Afternoon Levitation?

Warning: the following may come across as conservative and close-minded. You be the judge.

Many years ago I heard from a "reliable source" that we need to keep an eye on Disney movies, that they may become inappropriate.

I consider myself an open-minded-mom, maybe even on the verge of liberal in some areas. For example: I sort of enjoyed it when Chuckee (Rugrats All Grown Up) photocopied his butt at school to prove that he wasn't a goodie-goodie. My kids watch Nick, the Disney Channel, some Cartoon Network, but I like to steer them towards PBS.

We love Disney, and have watched and enjoyed most of their movies. It was no different with 'Lilo & Stitch' when it was released a couple of years ago. It was a cute movie, not the same old princess story. The Disney channel now airs 'Lilo & Stitch' the afternoon cartoon with the same characters and similar story line as the movie. Flags went up immediately when one of the characters turned out to be a cross-dresser (the whole enchilada: male with wig, lipstick, & mascara). I never pointed it out to my kids, but suggested that they change the channel. But we have watched an occasional episode of 'Lilo & Stitch'. Yesterday's episode pushed me a little far when the slumber party included and centered around levitation. Don't get me wrong, I played plenty of 'Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board' at various slumber parties. But do we need to have it in our afternoon cartoons?

Pack 'em Up & Move 'em Out

The time has come for me to say goodbye to Small-town, Nevada. We've enjoyed our time here. This is a great place to raise a family. But we are off to our next adventure in Montana. I am completely freaking out. It will happen quickly, with my husband set to leave in just 3 weeks. There's so much to do. So much uncertainty. We broke the news to our kids and family today and we were met with mixed reaction, even some name calling. My brother called me a sh#$head. It's okay, I felt the love. I'm excited about what's in store for us, but I'm sad to be without our family, even sad to leave our new life here in Nevada. We've made friends, and I truly love my co-workers and job. I've grown fond of our Elementary school and day care and all of the teachers Maddie & Isaac have had. I know there's new friends to make, new church people to meet, and special experiences waiting for us in our new town.

Calling All Cats

This story is being retold especially for Kaycee, who loves mouse stories. One morning last spring I was awakened by our cat. It was around 4:30am, I had less than an hour before starting the marathon called “my day”. The cat was scratching something, I had a hard time identifying what it was in my stupor. When I realized he was scratching at my nice scrapbook albums, I shot out of bed, wide awake. I ran to the rescue, and to my horror, a mouse was seeking protection in the binding of my scrapbooks. I don’t think I screamed, but I’m sure some sound escaped from my mouth. Maddie and Isaac were in bed with me, as David was working one of his overnighters. Maddie was awake and by my side almost instantly, and the two of us stood on my bed watching a real-life game of cat and mouse go from room to room in the wee hours of the morning. I called David, and begged him to come home to save me from this horrifying experience. Not only did he blow me off, he made me feel stupid. The cat was having a glorious time, tossing the mouse in the air, chasing it all over the house. Eventually the pair stayed in Isaac’s bedroom long enough for me to gather my bearings and run from the safety of my bed, to slam his door shut, containing the cat and his dead toy. I left the two of them for David to deal with. Traps were purchased, and I was on guard, though I was certain we were done with the mouse drama. After all, we weren’t living in an old farm house, our home was less than four years old and in a brand-new subdivision. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Just a few days later, on a Sunday morning, I had the kids in bed with me again, David working another overnighter. Maddie got up to go to the bathroom but came running back because she thought she saw a mouse. I’m sure that whatever sound came from my mouth that time was not G-rated. I did my best to calm her and myself and we stayed in bed until David got home. As the morning progressed, a chase was on once again, but this time it included Maddie and David along with the cat. There was indeed, another mouse. They chased it into Maddie’s room, though a day-long search turned up nothing. Let me pause, and tell you that Maddie is the bravest little girl I’ve ever known. I’ve seen her take inoculations in the arm without a tear, without even flinching. She has courage that I never did at her age, and I still don’t have even now. Her courage was put to the test the next day. As we began our week, the mouse was forgotten. We went about our routine, daycare, school, work. But when Maddie got to school that Monday, her day was greatly disrupted, far from the routine she deserved. While at ‘Kids Club’ (morning daycare held in the cafeteria), Maddie pawed through her book-bag and felt something moving around. Yes, folks, it was the mouse. Not just any old mouse, a mouse whose face was half-chewed courtesy of our cat. Panic tore through that cafeteria, with adults among the loudest of the screamers. One little girl tried to claim the mouse as her own. The mouse was soon caught and disposed of, leaving Maddie with a book-bag and jacket covered in mouse cooties. I didn’t learn of Maddie’s horrifying morning until that afternoon, and it wasn’t until then that I learned she went without a jacket all day. She never complained, never fussed, but she didn’t have to. I felt awful, guilty, disgusted, humiliated, and sad that my sweet girl had endured such a tortuous morning. I brought home a gift for her the next day, a new book-bag, of course.

