Excerpt from the Raven

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by Horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

The Raven, Edgar Allen Poe
Gustave Dore art "Is there Balm in Gilead?"

Favorite and Fashion Faux Pas

Currently, I'm listening to my Spooks playlist and listening to Felix howl like a wolf on the Little Red Riding Hood song. Cute.

Today is Tuesday, which is pretty much my favorite day of the week at work. On Tuesdays, I have three kindergarten classes, one Special Ed class, and the rest of the day is considered a planning day. We (my teacher and I) listen to Frank Sinatra, Natalie Cole, or whatever else just happens to grab our attention. My lovely teacher, who is actually a REAL certified teacher so she has ACTUAL work on Tuesday (lesson plans), but I get to do what she calls "paper dolls". I call it "doing bulletin boards". I didn't realize how much I would enjoy this, and I get slightly carried away with what I get to do (imagine that). For instance, for October I had a big scarecrow and a big pumpkin that was laminated. I did a yellow background and orange edging. I decided that I would make "curly" grass (made from construction paper with the edges curled with scissors). Staple, staple, staple. Old school scarecrow is super-cute; he has the movable legs (I'm sure you can picture this scarecrow; nearly every family I knew in the early 80's had either the scarecrow or the witch with movable legs on their front door), so I make him look like he's dancing. Still, it kind of looks very... ordinary. Can't have that. I decide to make a haystack. Make a haystack. Don't like the haystack. So I decide that a cornstalk will be better. Make cornstalk with silky things hanging from cobs. Staple, staple. Hmmm... Old Pete (I've given the scarecrow a name) needs a fence behind him. Remove Pete, pumpkin, but not cornstalk. Make a fence. Staple, staple. Put Pete and pumpkin back. Staple, staple. Hmmm... (when I say, "hmmm...", this translates to at least five minutes of my head cocked to the side, quizzical look on my brow, and squinting my eyes to see what else I think my bulletin board needs). I had borrowed some colored chalk from the art teacher earlier that morning and, even though I had never shaded with chalk before, I set to work. Blue sky over yellow background, with orange and pink fading out at the top. Shade the fence with black and put a couple of knotholes in it. Shade the cornstalk with yellow, brown, and grays. Add additional long, grass blades behind curly grass. Finished, with my hands and fingernails filthy and chalk all over my clothes. But I love the look. And I enjoyed myself immensely. Not artwork, mind you, but not hideous. What next? Our school is doing a "Bee Drug-Free" (which makes me a little sad-they're in K-5 and 1st grade!) door contest, so I'm thinking a GIGANTIC (my teacher teased about my word choice earlier today) bee with GIGANTIC grass, and GIGANTIC (see why she teased me?) flowers. Maybe the bee has on a cute bow-tie or something.

On a completely different note:
We have a highschool helper on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Our helper is a very cute 16-year old girl who always has cute hair and awesome purses. She's very stylish. Which is why what she wore today concerned me GREATLY:

She. Had. On. Acid. Washed. Skinny-leg. Tapered. Jeans.

Let us all scream collectively. I'm having remembrances of this:

That hair was my dream hair day in 1989.
I asked her if she was wearing acid-washed jeans. To which she replied, "Yeah, aren't they cool?" Uh, no. She was also wearing Air-walk slip-ons with hearts on it. Hello, I'm screaming, "Is it REALLY coming back to eighties fashion?" If I start curling my front bangs and using excessive amounts of hairspray, just shake your head and gently lead me away. Take the orange face tinter out of my hands and wipe the crystallized pink lipstick off my mouth. Tell me you love me, but you're not going to let me do it. Relive the eighties, that is.

I think I remember saying the same thing about flared pants.
Oh, crap.

AW, YEAH (say that in a rapper kind of way- practice it now)

My most productive time of the year (craftily speaking) is approaching quickly. Usually, I would defer the privilege of changing my blog until October 1st, but since that's Wednesday, and since that's a weekday, and since I'm insanely busy during the week, you're getting the Halloween stuff early.

And since I had such huge demand last year for my Halloween playlist (well, in my house anyway -sans hubby- who rolls his eyes at me during most of the month of October), it will make it's 2008 debut shortly.

AND, if you're reading this on Facebook and wondering, "What the heck is she talking about? I'm looking at a boring, white, Facebook page." Then, my dears, scroll down and click on "View Original Post" and, voila!, you will be at my magical, Halloweeny-flavored blog. UNLESS, of course, you hate Halloween, then don't. I like Halloween. A little.

