time!

Remembering how one funny and kind uncle played War with Mr. G for almost an hour that day.

Life is good in so many little ways, isn't it?

p.s.  the new header is for YOU, Jocelyn.  

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soothing

The Packers lost in the playoffs.  Much of the snow has melted.  I'm fainthearted at the sight of our calendar for the next two months.  It's wicked cold outside.  Not CALIFORNIA cold, but Midwestern cold dropping into single digits and making your Momvan creak when you start it cold.  It's hibernation season.  A season to hunker down and self-medicate through the long nights and short days.  Here's how I'm soothing myself lately:

 

Love. This. Stuff.  A little goes a long way and it smells nice and sweet without overpowering my sensitive nose.  Plus, it's less than $4 a tube.

Just the thing at night to warm your toes and help you sleep.  Especially when you're out of wine and ice water doesn't feel cozy on your throat.

It's always a good season for books, but winter's a great time for reading.  I'm supplementing novels with a steady dose of seed catalogs and gardening books.

 

Long walks in the woods.  Yesterday Mr. G and I scared up a HUGE owl.  It flew out of a tree and the sight was magnificent.   The creek is particularly gorgeous right now--some parts are frozen over and other parts flowing fast.  I need to bring my camera out there next week.

I never tire of looking at tree branches.  They're gothic and creepy and gorgeous and artistic.

Spill it, reader.  What's soothing to you these days?

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the worst part about having insomnia

is knowing in your gut that the school secretary's going to call you by 6:00 in the morning asking you to sub.  You went to bed late after a strangely discordant evening spent watching Downton Abbey  (oh, Edith!) and the Golden Globes (WTF, Jodie?).  After a few hours you're wide awake.  You flop around in bed with your head full of all the things you must do.  Then you stagger out to the couch and read Cold Comfort Farm for a half hour.  Thinking you're tired enough, you return to bed to discover the blankets have been whisked away to the far side of the bed and now you're cold and trying to steal a few back without waking up your life partner.  An hour later you finally get comfortable enough to fall asleep.  Until the phone rings and the school secretary's on the line asking if you're free to cover 4-year-old preschool.

Thank goodness it's only a half day assignment.

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exceptionally pleasing

*Carpools--win-win in my book, I'm always game to share the driving and I'm thankful to know other parents feeling the same way.

*Snowmen--we had the perfect snow for building them and people built some really clever ones in their yards--including a cowboy, a quarterback and a loch ness monster.  Every time I see a snowman in a yard, I smile.

*Mr. G ditching his backpack in a snowbank so he can shoot baskets in the driveway every day after school for a half hour.

*Mr. B advancing in the school spelling bee!

*Forty degrees outside!

*Running outside!  In fresh air!  On pavement!

*A productive afternoon revising and rewriting a new project.

Spill it, reader.  What's exceptionally pleasing in your world these days?

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clinger

Mr. G has always been an early riser.  For years he'd crawl into bed next to me and patiently wait for 6:00 when I'd turn on TV and we'd watch Curious George for a half hour on PBS.  Always George--"George is a monkey.  He can do things we can't do."  And I'd tease Mr. G who is also a monkey and just as clever.  Then I'd head to my morning shower while he'd watch The Cat in the Hat  or Big Cat Diary alone.  That early morning ritual was our time to snuggle.

He's always been a tactile kid.  As a baby, he'd wrap his fist around my bra strap and push his fingers into my face.  If he was alone, he'd rub his fingers against his thumb, just to have something to touch.  Given the choice of every spot in the room, he'd pick the one on my lap or tight against my side.  He's the son who sleeps on a mountain of stuffed animals.  He's the son who never stops moving but always requires contact--a held hand, a quick hug. 

But he's 8 now, and has taken to coming downstairs at 6:00, quietly shutting my bedroom door and turning on the living room TV to play Madden 12 or watch Discovery Channel alone.  Growing up and becoming independent, the way a boy should.  We've outgrown Curious George and there's no going back I guess.