A Bad Guy in the House

This story is true, though some people react as if they think I’ve made it up. So I haven’t told this story often. It is pretty unbelievable. It was a fall night in 1999. I was spending a quiet evening at my mom’s house with her and my two little ones, Maddie was just 2, and Isaac was 5 months old. My husband was fishing with his brothers, and my dad was watching a fight at his buddies’ house, something very out-of-the-ordinary for him to do. It came time for me to pick up my 13-year-old brother, Jordan, from a Halloween party at a friend’s house, just a few blocks away. Upon our return, a woman pulled up in front to my parents’ house and jumped out of her blue Toyota pickup before it had even come to a stop. A man was with her, and she was screaming at me to get my dad. It was dark enough that I didn’t recognize her, and I was confident she had the wrong house. I hurried Jordan into the house and closed the front door. I gave my mom a brief recap of the recent occurrence, still sure that these weirdos had the wrong house. My mom went to the door and discovered her friend Chris, mother of 10, hysterical. When Chris found that my dad wasn’t home, she dropped to her knees right there on my parents’ front porch, sobbing in disbelief. From there her horrific story unfolded. Chris lived with her family “in the country”, several minutes from town. A little corner market was the only business for many miles. Chris was on her way to pick up her son, Jonathon, from the same party Jordan had been to. At a stop sign, one of the few on this country lane, a Hispanic man jumped in to the passenger seat of Chris’ truck and yelled “Drive lady, drive!” Another man opened the door on Chris side, saying “we don’t want you, lady. Just him.” He began shooting several rounds at Chris’ new and unwanted passenger. Chris hit the gas, trying to flee this unimaginable scene, but she stalled the pickup. Finally, she had success at getting away from the shooter, driving as fast as she could, still with the stranger (who appeared to be unharmed) sitting next to her. Chris sped away, knowing the “bad guys” were right behind her. As she got closer to town, she concentrated on a safe place she could go to. Her choices were few, there were no businesses still for many miles, and there were no houses she could go to that offered protection, as many were divorced friends or their husbands were out of town. Her frantic getaway soon brought her to my parents’ house, knowing that my dad was logical and would calmly handle this out-of-control situation. Her terror increased at the discovery that he wasn’t there. As she stood at my mom’s front door, with the stranger in her shadow, I listened and soon realized we needed police. But in my effort to not over-react, I sought approval from my mom, that yes, I needed to call 9-1-1. I called, and strangely, was too calm. The dispatcher was unable to grasp the urgency of our situation, even though I told her “we have a bad guy in the house.” I sent Jordan into the bedroom with my babies. I instructed him to lock the door and to not come out. I knew that he would protect them at all costs. Maddie, sensing the danger, crawled under my parents’ bed and we eventually found her there later on, asleep. While we waited for the police to come, our ‘stranger’ was restless. He wanted to make a phone call, he wanted to leave, he did go into the bathroom to (we speculate) flush ‘evidence’. Chris took control, and told this man to sit down and wait. The tone of her voice let him know she meant it, and he obeyed. After sitting for awhile, we discovered that the stranger had been shot several times in the rear-end. This reality reminded us that we were still without police protection, and it had been 15-20 minutes since my phone call to 9-1-1. My second phone call to them was not as calm as the 1st, and this dispatcher seemed to understand that our situation could soon turn frantic again. Just a few minutes after I hung up, a Sheriff called back to find out what was going on, and finally, he realized the severity of our situation and assured us that help was on the way. The sheriff called in for backup, and soon my mom’s street was full with Sheriff cars, Highway Patrol cars, the entire fire department, and two ambulances. A huge sense of relief came with their presence, but also silly thoughts of “what are the neighbors going to think?” As the night progressed, my husband came back from his fishing trip, Chris’ husband came to her side, and eventually my dad came home. My dad was furious with himself, not just because he wasn’t there during our drama, but mostly because there were no bullets in the house. It never occurred to any of us females to seek out a gun, possibly saving us from more terror and hysteria. Two police cars remained in front of my mom’s house throughout the night and into the morning. We learned that the “stranger” had to live in hotels for the next several months to hide from the “bad guys”. We figured that it was a drug deal gone bad, and that Chris was put in his path to save his life.