You can bet there will be monster pizzas made this month, as well as caramel apples, hopefully some delicious apple cider

Hot Cider

2 qts. apple cider
½ cup brown sugar
¼ tsp. salt
Wrap the following ingredients in cheesecloth:
1 tsp. whole allspice
1 tsp. whole cloves
Dash nutmeg
3” stick cinnamon
Slowly bring to a boil, cover, simmer for 20 minutes. Take out spices.

will be made from a recipe that I got from Marsha's blog, and YOU KNOW I'm gonna read a ton of Edgar Allen Poe (and probably quote it on here- lucky you).

Yea! I love this time of year.

And to just kick things off (ahem):

"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there.'"

(You may now do an evil Bwahahahaha laugh...)
The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt

Help My Unbelief

I know the Lord is nigh, I would but cannot pray
for Satan meets me when I try and frights my soul away.

I would but can't repent, though I endeavor oft
This stony heart can ne'er relent 'til Jesus makes it soft.

I would but cannot love, though wooed by love divine
No arguements have power to move a soul as base as mine.

I would but cannot rest, in God's most Holy Will
I know what He appoints is best, and murmur at it still.

Help my unbelief, my help must come from Thee.

I love this song; it nails me right on the head. I avoid it at times (as I tend to avoid self-contemplation) because I don't want to think about how stubborn I am, or how much I need Him. And yet, I still have the verses floating around and reminding me of my own pride and unbelief. This skin is quite frustrating.

Pedometer

Yesterday evening, I trekked over to the seminary to join the other seminary wives for Mrs. in Ministry. I enjoy this Bible Study so much; meeting with other ladies who are in our situation (broke and in school) and having the opportunity to encourage one another, pray, laugh, and sing together. I arrived a few minutes late (had to take movies back to the library on the way) and slid in to join the group for singing. I was seated close to the back door and settled in for the speaker, who's husband was on staff at the seminary, as she talked about hospitality. Suddenly, there was a low beep-beep beep-beep sound. I was glad I remembered to turn off my phone and ignored it. Then the other women around me start looking around, trying to find the beeping. Is it me? It can't be me! I pick up my enormous purse and put it up to my ear (yeah, looking crazy is always your best bet), just to see if it WAS me. Sure enough, inside my purse was the culprit. I slipped out the back door to find the annoying thing and remembered that I had been given a pedometer at school by the P.E. teacher, who had had some extras. Let me just say, I hate digital pieces like watches and pedometers because I can never figure what buttons to push to make it do what I want. However, the pedometer the P.E. teacher gave me was brand new AND included instructions. I piddled with it for about 10 minutes in class, got frustrated because the instructions were NOT GOOD, and put it in my purse to let my dear husband figure it out. And then promptly forgot I put it in there. Until last night, that is. Once outside, I fished out the beeping culprit and pushed buttons until it turned off. Slipped back in (except that I had escaped out a door that locks automatically behind you and had to knock to be let back in- yes, more attention on me during a speaker, please) and sat down in my seat by the door. A couple of minutes float by and I'm enjoying the speaker, who is telling funny stories. Beep-beep beep-beep. Argh! Again? I lean over, fish it out of my purse again and push buttons until it turns off (knowing I'm not fixing it). Then I get up, open the back door, and toss it outside. Stifled giggles are heard around me. I sit back in my chair and feel like a complete moron (who can't turn off a pedometer, for cryin' out loud). Listening to the speaker... funny stories... good ideas for serving unexpected guests dinner... beep-beep beep-beep beep-beep beep-beep. More stifled giggles. I do the "Are you kidding me?" face. I did not throw it far enough apparently, because, though it is muffled, it is still loud enough for everyone to hear. Sigh. I decide to ignore it and am silently willing for everyone else to pretend not to hear it. It eventually stops. And periodically beeps one time every 10 minutes or so until the speaker finished. I step outside, pick it up and put it back in the depths of my purse (you know, so that there can be future embarrassing events), and join the other ladies who have laughter in their eyes.

True story.

Quotable

I haven't had time to read blogs in two days. This is driving me nuts. I like for all of my blogs on Google Reader to be "marked as read", but I cannot actually mark them as read until I actually read them. Secret. I'm neurotic. This is driving. me. crazy. MUST READ BLOGS TOMORROW. I'm going to bed in a moment, but I thought I'd share a quotable with you.

Little girl to me at school today. Please remember I live in Mississippi.

