life's pearl is cast

pretty little gingerbread houses

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 03:29:00 +0000

is this a cute gingerbread house or what? do you see the marshmallow smoke billowing from the chimney? do you see the tiny icicles? the french doors, for heaven's sake? well brace yourself because it had working, blinking lights too.

i will tell you that the person who made this house used some type of tiny gingerbread saw to get the doors just perfect. and no, that was not intimidating at all. not when your roof is sliding off your house, and your front wall is caving in.

i can tell you this: a lot of prep work goes into a gingerbread house-making party. especially one of this magnitude. first, cardboard circles are cut. then someone wraps foil around every single one. that is your base, your "plot of land," your acreage.

meanwhile, tens upon tens of houses are being made. my friend kelly made all these. each one had four walls, a door, a roof, a chimney, and a tree. this took more than five minutes to do, hence i would not have had the patience for it.

lots of icing was made. lots. the icing is the glue that holds the house together.

it's a fun way to spend a saturday, especially when there's a king ranch casserole cooking. and even if you have a sneaking suspicion that everyone else at the table holds some sort of advanced art degree with an emphasis on candy usage.

see the silver balls on this tree? they are "not edible," it says so on the package. but look at them, so cute and shiny. we ate them. they taste deliciously silver. plus we are all still alive, so i think the package was lying.

look at this one, with a thatched pretzel roof and a candy cane gate. i think a very attractive gingerman family lives here. gingerman jones. it's the joneses, and i want to keep up with them.

this one, below, is so cheerful and has a pearlized walkway to the front door. and how lucky that it snowed m&m's on their roof.

this red and white thematic beauty was done by a katy high school teacher. their football team is having a very good year, in case you live in a cave. or dallas. or canada or something.

on this one, i love the tiny snowballs. the candy cane heart on the side. the tree with the star. i mean, look at the detail! this is not, i repeat not my house. my gingerbread house, RIP, it looked like a survivor of hurricane ike.

the one below is/was a total work of art. one side of the roof was layered, like beautiful colored fish scales. snow on the windowsills. and did you even know you could split candy into flowers like that?

one of the kids made this house. love, love, love the spree flower garden.

*many thanks to kelly maynard, ginger maynard manuel and her husband george manuel, for hosting this labor of love and sharing their photos, and their most awesome family.

in defense of excitement

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 04:22:00 +0000

when i was in college, we played a game of charades whereby we acted out each other. word to the wise: this is never a good idea. people vehemently deny they act that way; meanwhile, everyone else is doubled over laughing.

well, i was pretending to be my friend andy, who never had any cash. like, ever. so all i said was, "do you take checks? do YOU take checks? do you TAKE checks? can i write a check?" this was also before debit cards and apparently, credit cards.

yes, so that was super-funny and all but then it was this skater kid's turn. he started out, "oh my god! no! really?! oh my god!" and - everyone got it but me, because it was me. i was pissed. (and just to even the score here, i would have imitated him like, "dude. oh, dude. hey, dude. duuuude.")

so after this game, i decided i was going to be very monotone. very un-excitable. very chill. there would be no exclamation marks in my speech. that lasted all of two hours, because it's just not me.

a few years ago, i worked with a girl was was the queen of monotone. winning a million dollars would not excite her, nor would watching her house explode in flames. case in point: she was pregnant at the time, and living in a garage apartment with her husband. one night they were asleep and she was startled awake by a noise in the apartment. when she opened her eyes, she could make out a figure moving around in the dark - it was not her husband. they were being robbed, and the dude was at the foot of her bed.

when she was telling this story, i was all, "no! holy crap! did he have a gun?!" and she was all, "no. it was just one guy."

"just one guy?!?!? in your house, and you're pregnant??" i almost went into convulsions just hearing the story.