I only get a whiff of his morning smell these days--faintly metallic and sweet--if I grab him for a hug while he's still wearing jammies.  I don't have to shove over and make room for him on my bed.  I don't have to give up control of the TV remote.  But while I flip through the channels to find my favorite weatherman, I often pause on Curious George and miss those special mornings with my youngest.

This morning he came into my room at 6:15 and climbed across my body to nestle in beside me.  I reached for the remote and began flipping through the channels.  When I ran past PBS, he saw George and said, "go back."  I did.  We lay side by side and I leaned my head against his so I could inhale.

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partying like rock stars (again)

 It's been a thrilling time here over the weekend--Mr. G's indoor winter baseball team won the league championship!  Mr. T made a basket during his game!  Mr. B mastered the fine art of setting a pick during a game!  Grandparents were present to watch all of these wonderful moments!  Back at the ranch, we exchanged gifts.  My folks knocked it out of the park with monogrammed Packer pillowcases for Team Testosterone and vouchers for an outing to an amusement park during our next visit.  Three monkeys all in a row opened their gifts and grinned.

The following night we had chili, old neighbors, a bonfire, beer and fireworks.  Oh what a sound to hear the fireworks reverb through the woods, across the frozen creek and rip over the barren snow-covered fields!  Many people enjoyed the show, I later learned on Facebook.  Maybe this should become an annual tradition.  Our only error in judgement was to have the kids collect the shells and toss them in the fire.  One little whistler hissed past my right shoulder and gave us enough of a scare to head back in to the house.  Imagine my horror and joy when later that night, as I closed the blinds, I watched a Roman Candle explode brilliantly from the bonfire.  Red! Green! Red! Green! balls of fire soared into the air and white sparks shot in every direction.  A Christmas miracle that we manage to survive my stupid suggestions.

Christmas Eve we dialed it down a notch--went to church, made our homemade pizzas and enjoyed a silent night.

Until the monkeys woke up and tore into their gifts--such delight!  The airsoft guns, while making me a bit queasy, seem to be okay so far.  In any event, it got the gang outside for a while.

Santa brought the family one of those new-fangled iPads!  I've yet to actually play with it myself, though Team Testosterone does allow me to type in my password so they can install apps like Angry Birds Star Wars...

But the most awesome moment of all was my gift to Mr. D.  After MONTHS of logistical coordination, I called him downstairs to help me with one final gift of the day...

As he reached the bottom of the steps, I flipped the switch and the The. Most. Epic. Christmas. Present. Ever. lit up and made marvelous electronic noises.  Yes, The Best Woman in the World (for the moment, anyway) shocked Mr. D by presenting him with a mint-condition 1988 Secret Service pinball machine.  The story of acquiring this gift is pretty good, but seeing Mr. D's reaction was a thousand times better.

What a moment.

It all went exactly as I planned, thanks to a lot of help from my friends.

He had no idea and was thrilled by the surprise.  Mr. G exclaimed, "This is better than an Xbox!"

While the boys glutted themselves on Christmas chocolates and games, Jax and I hit the trail, he on foot, me on skis.   The air was cold and still and silent.  We saw some deer, rabbits and a few birds.  I counted my blessings and enjoyed the peace.

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best part of the christmas story

(repost)

As a history buff, I'm well aware of the horrible and disturbing things people have done in the name of religion--including and in particular the name of my favorite Christmas baby. History provides a great case against the belief that people are basically good and badness is an anomaly. Still, every year when I read the Christmas story in Luke 1-2, the part that amazes me is how God chose to come to earth.

I mean, come on, the God of the Universe. Creator of all things. Divine, holy, righteous, perfect, omniscient and all-powerful. If it were me, I'd have gone with a more comfortable route--perhaps descending from the clouds and immediately reclining on the nearest jewel-encrusted throne. My entrance would've been flashy--with an entourage of heavenly host and lots of human genuflecting in my direction.  I probably would've landed smack on TOP of King Herod's palace.

But God chooses a young teenager from a podunk farm town to carry His son to term. He antes up a step-dad who is a carpenter by trade, the original Joe Six-Pack.