"Mrs. Hee-ihl"
"Yes, sweet girl?" That's what I call all the little girls when I cannot remember their names. Don't scoff. There are 730 kindergarten and first graders at my school.
"I know whaiy your naa-ame is Mrs. Hee-ihl."
"Why darlin'?"
"'Cuz you werr hi hee-ihls evry day. That's whaiy."
All of the other little girls nodded in amazement at her genius. I just smiled and said, "That's right!" And no, I have not given up heels at work, despite their discomfort on my feet. They're just too pretty NOT to wear. I do bring flip flops to change into though.

Kids say the darndest things...

Star-Spangled Patriotism and Sponge Rollers

As, I'm sure, you well know, our country has celebrated two monumentous anniversaries this week. Now, I see the puzzled looks on your face and I'm surprised. Doesn't everyone celebrate the 194th anniversary of the writing of the Star-Spangled Banner by Francis Scott Key (or, as the kindergarteners say, "Mr. KEEEEEEEEY") on the fourteenth of this month and Constitution Day, celebrated on the eighteenth? (crickets chirping) Well I, in my righteousness, have celebrated them both to their limit these past two weeks. I have listened to the Star-Spangled Banner over 100 times (NOT an overexaggeration), This Land is Your Land 32 times (at least), and read Robert Sabouda's (fabulous pop-up books) America the Beautiful 31 times. I'm feeling very patriotic and maybe a little tired of the Star-Spangled Banner. I do have motions for both the Star-Spangled Banner (using red and blue picnic plates) and This Land is Your Land, if you're interested in learning them for your own enrichment. Sometimes, I like to practice them at home to be reminded of my patriotism.

Yesterday afternoon, as the family set out for a evening of fun (hey, my kids think that the library, the grocery store, and Mexican food is fun), we drove through the bank to get a leetle bit of cash. The woman two cars in front of us had to get out of her car to retrieve her cash (she was too far away from the machine, I guess) and Quinn nudged me to look at her. She was a middle-aged woman, with sweats on and enormous, green, plastic rollers in her hair. I smiled and said, "maybe she's gotta hot date."
"She doesn't look like she'd have a hot date."
"Maybe she wants to look nice for her husband." He shot me a look. "Would you go out like that?"
Well, friends, I'll tell you. Recently, to avoid showering in the morning and drying and hot-rolling my mass of hair, I've been showering in the evening, applying some sort of product to my hair (I'm a product junkie), and then rolling my hair in rags. And by rags I mean an old, torn-into-strips-dishcloth that I roll a thick strand of wet hair up in and tie in a knot at the top of my head. I sleep on it and the next morning, I have glossy, very curly, curls. I like it, except that sometimes it's too curly. The first time I did it, I sat down next to Quinn on the couch, with my pile of rag strips, and set to it. He inquired what I was doing, to which I told him, and then when I was done he said, "sexy." Oh yeah, in an 18th century kind of way. I've been eyeing sponge rollers in the store recently, thinking they might be nice to have to sleep in. I realize, if you're a man, this is your nightmare. The next step is a heavy, green, facemask that smells a little weird. However, it is very nice to eliminate such an arduous task in the morning. So (now referring to previous story) while I would never INTEND to leave the house with rollers in my hair, I can see how it might happen. You shower in the morning, knowing about plans in the evening. You roll your hair in big plastic rollers, knowing you're not leaving the house for the day, and will not see other humans. You realize, after your hair is dry, but positive that the curls have not set, that you forgot to run to the bank to get cash for your plans in the evening. You talk yourself into running to the bank, knowing you won't have to get out of the car, just to get cash. You pull in too far away from the ATM machine and have to get out of the car and the guy two cars behind you laughs at your rollers. Yes, I can see that happening to me. And then I can see me pulling through Chic-Fil-A on the way home to get a chocolate milkshake. Because that guy hurt my feelings.

I currently am typing this post with enormous, hot rollers in my hair. And I'm out of hairspray, (EEK! The horror! I hate being out of hairspray) I have to leave them in for a long time to let the curls set. Maybe I could just run to the store for a second...

Shameless Cookie Dough Sales On My Blog

Yes, yes... I know that I'm ridiculously putting my son's fund-raiser on my blog, but the cookie dough sales have been successful around here so far, so I thought (instead of individually, personally telling everyone the flavors we have) I'd put the different flavors of dough and the cost of each on the blog so if there are any takers, you can leave me a message and I can respond to you individually then.

As for friends in Canada, California, New England, and FL: I'm sorry, but I will be unable to personally deliver cookie dough to you. Find your own cookie dough. Friends in Mississippi and Alabama: buy. I will deliver. You heard me right, Alabama friends, I will personally deliver your cookie dough (well, I'll bring it to your state-you may have to meet me). Who needs an excuse to visit my home church? ME.