The Plastic Man

Some celebrities catch our attention for just a brief moment. So cliche with their '15 minutes of fame'.

Some people, talent or no talent, hang around in the spotlight a little longer.

Then there are a few who earn, or rather command our attention for years upon years because they are so unbelievably brilliant, with ability pouring out to audiences who drink it up as fast as it is dispensed.

The obsession with Michael started when he was quite young, so natural on stage, crooning with his older brothers.

Then in his 20s, Michael turned the music world upside down with his music, his dance, and his imagination. My room was wall to wall full of his posters (unlike the girls down the street who opted for Prince to be plastered on the walls). I nearly wore out my Thriller tape. I watched the Thriller video and making of over and over again. I was green with envy when those same neighbor girls got the red Beat It jacket. Michael was worthy of our attention and affection.

Though his talent and imagination continued to amaze and entertain, we all witnessed a transformation through the years. Eventually ending up with this freak show that we have today, whose scandals clog up the nightly news. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe even longer than most people did. But I'm done. I've been done for a long, long time.

How much longer are we going to be tortured and annoyed with the cat and mouse chase between him and the L.A. prosecutors? How many more babies are these stuped women going to give him? Why, oh why did any parent ever let their child spend a night with him?

A Hidden Pick-Me-Up

I'm not sure that I've ever been this sick before. I'm not seeking sympathy, just a fore-warning on this potentially senseless blog. I've been off the couch just a few times since Monday night. Fever, chills, coughing, and phlegm. What more can a girl ask for.

A lot of TV has been consumed this week. I don't think it's been shut off, even during the night. I've gotten to see some good stuff: Regis & Kelly, Ellen, F*R*I*E*N*D*S reruns, and an honorable mention to the presidential inauguration. Maybe a few too many episodes of Will & Grace. I must also mention: American Idol.

But the real thrill is something I stumbled upon just this afternoon: Duran Duran! John, Simon, Nick (& others) performed two songs, one of which "Hungry Like the Wolf"! It was very much a pleasant surprise, and I must admit, it gave me a little pick me up. The only thing that would have made it more exciting was to have had the cast of F*R*I*E*N*D*S singing backup.

P.S. Who was my Duran Duran crush in the 80s? John Taylor!

Big Brother

When I was in the thick of my teenage years, I thought that my problems could be solved by one thing: a big brother. As the oldest of five kids, it wasn't in the cards. I was so envious of other girls who did have protective big brothers. Wouldn't it be fun to be a Freshman with a Junior or Senior brother to show me the ropes, give me a ride home from school, and help me to not act like such an idiot in front of other boys. As it turned out, my brothers were quite small. Jordan came along at the end of my sixth grade year, and Jamesson came along during my Freshman year. Still, I was accompanied by my brothers to more than one football or basketball game.