Grand entrance? Before going into labor, Mary schleps to Bethlehem for some stupid government census (and if she hadn't have gotten knocked up by the Holy Spirit, she could've stayed home, but because of her condition and saving social face she has to accompany her intended to his ancestral home). The town is mobbed with people obeying Cesar's command and Joseph gets turned away--no place to stay. (Remember, this is Joseph's ancestral home--were the relatives too shocked by his pregnant teenaged fiancee to let them sleep in the back room? I always wonder...)

But! There's a barn, says the guy running the local brothel (an "inn" in Biblical times is NOT the modern-day equivalent of a Best Western). Go out back and take that empty stall. Luke doesn't tell us, but I bet the guy charged Joseph anyway--that's human nature, isn't it?

While Mary is pushing and straining to get the Lord of the Universe through her birth canal, angels are gearing up overhead. Angels must look like something humans cannot fathom--I believe this because every time they show up in the Bible, the first thing they always have to tell people is Don't be afraid. Jesus comes forth--Joseph wipes his brow with relief and Mary leans back exhausted and sweaty against a scratchy pile of straw.

And a heavenly host descends.

Here's my absolute favorite part of the story: the angels don't show up in Herod's throne room or scare the crap out of Cesar Augustus while he's feasting. They don't announce the birth of the Lord of the Universe to rich people or powerful people, temple scholars or the High Priest. Nope, they present the big birth announcement to shepherds, working in the fields that night. All of God's glorious bragging about the birth of His only son is sung out to a bunch of guys working third shift on the outskirts of town.

Why?

We know from reading on that later, when the Magi visit, King Herod goes mad with jealousy when he hears of prophecy fulfilled and a bunch of baby boys under the age of 3 get whacked. Incidentally, when the Magi visit, King Herod calls in the temple brain pool who agree that yes, Bethlehem is where the King of the World would be born, but they don't follow the Magi to visit, either.  Heck, they don't even send along an apprentice scribe to report back what the Magi end up finding.  I suspect the truth was and still is that rich and powerful people would've felt threatened or defensive by God's coming.  I argue that pride's the deadliest sin, the biggest barrier between man and God.

But ordinary folk, farmhands in the hillside of Bethlehem react quite differently. They immediately rush to the barn behind the brothel and find Jesus--I like to imagine their appearance.

Quietly and awkwardly they enter the stall and inquire--was a baby just born? A boy? Is it the Christ? Mary holds out the bundle of red-faced infant wrapped in rags, Joe Six-Pack steps aside and lets them take turns holding the baby, the third shift shepherds marveling in turn as we all do at a newborn's tiny perfection.

When they leave, they head straight downtown to tell everyone they could find of what they saw and heard. The reaction on the streets was "amazement."

In that first Christmas, God reveals himself to ordinary people, folks literally on the fringe of society. The guys alone in the fields watching animals on the outskirts of town.  The shepherds weren't important by society's standards, but they welcomed the announcement with enthusiasm.  The scholars, the pious leaders, the rich and powerful were too hampered by pride or greed to acknowledge His gift.  God knows who needs His promise and Jesus was born in a cold, dark cave for exactly those people--people with nothing to offer, nothing to lose. Christmas is about grace, humility and goodwill, love--the hard kind of love to folks who don't return it in kind and usually don't deserve it in the first place. Religion hasn't remained true to these ideals, but if you read the Bible's version closely you'll find the truth in the Christmas. Only someone divine would set aside all their power and glory to save lost souls and love them no matter what--no working for it, no earning it, no ritual, no sacrifice--God only wants people to believe and be amazed.  Just like the shepherds were.

Joy to the world!  First announced by a heavenly host to shepherds watching over their flocks by night.  If I was God, I would've worked it a whole lot differently--and that's what makes the Christmas story awesome.

