The Outsiders

Springtime is right around the corner.  I can feel it!

Have I ever told you that I live near a lake?  Like 1 mile away?  No?

The lake is one of the best around for kite surfing.  See them there in the background?

Also, we really *do* have red dirt in Oklahoma.  See the shore? 

Oh, and lookie here at our new "tandem" bike.

Here's hoping Springtime is right around *your* corner too!

BragBragBragBragettyBrag

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Today I'm participating in a "Link-Up" with one of my favorite bloggers, Hollywood Housewife.  Laura is a family friend of my husband's.  Which means we're connected in a "6-ways-to-Kevin-Bacon" sort of way.  Laura grew up in the same rural part of Oklahoma as Dave, and now she's living in Los Angeles married to her husband-the-famous-movie-producer.  What a life!  You really should click on over and explore her site.  She's lovely.

Laura had specific instructions for our blog post, namely, we had to BRAG ABOUT OURSELVES *gulp*.

This Friday I'm hosting a link up with an assignment entitled Brag Book. I want you to toot your own horn. Shout your strengths.

It's not a lesson in boasting, the point is to take pride in something about yourself - small or large, it doesn't matter - and let us appreciate it about you. It's counter intuitive to what we're taught. For some reason we're supposed to pretend that everything we do well just "happens," and that it would be rude or presumptuous to act otherwise.
 But this wintery week, let's sit up straight, hold our heads high, and boldly brag.

I have ruminated about this for A WEEK.  I thought for a few days and could come up with NOTHING brag-worthy about myself.  It's not that I lack self confidence, or that I have the personality of dry Melba toast, it's just that, I do most things alright (housekeeping, mothering, blogging), and some things I even do well (budgeting, decorating), but none of those things are so outstanding that they stood out as a brag-worthy quality.

Other things seemed somehow off-limits when it comes to bragging.  For instance, I come from a long line of fast-learners.  I remember in college I could sit in class, take notes, and then review the notes an hour before a test and pass with flying colors.  I never studied hard.  I didn't have to.  But is this a quality one can really brag about?  Didn't I just "get lucky" genetically speaking?  It's as if God thought fat thighs were enough for me to deal with, so he gave me a quick brain.

I finally resorted to asking my husband what he thought I should write about.  Tragically, he stared at me for a full MINUTE before finally answering: "You are an EXCELLENT husband picker". 

Um, thanks honey.

Then I asked my mother.  My own MOTHER could only come up with "you are an excellent hostess".  And that weak answer came after several long minutes of waffling around. 

Finally, I asked my best friend.  She answered without the slightest hesitation "You are a phenomenal story-teller".

Yes! That's it! Jackpot!

I *am* indeed an excellent story teller.  I can take a mundane everyday incident and spin it into a dramatic tale full of flair and spice.  Sometimes, when my plans have gone tragically off course (sick child, traffic jam, hair catches on fire), I secretly imagine the story I'll be able to tell if I survive the day.

My dad's side of the family was known for their embellished tales.  I remember as a child listening at the door during holiday gatherings while my aunts and uncles competed (with voices growing louder and louder) for the spotlight to tell their best and funniest story.  I know for a fact my dad would SAVE UP a good story for such occasions.

I suppose I come by it honestly.  Now, when I'm out with my friends, if the conversation starts to lag, they'll turn to me and say "Do you have any good stories?".

And I always oblige. 



P.S. Here's one, and here's another, and another, and one more.

Rumble

We woke this morning to a thunderstorm.  Thunderstorms are probably the biggest reason I will never be able to live away from the plains.  I cannot go very long without the rumble of thunder waking me from my sleep.  There is something weirdly cathartic about it.  I visited London years ago during March (the stormy season here in Oklahoma) and I remember being caught off guard when it rained and poured there with nary a lightening strike.  On the day I arrived back on Oklahoma soil I remember letting out an audible WOOT! when I heard the familiar thunder in the distance.  Ahhhh.  The sound of home.

Since it was storming this morning, I encouraged Paige to have a tea party. 

It didn't take too much encouragement.  Paige loves any reason to party.

She invited friends (of the stuffed variety), and served them all teacakes (nutrigrain bars) and black tea (water) with cream (more water).  I was actually sort of impressed at her ability to pretend.  Having mock conversations with the bear about the quality of the food and with the pig about the temperature of his tea ("It's too hot! Blow Mr. Pig!").