The cookie dough is available in three pound tubs for $12 (unless you order the pre-portioned cookies, which are-ahem-rip-off $14 for half the cookie dough). Also, if you'll need to add $.60 for each tub you order, that will take care of tax. The flavors that are available are:

Oatmeal Raisin
White Chocolate Macadamia Nut
M&M's
Chocolate Chunk
Sugar
Peanut Butter
Snickerdoodle
Walnut Chocolate Chunk
Reese's Peanut Butter Cup (which is a 2.75 pound tub instead of 3 pounds)
Triple Chocolate

The pictures look REALLY good, but, alas, I cannot show you. Trust me. The checks need to be made to Northside Elementary School. The fund-raiser is over on September the 24th. The orders will come in on October 20th.

Quirky Wishes

I've been tagged by Missy and Virginia to tell you six quirky things about me. Hmmm... I'm neurotic and must explain my neuroticness in all my posts, so I've decided to change the tag a bit and tell you six things I wish I were or had or desired.

I wish I were a natural skinny person instead of a thinnish person with a fat girl screaming to get out. "LET ME OUT! I WANT MORE ICE CREAM. EAT MORE BREAD. NOBODY CARES IF YOU DRINK CHOCOLATE SYRUP OUT OF THE BOTTLE. LET'S EAT COOKIE DOUGH." The skinny girl would say things like, "Oh, I'm full. I couldn't have another bite." or... "Oh, Thank you for your sweet compliment, I've always just had a really fast metabolism."

I wish my van didn't smell a little bit like throw-up. I also wish I weren't used to the smell and didn't notice people cringing and rolling down the window when they got in my car.

I wish I weren't so obsessive about stuff. Last night, on my run, I sang the Oompa Loompa song from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for a solid hour. And only a little bit of it, "Oompa, Loompa doopidee do, I've got another puzzle for you." That's it. That's all I could remember. So I kept singing it over and over. And I'm reading Anne of Green Gables again. I love it. It's my "go-to".

I wish I desired to learn as much as Quinn does. He's so motivated. I'm so... not.

I wish my hair weren't going gray. And not just gray-straight-hair-gray, but gray-kinky, wild-looking, witch-hair-gray. I've always pictured myself looking a little bit like Witch Hazel from Bugs Bunny with her hair all sticking out and the hairpins flying out of her hair everytime she jumped up. Except that she has black hair in this picture. I love her. If I ever look like that, then, PLEASE tell me that I'll have the laugh that goes with it. And a large, pointy, black hat. Just to scare people. I'm sure Quinn will be so pleased.

I wish I had cowboy boots. I want to wear them tomorrow.

The End.

Twin Lakes (but not in Moody, AL)

Yesterday, Quinn and I took the boys to a great place called Twin Lakes. We went with our friends, Lincoln and Melinda Speece (and their three kids), and Brad and Carrie Mills (and their three kids). Three seems to be a popular number. Anyhoo, we had a fabulous time. Twin Lakes is owned and maintained by First Presbyterian Church in Jackson, MS and they do not skimp on quality, baby. I think it's technically a retreat center that people can rent for churches or organizations, but you can also call ahead and see if your family can go for the day. Which we did.

Also, if you are reading about any mishaps that may have happened to me, nothing did (except for that I'm nectar to the mosquito gods- I was wearing mosquito repellant for goodness sake) so be disappointed in my lack of clumsiness. I'm rejoicing. Also the title would've been called something like, "Why I Don't Go Outside, Reason #43" or "Tips to Remember: Never Get in a Canoe with Overanxious Children". Ah, but I have a boring, informative title, so I will just share some pictures and you can hope I will injure or embarrass myself at another time.


There were swings that had ropes that were hooked to the top of the trees. And, WOW, they were fun. The children (and, ahem, the grownups) had a blast on them.





Carrie Mills and her baby girl, Caitlin, and, below, Lauren and Helena are amazed by a huge spider.



All the children enjoyed one another. Below are Lauren, Maddie Paige, and Helena.



Quinn, Lincoln, and Brad are so manly with their rope and paddles.

Bringing in the Lady of Shallott, otherwise known as Melinda.



Carrie, Melinda, and me


There were small platforms that used a pulley system (that the children could operate) that took us to...


Hammock Island! Oh yeah, baby. Let's go to the land of Hammocks.


