It's now been a month on my Super Life Makeover. I consistently manage to clean my sink every evening. I deleted my Mafia Wars account. I'm up to date on grading. Thanks to summer deciding to make an appearance, I'm able to take Flynn out for long stroller rides. (It isn't serious exercise, which is partly why I haven't lost any weight yet, but you have to start somewhere.) I've also worked on some item on the massive to do list every week.
My downfall is still Starbucks. Intellectually, I know my wallet and my waistline would be so much better off without it. Emotionally, I can't quit. I guess my addictions could be worse; it could be crack or licking toads.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Dear Harry (Connick, Jr.)
As you know, it is a requirement that I have a crooner in my life at all times. Once upon a time, you were that crooner, with your Southern charm and Sinatra-esque ways. But, you fell out of my favor many years ago, only to be replaced by a younger Canadian. Your agent had enough savvy to book you on The Graham Norton Show, for, without that appearance, I never would have known you had returned to your Sinatra-esque ways. You have reclaimed your rightful position as my number one crooner.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Lost Art of Writing
I miss writing. You may be thinking, "Well, what the heck are you doing right now, you dingbat?" What I am doing now is typing. I am typing. The keys are clicking and words appear magically on a glowing screen. I type every day: e-mail, texts, IMs, notes on students' electronically submitted essays, discussion board threads, witty Facebook comments. I type, not write.
What I miss is the physical act of writing. The scritch-scritch-scritch of the pen as it moves across the page. The way the paper absorbs the ink. Mont Blanc pens and fancy stationery. I remember being giddy when a letter would arrive in the mail. (Now, all that comes in the mail are bills and junk.) When we were in Venice, my parents bought me for my birthday an exquisite blown glass fountain pen (the old fashioned kind than needs to be dipped in an ink well) and intricate gold leaf stamped stationery. I have used the pen once and the stationery twice. Writing was once a daily activity: lecture notes, notes to pass to friends during class, bizarre ramblings on a notebook cover, letters to friends, thank you notes, journals, assignments.
Maybe it's more than the physical act of writing that I miss. Maybe it's the permanence. Sentences and paragraphs can be deleted, never to be recovered. Computers crash. Files aren't saved. Records disappear when the program closes. But words on a piece of paper will always exist. Even when you send the paper through the cross-cut shredder, the words are still there. Electronic words have an advantage that more people have access to those words. But, when the website is taken down, those words will cease to exist. I saved every letter I received during college, from both friends at home and friends from college during summer breaks. I saved every note sent to me by my first serious boyfriend. Their words to me will endure.
Remember, the pen is mightier than the sword, either by crafting a clever comeback or by stabbing someone in the neck.
What I miss is the physical act of writing. The scritch-scritch-scritch of the pen as it moves across the page. The way the paper absorbs the ink. Mont Blanc pens and fancy stationery. I remember being giddy when a letter would arrive in the mail. (Now, all that comes in the mail are bills and junk.) When we were in Venice, my parents bought me for my birthday an exquisite blown glass fountain pen (the old fashioned kind than needs to be dipped in an ink well) and intricate gold leaf stamped stationery. I have used the pen once and the stationery twice. Writing was once a daily activity: lecture notes, notes to pass to friends during class, bizarre ramblings on a notebook cover, letters to friends, thank you notes, journals, assignments.
Maybe it's more than the physical act of writing that I miss. Maybe it's the permanence. Sentences and paragraphs can be deleted, never to be recovered. Computers crash. Files aren't saved. Records disappear when the program closes. But words on a piece of paper will always exist. Even when you send the paper through the cross-cut shredder, the words are still there. Electronic words have an advantage that more people have access to those words. But, when the website is taken down, those words will cease to exist. I saved every letter I received during college, from both friends at home and friends from college during summer breaks. I saved every note sent to me by my first serious boyfriend. Their words to me will endure.
Remember, the pen is mightier than the sword, either by crafting a clever comeback or by stabbing someone in the neck.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
This Damn House
Aspects of our last two houses drove me crazy, but I never felt downright animosity for either of them. I am really beginning to hate this house. Maybe it's the difference between living in a dry climate (AZ) versus a soggy one (WA). Maybe it's the difference in housing materials (block and stucco vs. wood). Maybe it's the age difference (20-30 years vs. 60).
Part of me wants to take out a giant second mortgage, put on a second story, and hire a professional to fix every little thing that is wrong and needs repair. Then my rational side kicks in. We are the smallest house in the neighborhood and the most expensive when we purchased five years ago. We are the only ones without a basement and/or a second story (but we have a kick-ass garage with an office and a man cave). We are already priced out of the neighborhood. Even if we stay another 18 years as planned, I don't think we'll ever get that ROI.