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tradition

Last night the boys had their school Christmas program.  I cannot express to you how quaint this Catholic church is to me, the lavish old-fashionedness of it.  I tried to take a picture--to give you perspective, Mr. D and I were about halfway back on the far left side in one of the small pews.  It's always funny to me how people don't really "pack in" pews, they leave a lot of space between each other.  Mr. D and I were probably in a pew designed to seat 4, but no one asked to sit beside us so we had plenty of room.

The program always begins with little kids and moves up through the grades.  The small ones sing loud, enthusiastically and off-key.  Mr. G is looking serious as a snowman, isn't he?

Mr. B told me he had a solo--a big surprise!  I had NO idea he knew how to play the bells!  Yes, he's wearing his suit from Halloween.  My middle boy is a dandy.  His performance was perfect in front of all those people.

The program wrapped up with middle school kids--the girls self-important and the boys loathing the experience.  I must say, it was one of the best shows I've seen.  The final procession of the Nativity was nice.  There's something kind of sweet about seeing the same costumes worn by the angels, wisemen, shepherds and holy family year after year.  The 8th grade boys gave one of the best shows I've ever seen, the teacher let them "rock around the Christmas tree" dressed up like KISS. 

Afterward we had cookies and juice in the basement and admired the children's artwork.  Above is Mr. G's fine snowmen.  Below is the most hysterical picture of a cardinal I've ever seen.  No idea whose work it is, but it charmed me.

 

Tonight we rest from a week of too many late nights.  I've got a head cold and the boys are cashed.  We're breaking out the cookie cutters and a Christmas movie.  The Momvan is back in our garage with a brand new battery and all is mostly right in our little corner of the world.

Stay safe this weekend--and pray for those poor families in Connecticut. 

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blessed, really

It's inevitable that as soon as I think I've got a real strong grip on things around here, seams start busting apart.  Take, for example, Team Testosterone's pants.  I hate to shop, but I love that they're at a PS (parochial school) where they have to wear uniforms because that makes clothing them wicked easy.  Yet lately, every time I look at them, one's got a hole in the knees of his pants.  This morning I went through all their closets and now I've got a mending pile two feet high.  Enough to get me through a viewing of Love, Actually.  And I'm reminded to be thankful Team Testosterone is healthy enough to run and fall down and tear through the knees of their pants.  I imagine there are plenty of moms praying for children to roughhouse, and that makes me feel grateful for mine.

I have to mend holes, which is why I think there's nothing goofier than buying pants with holes already in them.

I had grand plans to catch up on editing and the loose ends of Christmas preparations this week, but I got called in to sub so those plans got shattered.  My plans got wrecked, but obviously the teacher who required my help has bigger problems than a list of errands to run.  Our biggest health concern around here these days can be fixed with tissues and Tylenol.  And I'm reminded to feel glad for the extra spending money right around the holidays...just in case.

funny thing about money and how it can slip through your fingers

Last night I had it going on!   Homework was done, house was tidied, laundry was sorted and ready to get handed out to its rightful owners.  I had book club and plans to pick up my book buddy by 5:00, so at 4:00 I headed out in the Momvan for burgers so Team Testosterone could dine in style.  While driving into town I ruminated on the State of the Household Budget and felt pretty darn lucky how we were ending the year.  Now if I can just make it through the next couple weeks without any impulse buying, home repair or car trouble...  Feeling on top of the world I ordered, pulled into the drive thru lane and turned off the Momvan to wait.  After the two cars ahead of me drove away, I turned the key in the ignition.

And nothing happened.

Flustered, I turned it again.  clickclickclickclickclick 

Naturally a girl's thoughts turn towards her car battery in this situation and I tested lights, radio, windows and all worked just fine.  The drive thru people came outside to see what was wrong--why wasn't I pulling ahead for my family pack of cheeseburgers (plain, 2 with only pickles thankyouverymuch) and fries.  They tried starting my car and even popped the hood.  I suspect they knew about as much as me about cars because they closed the hood after remarking that "everything looks clean under here."

Breathe.  Reach for cell phone and dial Al, my car guy, and ask for a tow.  Head inside to wait after turning on emergency flashers.  Appreciate the kindness of the crew at Tom's Drive In who tell me they'll remake my order after the tow truck gets there so my food is hot when I'm ready to leave. 