"it was fine," she said. she kicked her husband awake and he chased him out of the apartment. luckily, no one was hurt, and my heart palpitations subsided soon afterward. i was more nervous hearing the story than she was living it. but it was a very good story. i mean, it didn't need any embellishment whatsoever.

i like people who have a pulse. i enjoy them very much. i had an italian aunt who would get so mad at my uncle, she would open her cabinets up and throw actual dinnerware at him. this, i am down with. there are times i would like to throw pans, or smash glass, and not necessarily at those i live among. just random people. that would be fantastic.

last year it snowed here for the first time in years. it was totally unexpected. my kids were playing basketball outside, i was on the patio thumbing through a magazine, and they had a friend over. none of us knew what was happening at first. we all realized at about the same moment - *S*N*O*W*! i ran to get the camera, my very optimistic children ran to get buckets (yes, buckets), and the friend looked at us all like we had lost our minds.

"this is nothing," he said. he who skis every year. i wanted to kick his ass.

well, i gently explained, it IS actually something to see snow in the sahara desert. it is a bloody miracle.

so while my kids were trying to fill buckets and catch snowflakes on their tongues, the friend stood there with what can only be described as sympathy on his face. but really, i thought at the time, how sad for him.

how sad to not get excited when something unexpected happens. to be so disenchanted when a magical substance falls from the sky. doesn't it get chilly, being so cool?

i have never liked a killjoy, or a debbie downer, or a buzzkill. and i know a few, in all shapes and sizes, but not too many. i keep my distance. and i most definitely do not play charades with them.

farming wears me out. and all i did was walk it

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 03:33:00 +0000

today we went to a farm. tonight i can hardly move. and it's not just because our hayride tractor blew a tire somewhere between christmas tree farmville and mars and we had to walk back. i think being outdoors makes you tired. and humidity that makes your hair curl wears you out. and watching kids zipline and tarzan swing and tube roll - it's very tiring to watch.

and, oh yeah, i carried everyone's jacket. that is very tiring. i drew the line at drinks and pop rocks. when i start to need a cart to carry people's stuff, i draw the line.

so there are these big mounds of hay, and they have hidden gopher-like holes in them. and invisible booby trap strings. i won't tell you how i found all this out, or even how undignified i might have looked for 1/10th of a second.

kids like to climb hay and swing tarzan style and land on their butts. i, on the other hand, do not.

my oldest son apparently inherited some almost trapeze-like ability to swing sideways and upside down and not decapitate himself. and yes, i am very proud.

and next there is barrel rolling. which looks as fun to me as being tossed into a washing machine.

my oldest, of course, loves this. they all do.

it's like human hamsters in a wheel.

at this moment i am thinking, no. surely not...

but, yes. and with my youngest in the tube, no less. my next thought is, this will not end well.

luckily, the tube with a human inside is a heavy thing.

i love goats. goats like to climb. if you grew up in a city, odds are you did not know this. and if you did know this, well then you're too smart for your own good. no one likes a know-it-all.

i could watch these goats walk on this contraption for hours. it just really cracks me up. it is so ridiculous and absurd.

the kids can buy food, put it in this trolley, and wheel it up to the goats. there was a very cute goat i was petting and i let him lick my hand. the kids thought this was great until they pointed out he was eating poo off the ground. we all have our faults. stupid goat.

this slide sounds like a fighter jet taking off. your arse bumps its way down dozens of cylinders.

this is their christmas tree farm. you can find a tree and cut it down.

these are the baby trees, and the giant rolling irrigation system.

this is HELL NO. i would rather self-implode.

this is the corn maze we got lost in. mazes always seem so friendly and fun when you first enter. by the end, all i can think of is jack nicholson with a knife.

this zipline is baby beans compared to this zipline. because really, once you've stepped off a ledge five stories in the air, being a couple feet off the ground is nothing.

there were bikes.

there was a corn cannon.

there was a swing from the 1800s.

seriously, how can their legs not be tired?

i am tired and all i did was watch. and walk 32 miles. or, at the very least, 2.5 country miles which is the equivalent of 32 city miles.