Now that I've reached the un-desired age of 30, I truly have my long-awaited big brothers. When I say big, I mean big. At ages 18 and 16, they are each hovering around 6'4", though with drastically different builds. Jordan: we tease that he's fat, but he's far from it. Jamesson: nicknamed by mom as "stickboy".

I thoroughly enjoy these boys. But, I very much envy these boys for the material things they have and I didn't, and for the freedoms they have that I didn't. Jordan gets little sympathy from me when he complains about life being so rough, then I remind him that I didn't have a cell phone, TV in my room, nor cable or a VCR in my room. Not to mention the XBOX and Nintendo Cube (?).

Spoiled beyond comprehension (it is partly my fault), these are the two most entertaining boys around. The latest antics revolve around their right-on impressions of the now-famous Napoleon Dynamite. Gosh! They had me giggling all Christmas day with the stupid things that social-misfit said.

They are not just my entertainers, they are my right hands, and though they tease me constantly about how OLD I am, they somehow keep me young. I treasure my phone calls with Jordan, when I can make sure he's not making out with all the girls in the stake. It's recently come to my attention that I need to be directing these questions to suck-face Jamesson, too.

Moving away from them last year was quite difficult. This weekend I broke the new to them (after the rest of the family) that I might be moving further away. I hope that they'll visit and stay until I can't stand them anymore.

I'm home. Not the home where I reside in Nevada with my husband and kids. Home home.

Friday: After an unusually long drive through Lake Tahoe and the Sierras, I arrived at my parents' house to spend a quiet evening with my family.

Quiet my @$$! My mom & dad's house is only 1400 square feet. When you throw in them, me, my siblings, mix in a couple of spouses & children, and Grandma too, it's complete chaos. JP has plans to report my clever, witty, intelligent remarks. But in my defense, it was a really long drive, I was a bit loopie.

How fortunate I am to have such a wonderful family. I not only love them, but thoroughly enjoy them. We are hysterical. But not in front of anyone else. When an outsider comes along, we're just comedic wanna bees.

My family knows how to eat. My mom is an incredible cook (the apple doesn't fall far from the tree), dad's a genius at the BBQ, and we really enjoy our food. Last night was no different. We may have eaten an entire pig last night, BBQ'd to perfection. Unfortunately, I was full from the Big Mac in Truckee. Did that slow me down? only slightly.

Saturday: As I sit here, just before 8am, I can't decide if I want to run all over town be with as many loved ones as possible before I return to Nevada on Monday, or do I just want to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

Communicating with Hairdressers

I almost always leave the hairdresser 'place' angry. I've tried many different places, but whether it's my hair, or Maddie's (7) or Isaac's (5), I've almost convinced myself that I do a better job with scissors and clippers.

I could bore you with endless examples, but I'm here to ask you what I could have said better to communicate to the hairdresser what I want the end result to be.

Yesterday I took Maddie & Isaac for a hair-o-cut (Isaac'ism). I told Maddie's 'hairdresser': I want to keep as much length as possible, and phase out the layers over the course of the next few haircuts (cleaning up our last fiasco). The end result: only the bottom layer was cut. She didn't touch the rest of Maddie's hair, not even a trim. So she left without her hair having that fresh, clean, even look. Did I word it wrong? Are my expectations to high? What should I have done differently? besides avoiding this haircut-place, which I will do in the future.

By the way, this is a real treat for Maddie to get her haircut, it's only the 5th time (her blond hair was down her back until Aug. '04, said cut - my un-trained hands did a great job).

PS Isaac's haircut wasn't perfect, either.

Surreal Life Nightmares

I saw something disturbing last night on TV. No, I'm not going to sue like that loser in Ohio who is going after Fear Factor. No one was holding a gun to my head and forcing me to watch this.

A little background. As previously mentioned, I am overwhelmed with an upcoming decision. Any time I have a little stress, I lose sleep. The routine is for me to go to the couch, snuggle up with the remote control, turn on the sleep timer on the TV, and hopefully I'll be out in 15 minutes. It's not always the case.