While I sit near a window and watch the traffic pass, the irony does not escape me.  I call my book buddy and tell her I won't be picking her up, but I hope to join everyone later.  I think about the State of the Household Budget and how there's a lesson about counting chickens and boy, could I go for some chicken tenders about now because I can smell them in the air.  I skipped eating earlier in the day to save up for the night ahead, so it all smelled good.  Up the road I think I see flashing lights--my tow truck?  No, the gaudy lights of the truck stop at the intersection, Christmas lights maniacally blinking blinking blinking.  I'm lucky.  This could have happened in worse places, like a parking ramp downtown when I was ready to head home after book club, long after Al's shop was closed for the night.  I'm lucky, I have extra money to get whateverthefrickiswrong fixed.  I'm lucky I have a place I can call and know they'll take care of me.  I'm lucky I have a cell phone.  I'm so blessed, really.

hot, savory fast food deliciousness that tastes just like chicken

Eventually Dave showed up, Al's right hand man, a tall skinny guy who reminds me of Mr. B's namesake (a childhood friend who died too soon) and he used his superior mechanical knowledge to get the Momvan started.  The crew at Tom's brought over fresh, hot food for my children.  Dave followed me back to the shop and handed me the keys for a loaner.  In the spirit of being behind the wheel of a Buick, I drove home five mph under the posted speed limit with hot food and not terribly late for book club because the laundry could wait until later.

Dave, who is kind and good and drives a tow truck

I'm thankful for perspective, for God's power to spin my attitude and thoughts in the right direction, especially when things don't go the way I plan.  I used to be that angry girl who'd stress out and scream and freak.  I'm blessed, really, to have become someone who can breathe, step back, keep calm and carry on.

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still counting

61.  really wonderful neighbors
62.  people who are enthusiastic about what they do
63.  exceptional customer service
64.  expert advice
65. grandparents who make the effort to connect with Team Testosterone
66.  fresh air
67.  Jesus
68.  a good night's sleep
69.  a comfy chair, a soft blanket, a reading lamp, interesting reading material
70.  a healthy compost pile
71.  every time I spend time in nature I discover something new that amazes me a little
72.  travel
73.  history
74.  architecture--especially the old buildings
75.  blacktop (we used to have a gravel driveway)
76.  bicycles
77.  fresh bread
78.  quirky locally owned places
79.  affordable health care & a doctor with common sense (true story:  When I asked for a prescription refill for my asthma meds, the nurse said I needed to visit the office.  After I explained that I've been on the same stuff for decades and I preferred to skip the visit, she said she'd talk to the doctor.  Two days later I had a message that my prescriptions were refilled, no office visit required.  Lovely!)
80.  girlfriends--the ones I can be real with whether we're drinking tea or wine

Travel safe if you're headed out today or tonight.

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letting it flow

This gratitude bubble is so fragile.  In a few days it will be so easy to burst it with greed and desire.  My attitude of discontent is one Pottery Barn catalog image away, you know.  I want my kids to wear matching sweaters while drinking hot chocolate (without roughhousing and spilling) out of oversized mugs with an elf-themed bunting draped across our mantel--and a leather couch!  And a color-coordinated cashmere throw!  And a floor lamp!  I'm keeping the beast at bay by recycling the catalogs and sales inserts, interrupting the TV commercials with directions to "go feed the dog" and, of course, leaving that gratitude wreath with the pintato in the middle of the kitchen counter. 

Be thankful first. 