Please note the napkin in Mr. Pig's lap.  Such manners!

 The tea party came to an end just as the sun miraculously came out.  I let Paige put on her rain boots and head out toward the nearest puddle.  As you might imagine, in mere minutes she was not only soaked from head to toe, but also FILTHY. 

*Ahem* Waterlogged pants tend to sag.

After a quick lunch it was off to a bath, and then a nap.

Just minutes after I closed Paige's bedroom door, the sun disappeared again.  It's as if it just came out long enough to entertain my kid.

And me.

And now, YOU.

Eureka!

Join me for a sandwich epiphany, won't you?

I gave birth to the World's Pickiest Eater.  His name is William and OMG he's picky.  I could go on and on about the very few things this kid will eat.

Seriously, I could go on and ON.  And on.

So every single weekday I make William the same. exact. lunch.  Because I have NO other options.  Every day he gets a peanut butter and honey sandwich, Sunchips, and an apple juice box.  Every day.  The same.  Always.

And up until a few weeks ago, I was making his lunch during the busy hubbub of the morning.  I figured I couldn't make his sandwich the night before since the honey would ooze into the bread and make it all soggy.

And then someone on Facebook (Thanks Lyn!) suggested I simply put the peanut butter on BOTH halves of the bread, thus creating a protective layer between bread and the honey.

What we have here is SANDWICH SCIENCE, people.

Allow me to illustrate:

Start with bread (DUH!). Whole grain of course.

Spread peanut butter on BOTH halves. This is the barrier!

Next add your honey (or jelly, whatever).

See? The honey can't go anywhere!  SANDWICH SCIENCE!

And, um, here's the sandwich.  I don't really think you needed this picture.

Did the rest of you know this already?  Are you rolling your eyes at me? 

Or are you just astounded that I'm taking up valuable space on the Internet talking about sandwiches?

Ronald

Today my William was out of school for President's Day.  Strangely, Paige's Mother's Day Out program was open, so Will and I dropped her little hiney off and made big plans to to go to the zoo.  Just the two of us.

Except is was downright FRIGID today.  The wind! OMG the wind!

I decided to distract William from the zoo by taking him to the Target toy aisle and letting him spend his Valentines money ($10 from Gramma and Grandpa).

At lunchtime I asked William if he wanted to brave the temperatures and head out to the zoo.  His reply?
"I think I'd rather go to McDonald's and play on the playground." I'm serious.  The kid would rather play on the germ riddled playground of what is likely the most repugnant fast food chain than go the zoo.  The zoo!

But my choices were a) go to *gag* Mcdonald's or b) walk around in the freezing cold looking at freezing cold animals.

I picked option "a".  With one caveat, I made William wait while *I* ate lunch at home, because eeeew McDonald's.

Cheeseburgers have a strange power over this boy.

So I sat and watched while William devoured a cheeseburger (which took all of 13 seconds)  Then I took out my Kindle and read while he played on the icky, germy playground.  And as I sat there FOR AN HOUR, I saw my boy make friends with every single kid on that playground.  He'd greet them with 'hello' and give them his name.  Then he'd make suggestions. Perhaps they'd play hide and seek?  Or tag?  Follow the leader?

He was like a playground cruise director.  Shuffleboard on the forward deck, anyone?

The PCD himself.

Seeing him on that playground today made me love him even more.  Who knew that was even possible?

Henry's Girlfriend

Do you think Paige adores neighbor Henry? 

::swoon::

What was your first clue?

Here KittyKitty

I took the baby* to the zoo today.

When we arrived at the "small cats" exhibit, Paige was especially enamored with a pretty Egyptian cat with wispy ear hair. The cat paced back and forth back and forth next to the window where Paige was watching with rapt attention.

After several minutes Paige turned to me and said (in almost a whisper) "I want this cat. I will name her Rainbow Sparklepants."

To be fair, it really WAS a pretty cat.

I didn't have the heart to tell Paige that Rainbow Sparklepants would love nothing more than to eat her for dinner.

*At what point must I stop calling her "the baby"?  I assume the answer is NEVER since my mother-in-law still calls Dave's brother The Baby and he will be THIRTY this April.