Last night (or early this morning) I landed on the latest season of "Surreal Life", the show for washed-up, has-been celebrities. As some of you may have already experienced, your judgement on appropriated TV viewing is not the best in the middle of the night. So I watched.

I'm not familiar with even half of the 'stars'. 'Peter Brady' is on there, Mini Me, and I think one of the former Go-Gos. My questions is: why do people apply for this job?

Among all of the other juvenile, drunken behavior, Mini Me was wasted. Dysfunctionally wasted. So much so that 'Peter Brady' had to carry him to bed. Once there, he lay there moaning for several minutes. Eventually, when his roommates were asleep, he got out of his bed, then rode his little scooter around the house - NAKED. But that's not all, my friends! He proceeded to urinate IN THE CORNER! His mother must be so proud! Why do people want to be famous so badly that they put their worst moments on TV?

Outlet Mall

I've become quite irresponsible. My obsession with current events causes me to log on several times a day for headlines. An obsession caused by traumatic events in our little world dating all the way back to the mid 90's when the UniBomber struck just 2 blocks from my then office. Later that same week Tim McVay struck the federal building in Oklahoma City. Then skip to the bomb in the World Trade Center in 1993 (I was living on the east coast at the time), and of course again, when our world really shook when the Trade Center collapsed on 9-11. I'm on guard.

But lately, current events have taken a small step aside. I am intrigued by fellow bloggers. Whether I relate or not, I love this opportunity to learn more, then barf out my not-so-intelligent thoughts. I'm thrilled that JP shared this with me and hope she doesn't regret it. I enjoy that this is ours, unshared with other relatives, though I wouldn't mind if J joined in. I hope that my participation doesn't inhibit her. I'm quite confident she has more to share. I hope she'll share it with me.

I never knew that I was such a chatty Kathy until I moved away from, well, my life. I have been starved for conversation, especially with other girls (I'm not a woman or a lady, I'm just a girl). This has provided me an outlet, one that will help keep my flapping jaws under control.

Parents: Pick Your Battles

For many years, I felt like my parents were too strict with me. To give you a little background, I am the product of a teen pregnancy. My parents were highschool juniors when they got married, and seniors when I was born.

The stereotype ends there. My parents worked very hard. Six years later we were sealed in the temple (along with JP), my dad graduated college, my mom was able to be at home much of the time, they eventually had a total of 5 kids: 3 daughters and then 2 sons (all of them I am quite fond of). My parents are in love and have been married for 30+ years.

I attribute their strictness to their youthful start. They were quite fussy about modesty. Some of the music I chose would be vetoed by dad. Imagine not letting your 10-year-old daughter listen to "Like a Virgin". They always kept close tabs on where I was, who I was with, etc. They were extremely particular about the movies I watched. I remember 2 different slumber parties at my house when my dad came flying across the room to shut off the VCR in disapproval.

Nevertheless, I always felt, even into adulthood, that a few of those forbidden movies could have shown me the ropes if I had seen them at an earlier age. 'Stand By Me' or 'St. Elmo's Fire', classic 80's movies that I eventually saw, but maybe could have benefited from had I seen them sooner. 'Breakfast Club' to name another. (Note: I was no saint: I saw many movies that I soooo shouldn't have).

I was lamenting about this late in my 20's to a former boss of mine, a very worldly man. I don't know if he grasped how strong his words were or that I really grabbed hold when he said "But Jessica, if you are the outcome of that strict upbringing, what's so wrong with that?"

My parents, though not perfect, picked their battles well (most of the time).

Another Hollywood Casualty

The following might cause you to think I'm weird (you already did). It might lead you to believe that I'm cheesey (it's true). Buckle up folks.

In light of the events of this past weekend, I would like to offer condolences to my dear friends, Brad & Jenn.

When two people are in my living room as often as they have been, it's almost like they're long lost friends of mine.

Brad of course is adored by anyone with eyeballs. My crush on him started with "A River Runs Through It". He's fun to watch. Especially when he makes his appearance in a Thanksgiving episode of F*R*I*E*N*D*S. "Just take off your shirt and tell us."