41.  movies
42.  sunny days
43.  answered prayer
44.  carpools and the many favors I can give to and get from other parents
45.  dictionaries
46.  and a good thesaurus
47.  the magic of "first" moments--first snowfall, first thaw, first tiny shoots in the garden, first robin of spring time, first glimpse of a new moon
48.  inside jokes
49.  nicknames
50.  my sense of smell
51.  forgiveness
52.  grace
53.  the fabulous leaders helping me in the Yellow Cubbie Room on Tuesday nights, the great kids and their faithful parents
54.  mentors
55.  music (except hip hop, rap and death metal)
56.  running (holy crap, I cannot believe I included that one)
57.  volunteers
58.  theater  (especially APT)
59.  yoga
60.  heirlooms

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adding to that list

 Once you get rolling, it's easy to keep going on these gratitude lists.  I've thought of at least a hundred things I'm thankful for since Friday, but here's another 20:

21.  imagination
22.  laughter
23.  because of recent events, electricity
24.  which leads one to feel thankful for clean running water, of course
25.  and the ability to flush away dirty water (which I learned not to take for granted, either)
26.  space to garden
27.  swimming in the pool
28.  cross-country skiing in the winter
29.  traditions

30.  telephones
31.  the convenience of drive-up windows
32.  empty spots on our calendar
33.  cheese
34.  the NFL, but mainly the Packers
35.  letting go and watching my faith grow
36.  all the nice things people said to me after reading Whipped, Not Beaten
37.  time to write something new
38.  safety--we live in such a safe place
39.  feeling good about my kids' school
40.  the Momvan, terribly broken in and dented, but paid for and still running well

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giving thanks (20 at a time)

We aim to cultivate an attitude of gratitude at Chez Green Girl all year long, but especially during November.  The calendar indicates that it's time to start my annual list of what I feel particularly thankful for as we head into Thanksgiving: 

1.  the Bumble Book Club--one of the most kind, supportive, smart and wonderful group of women
2.  my writing group--Marni, Lauren, Nina and Mariana
3.  public radio
4.  the people who sacrifice their time to coach my kids
5.  karate
6.  my karate girlfriends--(and boyfriend)
7.  books (of course)
8. the view from every window of my house
9.  coffee (naturally)
10.  dark beer
11.  bloggy peeps and pals--the funny, the creative, the observant, the witty, the well-read, the kindred spirits and the sweethearts
12.  a room of my own, and, most of the time,
13.  an entire woods of my own
14.  trees
15.  plenty
16.  enough to spare so I can give some away
17.  online shopping
18.  healthy, well-adjusted sons
19.  music
20.  a funny, gentle-hearted dog who comes along with me for long walks

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stick it, kids!

This year I'm trying to keep the focus on THANKSGIVING all month, which means I have to go beyond a general refusal to shop/decorate/bake for Christmas in November.  It also means I have to resist the urge to ask my kids what they want for Christmas because that isn't exactly instilling an attitude of thanksgiving.  It means I have to keep the focus on gratitude because I want them to share my value.  (I could go on and on here about how an attitude of gratitude makes for happier, more content people.  It's true, but I'll save that lecture for another time.)

I placed a foam wreath on the kitchen counter and cut out a bunch of leafs from construction paper.  In the center of the wreath I set up my grandma's old pincushion (shaped like a tomato, total Old School Awesomeness) filled with straight pins.  I told Team Testosterone they could write anything they feel thankful for on a leaf and use a stick-pin to adhere it to the wreath.  Understanding my directions, they promptly began writing down things and sticking them to the wreath with abandon.

I told them they could do this ALL MONTH LONG, no restrictions.

I'm out of stick pins already.

The fascination MIGHT be more about the sticking with pins than it is about being truly thankful for the blessings in our life, but you know what?  I don't care.  At least they aren't writing lists of stuff they WANT, they're writing lists of stuff they HAVE and at some level I have to believe they're getting it, right?

Spill it, reader.  How do you keep the focus on Thanksgiving in November? 

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the good things

Finally some sunshine today--it's been the grumpiest weather lately.

A new haircut.  Kristy is a master.  We tried a blunt cut this time--she never cuts my hair the same way twice--and it's fresh and clean looking for the holiday season.  She also styled it with a flat iron device.  I've always wondered...and now having done this, it's not for me, but curiosity is satisfied.  (Now watch, everyone who sees me will complement me on my straightened hair and I'll feel compelled to go get me a flat iron device.)