there was one picture i did not include. i will describe it to you, because what you imagine can only be an improvement on the real thing. it is the four of us on the back of the hayride tractor. it is bright and none of us are wearing shades. the kids have their fake smiles, my hair is curly and looks like i have been electrocuted, and my husband is not smiling.

so basically what i'm saying is, our christmas card for this year is done.

this christmas, less (tree) is more

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 04:21:00 +0000

this is not our christmas tree this year.

this was our christmas tree last year. but i will get to that.

to be honest, my primary reason in blogging today is not because i have so much to say, but because i want you to see my new masthead. the snowman. he's cute, right? and so now that you're here, i guess i have to entertain you a bit. would you like some peppermint bark or diet coke? yes? oh sorry, it's all gone.

so what did you do today? here is what i did. rummaged through what seemed like 17 "christmas stuff" boxes from the attic, trying to pick and choose the few things i will use this year. but then i got sidetracked and ended up cleaning out the attic, and getting rid of boxes that contained stuff we don't even own anymore.

my theme for this year is "less is more." and who are we kidding, that is pretty much my motto for life. i am the complete opposite of a hoarder.

the other day, my husband was cleaning out his side of the closet. i am always shocked that he is not completely inspired after daily viewings of my side of the closet, which is color coded and shoe-in/shoe-out neat, to copy and do likewise. my kids' closets are the same. but i can honestly say, the man does not bow down to peer pressure.

he knows that the more stuff he throws out, the happier i will be. he came to me with some odd-shaped box and asked if we should keep it. "for what?" i said.

"because we might need a box this size one day."

yes, and we may also need two tickets to venus, or a life raft, but i am not saving or worrying about that yet. "we can buy one," i told him.

so anyway, i like to get rid of stuff. and i like things to be easy. which brings me to last year. we are the owners of a 9-foot bigger-than-godzilla christmas tree. it is so massive it comes in pieces and takes an entire weekend to fluff, light, decorate, and ribbonize. (ribbonize: the laying on of ribbons.) that, to me, is an entire weekend too long.

so last year, we get it wired with 2,800 lights. then we place ornaments. then we plug it in. it is absolutely dazzling, like a tree that is lit from within. for about, oh, say five minutes. just long enough for them to see it from space. then a strand goes out. curse words fly. i contemplate how long it would take me to drive to galveston and throw this beautiful tree in the ocean. it is like a girl dressed beautifully for prom who gets punch drunk.

i am done with this tree. so.very.done.

so this year i decide we're using the little tree, the gremlin, the tree big enough to house one keebler elf. i, personally, love this little tree. it has served in the game room; at my mother's townhouse; in a small den - but this year i decide that it is going to be the main attraction. i put the tree up next to the loveseat and my first thought is, it looks like a giant ivy.

this is my little gimp punk:

this is gimpy from across the room, with the lights out. kind of like a firefly:

the kids love it. they think it is beautiful. they chose colored lights, and they set them on fast blink, which really could send an epileptic into a seizure if they looked at it for too long. my youngest said, "it is very comforting." comforting in what way? i wanted to ask. comforting in that you are not instead on a roller coaster with no seat belt? but i just smiled. because we are done.

lest you think i am so lazy that this tree is the only decorating i did, you are sorely mistaken. i also did this:

it's fake, it's from sam's, it cost less than $20. i cannot kill it.

gimpy cannot be seen from space. he can hardly be seen from three feet away. but he has brought the spirit of christmas into our house. the kids decorated it in its entirety, because they could reach all the top branches. we used only our most favorite ornaments until we literally ran out of space, and didn't have to use the hand-me-downs to fill in empty spots.

so if you will excuse me now, i'm going to go relax by gimps, and be comforted by the fact that i.am.done.

losing your way

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 05:22:00 +0000

this morning i found myself lost in downtown houston, looking for a radio repair shop. i had missed the downtown detour exit, and instead found myself downtown. where you can see the big buildings, but they seem a few light years away.