But my favorite of the couple is Jenn. "Marcel, did you pooh in the shoe?"

Or when she finds out that Ross didn't go through with the divorce "Nooooooooooooo". (maybe not the best timing for that reference)

I think I was the only one who was into Rachel's short romance with Joey.

I loved it when they got Emma to laugh with 'Baby Got Back'.

I loved her boyfriend, Tag.

Don't call the cops (or a shrink), but it's possible I know all of her lines. (JP, please convince your friends that I'm normal.)

I miss them. God bless re-runs.

Call me naive, but I hope this is just a temporary split for Brad & Jenn. Yes or no, I hope the paparazzi will be kinder to them than they have been to others.

Isaac'isms

I guarantee this will be a re-occurring theme. Come on, the kid is a genius.

1.) Saturday morning we were relaxing in front of the TV enjoying a bowl of cereal. A commercial came on, one I had never seen, with an animated phlegm. I quickly changed the channel, we were, after all, eating folks. Isaac (five years old) proceeds to complete the commercial I had abandoned, naive to how disgusting phlegm is. Though I was nearly gagging, I couldn't stop his enthusiatic description of this character 'Phlegm'. My Honey Nut Cherrios stayed put, but just barely.

2.) Friday evening it quickly became clear: Isaac hadn't slept at daycare. Everything was stressing him out, even bringing him to tears. Finally when bedtime approached, a dysfunctional Isaac was sobbing. He wanted Dad. He wanted to sleep in Dad's bed (future topic: our dysfunctional sleeping habbits). But I literally dragged him into Maddie's room. Her big bed could easily accomodate the three of us while I comfort and calm the boy. As a routine, I burst into song (no, I'm not good). The theme of the evening: "The Sound of Music". I ran through my favorites, the ones I know the words to. Upon completion, Isaac tears up AGAIN. "Mom, you didn't sing all of them!" I reassured him that I had. Then the back and forth, no you didn't, yes I did. Finally, he had been pushed too far. "YOU DIDN'T SING THE ONE ABOUT MARIA!"

Keeping up With the Joneses

My husband is very much an individual. He's never been one to follow the crowd. A loner. A rebel. He has very little use for socializing.

He also works very hard and very long hours. So combining this with the aboves results in a homebody. He's perfectly content with retiring to the couch every evening.

So you can imagine my surprise this evening when he set out with a plan. As previously mentioned, we have had an abundance of snow. So much that church has been canceled for tomorrow. But upon realizing that the little sledding ramp I created in our front yard was smaller than the one two houses down, he left home to fill up the truck with snow, bring it home, and created a more sophisticated ramp for our kids to sled on with the neighbor kids. Darkness soon set in and a bone-chilling wind kicked up, sending everyone home. I have a feeling that our normal Sabbath routine will be not only affecting by the church cancellation, but also our sled ramp.

I'm a Big Girl

Free agency is a precious gift. There is a plan. We are given an "instruction manual".

As adults some of the decisions we face vary greatly on the 'cause & effect', or rather 'choice & accountibility scale'.

Right now I am facing a decision that is so big that it causes my chest to tighten. It is hugely life-altering, but the outcome can be wonderful. I feel like I'm going to vommit. I can hardly breath.

The last time I was faced with this decision it turned into a wonderful opportunity, but sacrafices were made. This time the sacrifices are similar, but far more overwhelming. There is no guarantee that the opportunity will provide the same wonderfulness.

I strongly feel that if this is what Heavenly Father wants, than I will take this on.

I knew that this decision was upcoming, but not the exact circumstances that I expected. It's newly presented to me, my thoughts are not organized. But barfing it out in my plain-Jane little blog has already helped, though I know that I will continue to pour my heart out in prayer.

Already my breathing is normal, for now the chest tightening has sub-sided.

To the recipients of my obnoxious blog comments yesterday, please accept my apologies. It was my knee-jerk reaction to my new-found panic. Trust me, I am far less sarcastic today.