Standing in Target debating on a new dryer rack since my old wooden one (that I owned for 20 years!) finally rotted through and died.  I finally grabbed the box and tried to open it when the woman standing next to me in the aisle said, "I have that one--it's good."  "How long have you owned it?" I asked.  "For years now.  I like it."  It was nice hearing her endorsement, so I bought it and I think I'll like it, too.

I never can remember the chocolate bar I like the best, but yesterday I remembered:

I only need a little nibble and it's satisfying enough.  A bar will last me 2 weeks.

Finding those stretchy gloves the boys like for $1 a pair.  (Notice the theme here?  Yes, I did go to market--my monthly shopping trip to Target.)  Naturally I stocked up.

Seeing the boys practice their karate.

Reading out loud and noticing the boys settling in and listening to the book.

A long, chatty phone call from a friend I haven't heard from in a while.

The bill from the garage door repair guy--it cost much less than I'd feared.  Not that I plan to drive into the garage door again anytime soon, but I was prepared to replace the entire door, so you might imagine my concern.

 Making and sticking to a meal plan for the week.  Our family meals have been QUALITY.  And I hatehatehate to cook (I know--I wrote a book about a woman who sells kitchen products--no sense at all), but everyone is eating, I'm making the boys pitch in and I'm forcing them to clear and help clean up.  Last night Mr. G helped me make meatballs and it was even--dare I say--pleasant standing at the stove smashing the meat into balls with his help.  I almost didn't let him help, wouldn't that have been stupid?  The job took half as much time and he was proud of all he did to contribute. 

Finding free straw for mulching my gardens over the winter months. 

Spill it, reader.  The good things.

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rainbows, sparkles and happy thoughts

This is the site of Mr. D's party last Friday.  Every year he throws a party for people he works with, this year was a bonfire party in the corner of the Back 40.  That tent looked pretty impressive from the road.  Over 70 cars were parked from the tree line to the road along the gravel drive that leads to the wetland project further back, Mr. D even rented a porta-potty and a beer wagon.  The weather cooperated and the fire was blazing.  As a bonus, I got a box of leftover white wine to bring home--yum!  The day after the party Mr. D and I returned to the fire to drink beer in the mist.  It really was a splendid fire in that huge pit TB dug for us.  

Speaking of the wetland project, I learned that special seeds are embedded in that mesh to keep them from washing away.  The mesh also prevents the berms from eroding.  The person I talked to thinks we'll see stuff growing in the springtime.

 

I promised yesterday to quit ranting and return with rainbows, sparkles and happy thoughts.  Bright flowers still bloom in my garden:

 

All kinds of colors on the clothesline--against a glorious blue sky:

Bright yellow birch leaves:

Lavender still thrives beside the driveway.  I need to harvest some more for drying.

Sparkles, however, are more difficult to come by.  I live with all boys.  People who want "dirt cake" for their birthday,  play with footballs and shoot various guns.  Nothing they own is embellished, bedazzled or sequined.  And I'm not a sparkly kind of woman.  Then I got to thinking about the cleaning and repairing tear I've been on around here and behold:

Windows that sparkle!  Yes, I finally finished that dreadful job yesterday--including washing the screens.  All that's left is making a dirt cake and running a load to the thrift shop tomorrow. 

Other happy thoughts: 
I have book club tomorrow night--we read Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn and it was amazing, fresh and brilliant.
We have leftovers so I still don't need to make dinner.
Mr. T's cross-country coach sent home each kid's record for the season, so we got to admire how he improved with each race.
Mr. B and Mr. G have their qualification test for their black belts on Saturday--the end is in sight.
We're down to single digits in our countdown to vacation.

Spill it, reader.  What's rainbow-y, sparkly or happy in your world?

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put down the paintbrush

I've got so many questions today. 

Where does paint go?  I mean, I bought a GALLON of paint (in "Baby Buttercup" for those of you who care) for the hallway and the first layer got SUCKED into the wall like I was painting a dry sponge.  We had the walls painted when we built this house...is there some sort of drywall absorption that I don't know about?  Does paint flake off over time and get swept away?  Does paint evaporate?  Did we have bad painters who skimped on the work first time around?