Lincoln and Melinda


If you'd like to see the whole album, you can look here and here.

But My Shoes Look Good

On Wednesdays, I go to Corin's (my eldest) school to eat lunch with him. I have approximately 30 minutes-ish to do this. It's all very rushed, but I enjoy that his school is close enough for me to do this. We get to sit at a table all by ourselves and chat. This is unlike my school, where I join Silas' class and endure questions about Super Foods.

As I was finishing up lunch with Corin (read: noticing that I was going to be clocking back in after lunch too late), I jet back to my school, where I am five minutes over my allotted time for lunch and ten minutes from my next music class. I walk quickly to the back door of the hall I usually enter through. It's locked. I could walk around (on the sidewalk) to the next hall where I know the library door is locked, but I decide to cut through the grass to the library instead (shortcut). I take a few steps through the grass and thought that it wasn't as wet as I thought it would be from our heavy rain we had yesterday (we had a flash flood in our neighborhood and two of our classrooms at school flooded). I saunter on. The grass starts becoming sporadic grass tufts and dirt (translate:mud) I choose not to turn around (because, uh, I'm lazy) because I am closer to the library door than the sidewalk. I start having to hop from one grass tuft to the next. And then the inevitable happens: I'm on a grass tuft with more grass tufts too far away and mud all around. I hear, "That's not a good idea!". A teacher's aide has seen my dilemma and is now waiting on the sidewalk (I assume to watch me make a fool of myself, but I shall say she was waiting to help). I have incorporated, unfortunately, an audience. "Ya think?" is what I want to respond, but I withhold sarcasm (I don't really know her very well) and respond with a laugh and say, "I learn something new everyday!" She waits as I look for my precarious next step. I take a step and "squuuiiish", there goes my shoe (fuchsia patent leather flats) in the mud and the bottom of my khakis. Crap. I pull the muddy shoe out and stand on my other foot, trying to take off the soiled shoe. Bare foot goes in the mud. I lose my footing (of course) and my other shoe slips in the mud. (low growl) I balance myself on my bare foot (nearly to my ankles in the mud) to take off the other pink shoe. Then, since I'm nearly late to class and WAY overdue to clock in, I book it to the sidewalk, mud splattering my pants and squishing underneath my feet. I make it to the sidewalk and survey the damage, wondering how in the world I'm going to de-mud myself. Superhero (da dah!) teacher's aide steps in, "there's a hose right there." I decide to rinse off my feet and pants (nice) and then run in the building to clock in. I sprint through the library with bare feet and run past my music class in the hall, making their way to the music room. "Mrs. Hill, why you running?" "Mrs. Hill, you're not wearing any shoes!" "Mrs. Hill, why aren't you in music class?" I wave at the children and make it to the time clock. I clock in 15 minutes late and am a mere two minutes away from class time. I sprint back through the hallway, through the library, back to the sidewalk outside, where my lovely teacher's aide is waiting beside my purse (dear lady). I am about to turn the hose on my lovely pink shoes when the teacher's aide says, "DON'T do that! I'll go get you some wipes." She runs inside and I run to take my purse to my class and do a short explanation to my music teacher. My music class is making their way up the hall to the classroom. I run back outside where the teacher's aide is bringing me wipes saying, "You don't want to ruin your shoes." I'm glad she was there. I think I would've hosed myself entirely if she had not been there and thought of the consequences when I was dripping.

I make it back to my music class just in time to turn on the CD player and dance to "Run, Molly, Run" with the children. I'm no worse for wear, not counting, of course, my wet, muddy pants, my messy hair, sweating face, and heavy breathing.

But my shoes look good.

Fund-Raiser

Today. I lost Silas' fund-raiser stuff. It's due tomorrow. Annoying. And very stressful. I've looked and looked for it and even came home for 30 minutes during my work day to see if I could find it. Alas, no such luck. My TENDENCY, when I do something like this (or other things that stress me out), is to eat. Weird stuff or not weird stuff. And not really taste it.

So... today.

I ran five miles this morning (thank goodness)
Drank two cups of coffee and ate GoLean Crunch. (not too bad)

Forgot to eat my 10am boiled egg. Got too hungry. Went home during a planning session to try to find fund-raiser stuff again. Pfft. Slivered off chocolate mousse cake (nearly without comprehension or conciousness) until I needed to leave to go to school. Sans fund-raiser stuff.

Repressed urge to get a gyro on the way back to school from the little Greek stand down the road. Small victory.

Ate half of a Payday that my teacher gave to me and half of a piece of banana bread (also that she gave to me) 30 minutes before lunch.