My Town

In August 2003 I cut my apron springs (it took a chainsaw) and left my life-long digs in Northern California for an adventure in Northern Nevada. Before I consented to this move, we took a drive through this wonderful gift of called the Sierras and around Lake Tahoe. As we descended from Lake Tahoe to the enchanting valley the view was incredible. I had this overwhelming feeling that I was coming home. Even still, I continued to refuse this relocation of my little family. Eventually I unclenched, and we left behind parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and fabulous friends. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. Everyone seemed weird in this town and I did not feel welcome. I'm sure it was mostly my own insecurity, but I did have some strange experiences. But this, our little town, nestled at the bottom of majestic mountains, is a great place to live and raise a family. I know our time here is short, we have one more move ahead of us, but I could stay. Gambling is a lot of things, mostly leading to a path of evil, but the wonderful taxes as a result affords us great schools and a great community. It is very much small town, full of brick buildings, a couple of car dealerships, too many quaint antique stores to count, but a little short on good restaurants (priorities people). It is abundant in activities and events. In December, we stood in 14 degrees after dark to watch the electric parade, pretty good for small-town. In the fall we attended the carnival full of little booths and when the kids competed in a race by grade level, each winner took home a TURKEY. In the summer was the big parade for the birthday celebration for our little town. The Harley Davidson riders are through here OFTEN and when it's not their weekend, it's probably the classic car weekend. For those who like to be pampered, there are many, many day spas. High on my list of importance: we have a Raley's a stone's throw from my house (bow down). High on my husbands list: we have a Blockbuster. Our town has so much to offer. These recent weeks it's been offering an abundance of snow. It's beautiful. It's fun to play in. It's important for the green grass that I love so much all the way into July. But driving is rough. The main artery through town is always very clear, but be sure to put it in four wheel drive before entering the 'suicide lane'. It's piled high with snow courtesy of the plows. Our subdivision hasn't had a visit from the plows. The little industrial, privately maintained street where my office resides is shaded from the row of building, creating a slick, 3-inch sheet of ice for us to maneuver around the pot holes. Now, with the evidence of the last storm surrounding us, we find ourselves in a winter-storm-warning once again for the duration of the weekend. If you don't hear from me by Tuesday, send in search & rescue.

PS I forgot to mention that our police department has a Camero and a Hummer, both in typical cop car paint jobs, down to the blue flames across the hoods.

Noise Pollution

My kids hate noise. They have from the beginning. When I was pregnant with Maddie, she would do cartwheels in my tummy the instant the vacuum cleaner was turned on. After she was born I would strap her into her car seat and set her just outside the front door so I could get the vacuuming done with out upsetting her. Isaac is just as bad. He complains about the volume on the car radio. I've noticed that they both run from the toilet as soon as it's flushed, not for fear of getting swallowed up, but because it's loud for them. If we're in a public restroom with the big industrial toilets: forget about it. Mom has to flush while Maddie or Isaac stand back with their hands over their ears. So my question is: if their precious little ears are so delicate, WHY ARE THE TV AND COMPUTER ALWAYS UP SO LOUD?