for me now, with my iphone, this is no problem. i pull over, press maps, and tell the compass to find me now. a blue dot which is me lights up. then i type in where i want to go. and then, in a very friendly way, it gives me turn-by-turn directions. turns out i was literally right around the corner from where i needed to be.

years ago i owned a volkswagen convertible. one of the joys of my life was putting the top down, popping in a great cassette, and just driving. on one of those days, i ended up lost in downtown houston. this was before the days of iphone, gps, cell phone. i was alone, a white girl with the top down in a very not-so-great 'hood. the kind where the houses are rickety, people are on their porches, and there are extension cords running from house to house.

i felt very exposed and vulnerable. and it seemed the more i tried to find my way out, the deeper into this area i went. of course, i eventually figured it out. but those moments where you are losing your way are full of panic and dread.

this morning i saw a woman who has lost her way. she seemed old, wearing her houseshoes, pushing her grocery cart full of belongings up a steep sidewalk. it was hard for her. she had to go slow. i didn't see her face, but it saddened me deeply for those moments while i watched. i always think, she was someone's baby. she is, perhaps, someone's mother. what has happened to her?

and earlier, while waiting for my car to get inspected, i read in today's paper of a man - homeless - who ended up in the back of a garbage truck. he is okay, although he survived three crushes by the garbage compacter. he had fallen asleep in a dumpster, which evidently is a common place for homeless to dwell. i cannot fathom being so low in my life that a dumpster seems like a reasonable place to seek refuge.

and at this time of year, i always remember back to a christmas past, when my cousin showed up unexpectedly at my mother's door. she had left her family without telling anyone - three young kids, a husband. she had taken a bus here with less than $20 in her wallet. she left them a note saying she had gone to the store. she was, without a doubt, lost.

we had grown up together; taken bubble baths together; she was the one who told me the shocking truth about how babies were made. when we got older, i went off to college and lost touch while her life took a different path. and not the straight and narrow one.

maybe i shut her out. maybe she purposely lost touch with the family. but now here she was, her big blue eyes staring up into mine, searching for some sign of tenderness. all those years of being mad at her latest follies melted away. i knew this girl. she was not some story in a newspaper.

i remember she seemed almost shy asking me about my life. i was single, with my own apartment, working a full-time job. she asked me if i liked quilts. i love quilts, i told her. fine, she said, she would make me one. she stayed for two days. we talked, we laughed, we cried, and then my mother and i drove her to the bus station, to the bus that would take her back to her home.

she wasn't magically cured of whatever made her leave. i think it's part of the human condition - to feel despondent depths of loneliness, no matter who or how many people you are surrounded with. sometimes for a good reason, and sometimes for no reason at all.

she could have been anyone. i saw my cousin in a different light that christmas. not as someone who had made a lot of mistakes, but someone who needed very much to be forgiven and counted. to be seen and heard and loved.

who among us doesn't need that?

i dedicate this post to my cousin E, who i know is reading this blog because she said i could share her story. and she's checked my blog three times today already - yes, i can see you. xoxo

30 days of gratitude

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 03:30:00 +0000

i have challenged myself to think of 30 things i am grateful for, this being the month of november and having 30 days. luckily, i was brought up by a grateful mother, who always saw a cup half full. and besides, what do you need with a full cup anyway? it'll just make you have to pee sooner.

1. my parents. while my dad has been gone from this world now for quite some time, he was the pipe-smokingest, newspaper-readingest, glasses perched on the nose, most non-b.s. man you could ever hope to meet. he called a spade a spade and urged me to do the same. you don't like him? ask him if he cared. my mother... see above. she is love incarnate.

2. my papa. i had three grandparents that i knew and loved, but he was by far my favorite. he'd kick me under the table playing dominoes. he'd drive me to the store and let go of the wheel so i would laugh. he called me miss hollywood. he made me feel beautiful, like a grandpa should.