Was not hungry (anymore) but still ate my lunch of chicken and rice with raw spinach (good lunch, but I wasn't hungry). I ate with Silas (and his class) and endured questions about "Super Food" the entire time. Sidenote: Last Tuesday, when I ate with Silas, I discussed "Super Foods" with the children. I love to eat them and encourage others to eat them as well. We go through a big thing of raw spinach a week. Well, the children like to ask questions like, "Is this a super food?" or "Is that a super food?" I thought that we had exhausted all possibilities for super food discussion last week. I was wrong.

Came back to room and ate a handful of Peanut M&M's. Hello, I love Peanut M&M's, but 1/4 a cup is a serving and it is 220 calories. Good grief. Peanut M&M's are not a Super Food, by the way.

Drank two big glasses of water to try to disable my guilt. Not working.

Came home from work, with my piano student, and listened to all the children scream (I think they called it "playing") while I munched (still not hungry) popcorn and slivered more cake. Still, the gnawing guilt of unknown hiding place of fund-raiser stuff frustrates me. I half-heartedly looked again in my house, knowing it's not there, and stuffed my mouth full of cake. Pooh. Did piano lesson with my the little boy. He left. I fixed dinner (well-chicken nuggets and fries from the freezer) and the boys sit down to do their homework.

In leui of dinner (I very righteously decide to pass on dinner), I nibble on the boys' leftovers and then (oh, the shame) ate the rest of the fries on the cookie sheet alternating each fry with (ahem) either a spoonfool of mint-chocolate chip icecream (with the fry stuffed in the ice cream), a spoonful of homemade whipped cream (supposed to go with the chocolate mousse cake), or drizzled with chocolate syrup. Yes. I realize this sounds repulsive. I don't really remember what it tasted like.

I decide to go look in the car (again) for the fund-raiser stuff. And found it almost immediately. (I had put it under the passenger seat so I wouldn't FORGET TO BRING IT TO WORK). Sigh.

I think I'll go drink a big glass of water.
And do some situps.

Wired

I've just whirled about the house, humming a happy tune, tidying up before I set off to dreamland (let's not talk about the crazy nightmares right now). Now, I'm happily sighing and smiling to myself that my beautiful, delightful, well-behaved children are asleep, my house is clean as a whistle, and my husband is looking at me adoringly.

Yeah, I'm pretty wired.

Thought I'd blog for a second to focus.

Focus.

Fooooo-cuuuuuus.

That works SO good.

Tidbits from today:

Mondays are the worst days ev-uh (Felixism). Now I know why Garfield hates them so much.

Corin acts crazy when a girl (of any age-except for Annika Clayton- who's practically a boy) comes to our house. He either won't talk or acts like he is an uncontrollable animal. We had one of Quinn's former students over for dinner tonight and Corin was the second one.

Felix asked our guest tonight, with a sheet full of dinosaur stickers in his hand, "Linsey, you want one powuhs or four powuhs (that word would be 'powers')?" She looked at me and I translated. He then decided for her, "you take one powuhs and I take four powuhs." Okay then. Perhaps she can be connived into babysitting.

Silas has picture day tomorrow. And art. And this week they've chosen painting for art class. Good choice for school picture week. I'm sure the parents are appreciating that. Poor Silas can't eat supper over his plate. How in the world am I expecting the collared shirt I have pressed for him to come home without paint smeared all over it? Give it up, Kim.

I made Elizabeth McGinnis' cornbread for dinner. Heavenly. Of course I'll share the recipe.

2 (count'em) sticks melted butter
2 cups self-rising cornmeal
2 cups of buttermilk
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 eggs

Combine all ingredients. Pour into hot, oiled skillet or greased, square baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for approximately 40 to 45 minutes. And, yeah, the butter is awesome. Don't even think about weight-watcher points. I'm ignoring the half-piece I ate for supper.

That was good focus time and now I'm off to bed. Tomorrow's another busy, busy day.
And away we go.

Macey McKay

I took some pictures last weekend of my new baby niece, Macey McKay. Thought I'd post a few. For those of you who know her, Macey is Kerri's newest daughter and Kerri is the sister of my husband.




She's a cutie!