The owners four streets down have the right idea: tear it down and start fresh. The only thing they saved was the basement.
PS- This house was advertised as having a low maintenance yard. Lies!
Part of me wants to take out a giant second mortgage, put on a second story, and hire a professional to fix every little thing that is wrong and needs repair. Then my rational side kicks in. We are the smallest house in the neighborhood and the most expensive when we purchased five years ago. We are the only ones without a basement and/or a second story (but we have a kick-ass garage with an office and a man cave). We are already priced out of the neighborhood. Even if we stay another 18 years as planned, I don't think we'll ever get that ROI.
The owners four streets down have the right idea: tear it down and start fresh. The only thing they saved was the basement.
PS- This house was advertised as having a low maintenance yard. Lies!
Friday, June 18, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Train Wreck
Last night, I was up too late (the boys were sick and not sleeping well), and I flipped mindlessly through the channels. I stumbled upon a train wreck of a reality show called You're Cut Off. Essentially, nine extremely spoiled adult brats have been cut off from their benefactors and must change their selfish ways in order to return to their lavish lifestyles. Holy cow! I'm supposed to feel *sorry* for these women? One spent more money in five minutes than I make all quarter teaching two classes. I notice this princess entitlement trend more and more. Why does a nine-year-old need a Coach purse? How many cars does a single girl need? The father of one woman bought her a Ferrari (with cash) and she wrecked it in the parking lot. It's an effin' Ferrari; show some respect! It seems like we are breeding a generation of entitled brats. Do we think they won't love us if we don't give into every little whim and desire? We're their parents; they are supposed to hate us a little. Tough love, man.
I fear my boys will end up with a girl like this. I hope I can do enough during their lives to keep them grounded. They see me cleaning and cooking, but also working on the house and working for a living. We share the simple pleasures without buying the latest and greatest toys. (Cardboard boxes and plastic spoons make for a fun afternoon.) They will have chores. I will teach them how to fend for themselves. Hopefully, all of this will help them steer clear of the toxics divas out there, ready to clean out their bank accounts and steal their souls.
I fear my boys will end up with a girl like this. I hope I can do enough during their lives to keep them grounded. They see me cleaning and cooking, but also working on the house and working for a living. We share the simple pleasures without buying the latest and greatest toys. (Cardboard boxes and plastic spoons make for a fun afternoon.) They will have chores. I will teach them how to fend for themselves. Hopefully, all of this will help them steer clear of the toxics divas out there, ready to clean out their bank accounts and steal their souls.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Enjoying the moment
Maybe it's because I'm naturally pessimistic or because I have so much sh!t to do, but I don't very often have the pleasure of enjoying the moment. I'm constantly thinking about what else needs to be done or dwelling about what I am putting off. Today was a rare day. I was in the moment and able to really enjoy it and appreciate it.
Tim and I took the boys to Ruston Way. I thought this would be a great place for Drake to ride his new bike (flat, safe, not too many people on a Sunday morning). Flynn was strapped in the stroller, and off we went. Drake can really move on that bike. After a half a mile, we came to a beach. The tide was out, so we ventured down. The boys had a blast! Is it a universal boy trait to throw rocks into water? We saw dead crabs, live star fish, and the boys returned the rocks on the shore back into the Sound. We walked probably 2-3 miles, watched boats go by, ate fish and chips (well, all three boys did; I ate cow), marvelled at all the dogs and pigeons, and enjoyed being a family.
I wasn't thinking about all the final essays I needed to grade and all the coursework I needed to upload. (BTW, the essays did get graded; just enough course content was uploaded to help students get by for the week prior to class starting). I look forward to more of these moments.
Tim and I took the boys to Ruston Way. I thought this would be a great place for Drake to ride his new bike (flat, safe, not too many people on a Sunday morning). Flynn was strapped in the stroller, and off we went. Drake can really move on that bike. After a half a mile, we came to a beach. The tide was out, so we ventured down. The boys had a blast! Is it a universal boy trait to throw rocks into water? We saw dead crabs, live star fish, and the boys returned the rocks on the shore back into the Sound. We walked probably 2-3 miles, watched boats go by, ate fish and chips (well, all three boys did; I ate cow), marvelled at all the dogs and pigeons, and enjoyed being a family.
Look, Mommy, water!
I wasn't thinking about all the final essays I needed to grade and all the coursework I needed to upload. (BTW, the essays did get graded; just enough course content was uploaded to help students get by for the week prior to class starting). I look forward to more of these moments.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The everlasting effects of Mrs. Collins' English class
This morning, I was reading a discussion board post from one of my online students. As I was reading, my eyes fell upon the word "germane," and I said (out loud), "Oooh, vocab word!"