3. my kids. i thought i was born to be the mother of girls, but god had other plans for me. turns out, girls would have worked my last nerve. these boys... their price is far above rubies. when i mess up a meal, like i did last night, they tell me the recipe lied. that the pictures are fake. that it smelled good. that really, i am the best cook they know. which, really, is quite sad.

4. my husband. besides being a very kind person, he's funny and even-tempered. all traits that age well.

5. my health. a neighbor -- a mom at school, has lost both her lower legs in the past year to gangrene and health complications. we used to sit outside together, walk our kids home from school. life can change quickly, on a dime sometimes. a body that can move, no matter its size or proportions, is a thing of beauty.

6. paid-for cars. i quickly got over the notion of having/needing/wanting a new car every 4-5 years. and i can promise you that though our cars may not be the newest, they are the cleanest. well. maybe not my husband's.

7. my home. and i love it not for what it looks like, but for what it represents. safety. security. a shelter from the storm.

8. vacations. planning them... taking them... i think travel is good for the soul. and i always feel a little closer to god when i'm staring at an ocean, or watching silent snow fall, or driving pretty much anywhere in new england, or even looking at that magnificent christmas tree in rockefeller center in new york.

9. my friends. growing up i was always kind of a one-best-friend-and-i'm-good type girl. but i haven't had a "bestie" for years. now i have different friends for different things. and i love them all.

10. whataburger. what, you thought this whole thing was going to be deep? i love the orange and whiteness of it all, but seriously, who does a better burger than whataburger? no one, that's who.

11. quiet. i love quiet mornings, after the kids have ridden their bikes off to school, husband has left for work, dog has retired to her cozy spot to sleep. no quiet buzz of a distant tv or game. no fridge opening and closing and opening and closing. just stillness.

12. chaos. i love occasional chaos. it makes me laugh. like at holidays, or at friends' houses who have more kids and pets, and there's a dozen conversations, a couple of crises or crying kids, someone else's dog just ran into your house, someone just dropped a juicy morsel of gossip.

13. a bathtub, a diet coke, and a new magazine. i will see you in two hours.

14. steak. anytime. anywhere.

15. teachers. their job is repetitive, and challenging, and crucial. there was one teacher, a class favorite, who came to see my son play baseball. he was so nervous you would have thought the most beautiful girl in the world was watching him. and in his eyes, she was. (and for the record, she has gray hair and is a grandmother. but she totally rocks.)

16. good smells. campfire. candles. banana bread. magic marker. oops, did i say that out loud?

17. chocolate. especially the bite-size reese's peanut butter cups in a bag big enough for me to share a few, then hide the rest for whenever i really truly need it. which will be soon, very soon.

18. birds that sing cheery little songs.

19. pretty people. yes, it's shallow, maybe it's stupid, but i don't care. i like to look at 'em.

20. earth, the planet. as seen from space or the moon or a satellite. it's such a pretty blue and green ball, so majestic just floating there.

21. lyle lovett, aggies, longhorns, and texas. and chile con queso. and not necessarily in that order.

22. the harry potter books. because not only did they foster in both my kids a love of reading, but they detail love and loss, and good and evil, in a way that transcends age.

23. funny. funny blogs like notes from the trenches. funny tv like modern family. funny people like kathy griffin.

24. new england. i like how you can drive across three states in two hours time. i like the covered bridges. i like walden pond. i like boston and harvard and people ice-skating on ponds, even though i never did that.

25. really sharp pencils with full erasers.

26. music. and especially listening to the same song over and over and over again.

27. people who do their jobs well and cheerfully. but i would take cheerful over well because you can always train them to do better. you can't teach cheer.

28. twinkle lights.

29. deer. they are beautiful and vulnerable and fragile. and no, i do not want to eat them.

30. sleep. i always underestimate just how awesome it is.

halloweenies

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 03:13:00 +0000

mummifying the dog was quickly abandoned...

in favor of mummifying the 7-year-old...