Smells From a Morning Run In Suburban Mississippi

I was determined to get out of my house this morning and run my measured 5.2 miles in the neighborhood. Running at 5:00 am is hard to maintain, especially when I'm afraid of the dark. I woke up with a headache (big party last night at my book club- PAR-TAY), so I downed two cups of coffee and readied myself for the torture I enjoy. I grabbed the ipod (I hate to hear myself breathe while I'm running- I sound like I'm about to die) and, by 7:20, I was out the door. It was overcast and cool (ish) this morning as I scrolled through my music while I was walking (warm-up before I run). I turned on Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" (must listen over and over again to music I am currently obsessed with) and started my trot. As I was jogging, I started smelling different things and imagined my own stories for the smells...

Cigarette smell wafted under my nose as I passed a man sitting in his garage (where I see him a lot) and I imagined that he was lonely. He looked lonely.

I smelled fabric softener as I passed another house, and I imagined a sighing mother looking at her mounds of laundry thinking, "well, I better get this started." I imagined her sitting at her table drinking coffee while the washing machine hummed, maybe writing bills or reading a book.

I passed a house where the cologne smell was so strong that I veered to the other side of the street. Not good cologne, but the kind where you imagine the guy slicking back his hair, looking at himself in the mirror with one foot back, raising an eyebrow at his reflection and doing the gun-fingers at himself, making a clicking noise with his tongue. "Dude, you look good." I snickered as I passed his house.

I passed an immaculate yard where the smell of blooming flowers was very inviting. I watched the man with the weed eater, paused in his work, scrutinizing what was next to be done. I imagined he had been in the military. The buzz cut and stern brow said so.

The smell of a men's college track team, passing me by. They lapped me twice. Thanks boys. They smelled sweaty. I imagined they just wanted to show me up, but I think that's my humiliation talking. I don't even think they saw me. I felt like the coyote when the roadrunner passes him. I think I spun twice around with dust whirling about. Where did the dust come from?

I smelled rain in the air (but was still bitter about the college track team) and gloried in the occasional breeze from the approaching shower.

I smelled a freshly mowed lawn and watched a sleepy teenage boy pushing the mower in methodical lines.

I smelled wet moss, which is one of my favorite smells. It reminds me of memories from my childhood at Moss Park, outside of Orlando. There was a gigantic slide there, that you had to sit on a beach towel to slide down (one because it was boiling hot, and two, because you would go like lightening).

And lastly, I smelled me. I ran 5.2 miles (1st time ladies and gentlemen) and was pretty sweaty. But to me, it smelled like triumph and goals and size 4 jeans.

I had a great run this morning.

Hide and Sink

One of Felix's favorite things to play with everybody is "Hide and Sink" (seek). He loves to count and hide and shriek with laughter. Yesterday afternoon, the boys were all playing hide and sink while I was practicing the piano and Quinn was studying Hebrew. Silas got distracted from being it after he found Corin and they both started something else. Minutes tick by... Felix tiptoes out of the master bedroom to see where Silas is. He notices him at the table, me at the piano, Qiunn at the computer studying, and Corin doing homework. A big pouty lip pops out. Quinn notices him. "Beex, what's the matter?"
"Nobody finds me."
Quinn picks him up with much sympathy as the baby's little lip sticks out more and more. His little feelings were squashed. Poor thing. Can you imagine him being so still underneath the covers of our bed waiting and waiting? His poor little bitty heart.

So we all played Hide and Sink.

Pink Floyd: A Mother's Dream for her Teenage Daughter

Radio stations in Jackson, MS are not good. I do not appreciate them. Their music is horribly mixed and up until today I have not listened to one station that played two songs that I like back to back. TONIGHT, I was on my way home from Mrs. in Ministry (fun times) and griping to myself that I wish I had picked up the ipod before I left the house. I punched buttons on the radio (a little harshly) and was nearly driven to listen to Def Leopard (of whom I despised in 1988 when everybody-ish loved them) when I decided to try ONE MORE TIME to push all the buttons (I like pushing buttons- it's fun). And I found a Led Zepelin song that I was familiar with. Well, that's something. I listened and enjoyed and then the song ended. And THEN (low and behold) a Pink Floyd song came on. Dear me, I love Pink Floyd. I've had a slight obsession with them since I was eleven when my fifteen-year old uncle told me to like them. I worshipped the ground he walked on, so I consented. I. WILL. OBEY. My mother appreciated (read: Sarcastic) that her eleven-year old daughter was singing "Comfortably Numb" at such an impressionable age. PF has always been my go-to music when I'm sad, depressed, angry, melancholy and so on (why yes, I was a fun teenager to parent). So (long-long story short) I love Pink Floyd. Especially "Wish You Were Here", which is what was playing on the radio on the way home. I don't listen to it (PF as a whole)that much anymore because, after all, my mother was right: music does affect my moods. How many times did she tell me that? I believe my response was scoffing disdain. When Quinn and I were dating, he played Dark Side of the Moon in time to the Wizard of Oz (Mother, please don't shake your head) and it was very, weirdly cool. Of course, I saw "The Wall" when I was thirteen at a neighbor's house when I was babysitting (why yes, I WAS an effective babysitter at the age of thirteen). Now, I have a hankering to listen to some more. Think I will...