3 names you go by: 1. Jess 2. Mom 3. Jessica (but it's too many syllables). 3 screen names you have: 1. Posy 2. Jess 3. - 3 things you like about yourself: 1. I am a genious in the kitchen 2. I have amazing kids 3. I have great siblings. (Parents too). 3 things you hate/dislike about yourself: 1. I am an overeater. 2. I could do lots better with money management 3. I could be more motivated. 3 parts of your heritage: 1. Overeating 2. Diabetes 3. Bad Hips 3 things that scare you: 1. Losing a child/something happening to my children 2. Death - I want to raise my kids 3. Frogs 3 of your everyday essentials: 1. Clinique 2. TV 3. Jeans 3 things you’re wearing right now: 1. Old Navy 2. Old Navy 3. Old Navy 3 of your favorite bands/artists (today): 1. Beattles (I know, cliche) 2. Not Ashley Simpson 3. Not Britney Spears 3 of your favorite songs at present: Let's go with what's stuck in my head: 1. The Hills are Alive (with the Sound of Music) 2. An Oldie: Bus Stop 3. Another Oldie: Ruby Tuesday 3 new things you want to try in the next 12 months: 1. Being a homeowner 2. Size 10 3. Volkswagon Tourareg 3 things you want in a relationship (love is a given): I'll steal JP's - 1. Being in love with my best friend 2. Laughter 3. Desire 2 truths and a lie: 1. I drive way too fast. 2. I don't moisturize often enough. 3. My hair is it's natural color. 3 physical things about a love interest that appeal: 1. Smile 2. Eyes 3. I give up. 3 things you just can’t do: 1. Stop eating 2. Move back home (not sure that I want to) 3. Be a stay home mom. 3 of your favorite hobbies: 1. Scrapbooking 2. Cuddling with my kids 3. TV 3 things you want to do really badly right now: 1. Go to Thailand to clean up 2. Go to Phi Phi Islands to clean up 3. Go to Indonesia to clean up. 3 careers you’re considering: 1. Construction (I'm serious) 2. Teacher 3. Starring in a sitcom. 3 places you want to go on vacation: 1. Thailand 2. Phi Phi Islands 3. Indonesia (I mean it). 3 kids names (either boy or girl): 1. Ben (golden retriever) 2. Bailey (chocolate lab) 3. Graham (English bull-dog) 3 things you want to do before you die: 1. Raise my kids. 2. Create my own version of Habitats for Humanity 3. Be a guest on Ellen or Regis and Kelly. 3 people who have to take this quiz now: There's nobody left.

Who's that Girl?

In that song, it's been out for a few years...I think it's by Edward McCain (I could be way off there)... about the girl who grew up with the Hollywood stars and never smiles. Who is that song about? Is it Gwyneth? Who is it?

Birthday Wishes

Today is Grampa's birthday.

10 years ago my dad threw Grampa a surprise party. Coming from a family of 11 children, that birthday party, all the way into his 70s, may have been his first. We kept Grampa busy in the back of the house with a repair project while family filed in from out of town. When all had arrived, we brought Grampa to the living room where he truly was surprised.

Grampa has been gone just over two years now. A brain tumor was discovered in October 2002, the doctor's giving him just six weeks. I was sure these doctor's were mistaken. It didn't seem possible that six weeks was enough, even though on the day of the diagnosis he introduced me as his niece, somehow forgetting that I was his oldest grandchild. He deteriorated quickly, the doctors were right on with their prediction of six-weeks.

We miss Grampa. My challenge now is to keep the memory bright and fresh for my kids, who were just 3 and 5 when we lost him. We often talk about his drawings of Mickey Mouse and various farm animals. We couldn't pass a sandy beach without him leaving his signature mark of the beloved Disney character.

Today I am especially missing our BLTs. In the most recent years I would drop in to visit him and Grandma with my two little ones. Without missing a beat, ingredients and aromas of BLTs would fill the kitchen. Grampa wasn't full of hugs and kisses or I Love Yous. His showering of affection came (and was always well received) through plates piled high with fried prawns, Swedish pancakes, freshly sliced salami (or liverwurst for JP), whatever our young tummies wanted.

Tribute to an Old Friend

It has come time for me to make tribute to something I hold dear to my heart.

An old friend that brings comfort and humor.

A classic work of art, born in the 80s: Goonies.

I was very young when I started watching this movie with my cousins on their projection big-screen TV. Of course I can be quite obnoxious to those around me: saying the character's lines, sometimes with them, sometimes before them. We can thank this movie for introducing us to vocabulary like hyper-ventrilicating or boody trap.

What's far more entertaining than watching it as a young fifth grader, is watching it with my own kids. I love it when they crack up at all the right spots. Though I have had to give counsel to my son: he kept using sh**, and I was quite confident that I was at no fault for his learning it: he didn't get it from me. After some questioning and re-questioning, I was finally able to pinpoint the origin of the swear word: by beloved Goonies. At this discovery did I act like the mature mom that I am? NO! I giggled like a fifth grader.