...who was a much more willing participant.

the girls are always so cute, and so happy, before the boys show up...

when mustard got out of the car, hotdog said, "ben! thank goodness you're here! you make no sense without the rest of us," to which ben replied, "i know, right?!"

there were lots o' neighborhood kids at my friend's party this year, and my fave was the girl rapper in the yellow jersey, fifth or so from the left. i am going as that next year. or maybe not.

here's the moms. we are cool. we do not dress for halloween. we take pictures and drink red champagne slushies. so much so that we forget to take a picture of the dads. whoops.

cutest hobo you've never seen:

these girls, some kind of twist on goth supergirl -- we found them dancing alone an hour later in front of their house. there was no music. there was only sugar high.

this is before some of us lost our children...

i know twister, but i have no idea who these other kids are. they're just cute. and i'm a mom with a camera.

this is my skeleton and his best bud, pirate man.

yes, by the end of the night, we were wearing our buckets on our heads...

happy halloween!

door prize

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 02:38:00 +0000

here's a cool game i played today. look around the room and find something green. now, close your eyes. tell me something in the room that is red. not easy, is it?

because when you are focused on one thing, you tend to block everything else out.

here's another game. i will name 10 random things: a penny; feet; tricycle; tires; baseball glove; snake; dice; ice skates; a cat; and bowling pins. now, without looking, try to name them all back. impossible? not at all -- it's very simple, actually.

today i went to a community conference for parents of schoolchildren, and attended three seminars (of my choice) designed to help me with my kids. but the truth is, these same principles can be applied to most any life or relationship.

as for the random 10 things -- and by the way, my kids loved this game once i explained it to them -- it's all memorization by association. a penny is ONE cent; you have TWO feet; a tricycle has THREE wheels; a car has FOUR tires; a baseball glove has FIVE fingers; a snake can twist into a number SIX; the dice spin lucky SEVEN; ice skates form a figure EIGHT; a cat has NINE lives; there are TEN bowling pins.

the last seminar i went to was beyond stellar. the speaker had me at hello. she was so fascinating, and so engaging, all i could think of was, how could i possibly spend more time with this woman? could i call her up and take her to lunch? because i really think she can answer every question i have ever had in my life.

first of all, she was tiny and blonde, very striking, and she used to be a police officer. come again? then, she worked in a prison for 12- to 18-year-old boys. yes, a prison. and she said she chose boys because the girl inmates were too mean.

next, she and her husband went on to foster 16 at-risk teenage girls in their home. she home-schooled her own children plus seven others. clearly, this is not a woman who is afraid of a little conflict.

one of the first questions she asked brought tears to my eyes. "what do you want walking out your door at 18?" in other words, do you want a self-sufficient person? or do you want to see "entitlement-itis" walking out?

i never felt entitled, but i most certainly was not self-sufficient when i left for college. when i got to the dorm, one of my childhood friends led me to the laundry room and showed me how to measure detergent. and it would be years later that i learned to separate lights from darks. also, more famously, i once stuck a wendy's burger wrapped in that silver foil into the dorm microwave. i had no idea you couldn't do that. because do you know what happens? flames happen. that's what.

she also spoke of the importance of letting kids fail under the safety net of your home. don't nag them to do their homework. let them show up without it and see what happens. (yeah... i haven't quite mastered that one.)

last year, i told my 10-year-old that he could decide if he wanted a nice gift for his birthday, or a party. i said, you have $200 to work with. (because lord knows, a bowling party or laser tag party with several of their friends will cost at least that.) so he naively decides that he would like a couple gifts, but would also like to play laser tag and have a sleepover with a few of his friends.

my mental calculator is much faster than his, and it's clear this will push it over $200. but i say nothing. i ask him to call the laser place, get prices, factor in pizza and drinks for that night, and also the price of the gifts he'd like to have.