That gallon almost didn't make it through both coats.  I was down to scraping the bottom of the can.

Why do I think painting a room will be no big deal and then it ends up being a TOTAL big deal?  I've spent a day on this and I'm still not done cleaning up and "resetting" the room.  I've got pictures to hang up, a floor to clean and nasty bits of painters tape to scrape off.  And my shoulders hurt.  (Yeah, I totally typed that while using my whiny inner voice--should I have used italics?)  Hu-urt.   That's better.

Where were Opie's kids last night?  And his mother?  That seemed like an uncharacteristic lapse in the flawless continuity I've come to expect from Kurt Sutter.  Ashley Tisdale's guest role makes me applaud her agent.  Brilliant crossover role from Disney, isn't it?  Drama teen queen/fashionista on Disney TV to prostitute on Sons of Anarchy. I do so like Jimmy Smits as Nero.

My manuscript project got rejected.  I've come to expect that, sadly.  And I'm sitting on a really good novel, but I can't get anyone, not even my literary agent, take a look at it.  All this rejection makes it even less appealing to sit down and grind out revisions on my current manuscript.  Writing is desolate stuff, I tell you.

But I'm having another good hair day, I've got leftovers in the fridge so I can skip making dinner tonight and it's kind of nice outside, despite the fog.

Spill it, reader.  What questions do you have? 

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vices

It started Monday night while at karate class--the pain gripping my skull, twisting behind my ears, down my neck, across my forehead and even through my teeth made me want to vomit.  I shuttled the gang home early, skipping our 2nd degree lesson in a traditional Japanese-style open hand form which I shall phonetically spell as "Nung-duck-dong."  Or was it "Muck-luck-wong?"  I can't remember. 

Anyway, I woke up yesterday a snot-gobbling, aching, feverish wreck. Since the vise squeezing my head entitled me to a sick day on the couch, I contemplated what slothful vices to pursue.

Television seemed easiest, but did you know that even with 60-odd channels, there's not a damn thing interesting to watch in the morning? 

I thumbed through books, but the whole focusing on print made my stomach woozy.

My biggest vice is playing mah-jong on Mr. T's ipod touch, but Mr. D hid it from me (good call, he is wise indeed) and Mr. T changed his user password (another good move--these dudes don't stage interventions when I've got a gaming addiction, they just cut me off cold turkey).  No mah-jong for this mama.

Internet surfing?  Again with the focusing of the eyes and the stabbing painpainpain of the ol' noggin.  (Besides, is it just me or have people stopped posting much lately?)

I lay against my pillows too hepped up on cold medication to nap.  Perhaps a movie would entertain and relax my addled mind.  Something light and refreshing, no hard-edged drama, no kung-fu, no car chases, no deep reflection on the human condition. 

This is when I realized I have a weakness never before detected  Here's a list of the movies I considered watching:

Notting Hill
Love, Actually
Sense and Sensibility
Four Weddings and a Funeral
Bridget Jones's Diary
Bridget Jones:  The Edge of Reason
American Dreamz
Chocolat

That last film aside, do you see the trend? 

'Tis true.  I've got the Hugh Grant Film Collection in my DVD library.  (Except for Four Weddings and a Funeral, that's VHS, yo.)

Admit it, Green Girl, you have a thing for thing for foppish British fellows like me who blink excessively, stammer and run their hands through their thick brown hair.

Guess I do.  Who knew?

I blew my nose, adjusted the heating pad and indulged.  (Though it must be said that Rowan Atkinson totally steals scenes in Four Weddings.  And is it just me or was Andie MacDowell just flat and weird in that part?)  I prefer him best as Daniel Cleaver or William Thacker, how about you reader?

Thankfully I rallied by evening and was able to stay awake for my other, more disturbing vice, Sons of Anarchy.  (Loved how Opie returned to Jax's side.)  Today I'm running at 80% and thankful the pressure's off my head.

Spill it, reader.  What vices do you turn to when you take a sick day?

 

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