For those of you who did not have the pleasure of being is Diane Collins' English class, I'll put this into context. Every week, we studied vocabulary words out of our little workbook and were quizzed on those 20 words. If you found one of those words being used in the real world (that is, in print), you brought the evidence into class and she would give you a point of extra credit. I found more words in Cosmo and Calvin and Hobbes than any other sources. She always raised one eyebrow at me when I brought in Cosmo.
I've been out of high school a great many years. Yet, I still respond in Pavlovian manner whenever I see one of those words. Here's to you, Mrs. Collins, for still having an effect after all these years.
For those of you who did not have the pleasure of being is Diane Collins' English class, I'll put this into context. Every week, we studied vocabulary words out of our little workbook and were quizzed on those 20 words. If you found one of those words being used in the real world (that is, in print), you brought the evidence into class and she would give you a point of extra credit. I found more words in Cosmo and Calvin and Hobbes than any other sources. She always raised one eyebrow at me when I brought in Cosmo.
I've been out of high school a great many years. Yet, I still respond in Pavlovian manner whenever I see one of those words. Here's to you, Mrs. Collins, for still having an effect after all these years.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Week 1 update
I did make some progress of the first week of my life makeover. I did exercise four days in the form of taking Flynn out for really, really long stroller rides. I only took the boys out for fast food once. I worked in the garden, almost fixed the BBQ, repaired the roof, cleaned a clogged gutter, and worked on Drake's baby book. All of my grading is up to date. This is important because this week is finals week (lots and lots of essays). Plus, I was just given two online classes to teach in the summer quarter, and all of the course content needs to be posted by next Sunday. I have not been able to give up my addictions just yet.
The most surprising result from this makeover is the benefit of having a clean sink every night. When I wake in the morning, it's calming to have clean dishes. I wasn't expecting that. Now if I could just get the rest of house to be as clean as my sink. I would be really mellow.
The most surprising result from this makeover is the benefit of having a clean sink every night. When I wake in the morning, it's calming to have clean dishes. I wasn't expecting that. Now if I could just get the rest of house to be as clean as my sink. I would be really mellow.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Mr. Mischief
I was fairly certain that Drake would be the child to cause my grey hairs, with his epic meltdowns, blind rage, and fierce tenacity. Although he does all of this, he's always been one to follow the rules (once firmly drilled into his noggin). He always holds my hand in parking lots and on sidewalks. He's only drawn on a non-paper surface once. He has the proper amount of fear and respect for the escalator and the oven. He hasn't torn up any books. He never tried to climb out of his crib. He won't leave his room during naptime or bedtime (not even to go to the bathroom- which is a whole separate issue). Drake will contribute some to my grey hair collection, but he won't be the main contributor.
That honor goes to Flynn.
I've been blindsided by his happy-go-lucky demeanor and his sweet smile. Lurking inside my sweet little boy is Mr. Mischief. He has figured out how to climb into his brother's bed (car carrier to the train table to the bed). He's much like a rat: if the space is big enough to get his head through, he will go through it. I found him up the attic; I thought I had sufficiently blocked the stairs. He seems to know which buttons on the remote to push. We were watching "Presto" on the Wall-E DVD. The short had just ended and went back to the main menu. Before I could grab the remote, he pushed some buttons and "Presto" began playing again. He clapped for himself, proud of what he had just done, and plopped back down on the couch. He managed to record The Count of Monte Cristo. (I can't fault his taste.) I catch him climbing onto the end table. When I call his name, he turns slowly to look at me, and the glint is in his eyes. That glint lets me know he's up to something. He's almost too charming, with those baby blues and long eyelashes.
Both boys are smart cookies. This is only the beginning. They'll probably rewire the house and program all the lights to turn on and off in sync with "Big Balls." At least life won't be dull. :)
That honor goes to Flynn.
I've been blindsided by his happy-go-lucky demeanor and his sweet smile. Lurking inside my sweet little boy is Mr. Mischief. He has figured out how to climb into his brother's bed (car carrier to the train table to the bed). He's much like a rat: if the space is big enough to get his head through, he will go through it. I found him up the attic; I thought I had sufficiently blocked the stairs. He seems to know which buttons on the remote to push. We were watching "Presto" on the Wall-E DVD. The short had just ended and went back to the main menu. Before I could grab the remote, he pushed some buttons and "Presto" began playing again. He clapped for himself, proud of what he had just done, and plopped back down on the couch. He managed to record The Count of Monte Cristo. (I can't fault his taste.) I catch him climbing onto the end table. When I call his name, he turns slowly to look at me, and the glint is in his eyes. That glint lets me know he's up to something. He's almost too charming, with those baby blues and long eyelashes.
Both boys are smart cookies. This is only the beginning. They'll probably rewire the house and program all the lights to turn on and off in sync with "Big Balls." At least life won't be dull. :)
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