I like Pink Floyd. The end. (This last part is to be said in a third grader's "I'm reading my paper out loud" voice. Include the "The End".)

A List Thingy

Tessa tagged me to do a list thingy. I haven't done one of these in a while. I really thought... do they (my dozens of readers) really WANT to know that much about me? "Look! That neurotic blogger has another one of those 'strange things about me' lists. She may be a pastor's wife one day. Let's read it. Together!" Alas, allow me to torture you for a while longer...

1. Where was I ten years ago?
Labor Day weekend 1998, my parents came up to visit me (in Alabama) and my boyfriend asked my Dad for my hand in marriage. Good weekend.

2. What is on my to do list today?
I don't write lists. I keep non-stop, mile long lists in my brain. Like:
laundry, laundry, laundry "Children, take off your clothes so Mommy can wash them."
calorie counting
what's for dinner? what should I do for lunches tomorrow? what should I do for dinner tomorrow?
I should run today. I should run tomorrow morning at 5am. I should run up and down the stairs 5 times in leui of running since I apparently am not acquiring my running clothes by will alone.
sing and dance with kindergarteners and 1st graders
have crazy conversations with the boys

3. What if I was a billionaire?
OF COURSE, I would do GOOD things with it. Like support friends who are raising support to be missionaries. And give some to our home church. And PERHAPS, send my husband to seminary without worrying about money (which I think is part of the whole process anyway). And probably give some to other students' families so that they could finish their degrees.
Now, I would also remodel my home so that I could enjoy it before we flip it and moved back to Birmingham. Then I would buy a house in Birmingham with a wrap-around porch. And get a Honda Odyssey (before we move back to Birmingham- like tomorrow). And get Quinn a car with AC. I'm sure there are other things... I'd probably still thrift though.

4. Five places I have lived.
I grew up in Orlando, FL.
I went to college in Kissimmee, FL, Hollywood, FL, Newport Richie, FL, and finished 6 years after I started (college was SURE fun) in Birmingham, AL.

5. Three bad habits.
I procrastinate. Like crazy.
I overeat.
I have verbal diarrhea. Cringe.

6. Snacks I like.
Um, chocolate anyone?
Blueberries.
GoLean Crunch.

7. Tag? You're it.

Happy Birthday, Baby.

Today is my dearest one's birthday. He's awesome. He's secretly a pirate. Shhh...

Sleepy-Time Ramble

Sleepy.

Don't want the long weekend to end. I keep watching the weather to see if there would be ANY possibility of our local schools to close. No such luck. Gustav wore off long before he got here.

I'm sitting on the couch between Quinn and Heath Hillman watching a Bob Dylan movie that I have zero interest in. Perhaps I would be more interested in it if I were not sleepy. Eric Bartz would like it. He likes Bob Dylan. Me? Not so much.

Rachel (the daughter I never gave birth to) is here (she's our charity hurricane Gustav evacuee) is lying on the floor and watching Bob Dylan. She looks interested. I'm not.

I need to iron before I go to bed.

I keep thinking that I should run in the morning. But what if it's raining? I don't want to run if it's raining. But I have a girl who meets me to run on Tuesday mornings to run. Maybe we won't meet if there's a hurricane circling. I should call her. I don't have her phone number. I need to run. I've eaten poorly this weekend and feel gross.

I watched the BBC Jane Eyre today with a friend (Diane) and Rachel. I think it's my fourth or fifth time I've watched it since we got back from Birmingham two weeks ago. I think the obsession is wearing off. Maybe it's got one more good watch in. I watched Becoming Jane last night with Rach (the men-Heath and Quinn-immediately fell asleep after about 10 minutes). I liked it. Enough to watch it again. Mr. Tumnus played the main character love interest. I like Mr. Tumnus-minus goat legs.

I enjoyed this weekend so much. Shaun and Virge met us at Grandma's where we visited family and goo-gooed all over my new baby niece, Macey McKay, and eight month old Sabriel. We then drove back to Jackson via the Natchez Trace and spent a lovely rest of the weekend chilling. I'm sad it's done.

Man, this movie is weird.

Sleepy.