a few days later, he looks crestfallen. he has figured out that these things he wants cannot be had for $200. i feel a pang of sympathy, then recall (out loud) that i only had one big birthday party growing up, as did most of the kids in my neighborhood. back in the days before parents had lost their minds.

he ended up having three boys over to spend the night. pizza, wii games, a late movie. to me, this is what a party should be. doable. we are not keeping up with the kardashians here.

anyhoo, back to the speaker lady. she encouraged us to get our kids to keep gratitude journals, and victory journals, and to write "101 wishes." this last one is where you brainstorm and write down 101 things that you really want, the first 30 or so of which come quickly and easily. then you start to have to think. that's when you get to the real stuff.

words are powerful things. and when you write them down, magical things can happen. years ago, i made a wish list. with pictures. i was very specific with what i wanted. every single "wish" came true, down to the picture of the two-story red brick house, which looks remarkably similar to the one we live in now.

anyway, here's the best part. i almost didn't go to this last seminar. then, i almost didn't fill out a door prize card. then, i almost left when she was done reading the winners. but something made me stay. then she realized she hadn't drawn for the grand prize, the winner of two private sessions with THIS MAGICAL WOMAN. want to guess whose name she read? that's right.

and just so you know, i had visualized having her all to myself.

the neat freak in me

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 01:38:00 +0000

i have always been extremely neat. as a child, i can remember going to the neighbor's houses to play and taking great delight in pulling everything out of their child's messy closet, and putting it all back in neatly.

my mother is an immaculate house keeper. meaning, she moves the furniture to vacuum. baseboards are part of her repertoire. she came by it honestly. her mother used to follow us grandkids around with a wet rag and an eagle eye. i am not clean, not like that. but my mother was not clutter free. and i am.

i don't judge others for being sloppy. not unless i live with them. i remember one time, visiting a favorite aunt, our dog went under her dresser and came out with a bar of soap in her mouth. this was hilarious and unimaginable to me. i loved it.

and i've had my share of not-so-neat roommates. one girl never unpacked the whole four or five months i lived with her. she didn't have a closet, so all her clothes stayed in huge moving boxes and she would just rummage around for something to wear.

another was an excellent cook, but would leave every dirty pot right where it cooked. for hours. overnight. until myself or the other roommate couldn't stand it anymore and would clean it. she boasted to me one time that growing up her mother never made her clean her room. i made a mental note of this. and now, 17 years later, a clean room is a requirement to live in this home.

if you are meticulously neat, you can't help it. it's just the way you were drawn. my husband's grandmother is the same way. she will tell me that she couldn't possibly go to bed if there was one dirty dish in her kitchen sink. i tell her that, well, i could. and frequently do. but, most everything else is in its place. a place for everything, and everything in its place.

one of my obsessions is homes that are beautifully done. i love them. i drink them in. i want to look at every single thing.

there is a woman, a friend of friends, who lives in my neighborhood. i had never met her but i had heard from several others that her home was amazing. to die for. this was pure torture for me, a thing of beauty so near, yet so far away.

somehow, i think our sons were on a baseball team together, i finally met her. and i made it my personal goal to find a way into her home. much like you do when you are in someone's home, and you say you need to use the restroom, so you can check that out, too. believe me, i know all the tricks.

well. she had a garage sale and told us - her new friends - that we could come by beforehand to check out the loot. because this woman's trash is everyone's treasure. this was jackpot for me. let me just tell you, she had me at the garage. it was painted green. the cabinets had fancy handles. the floor was spotless. i was like a burglar with a key and the passcode. i made it into the house.

it was all that. two staircases. the kitchen had a piano. not a detail overlooked. homey yet traditional. huge yet cozy. i picked out the room i would want to live in if she invited me to stay forever.

but, there were days - weeks even - that i would have also wanted to stay forever at my aunt's house, the one who loses bars of soap. why? because love lived there. and you could feel it.

when my husband and i were first married, we lived near rice university, and across the way from a very fancy neighborhood. we would go walking there at night, at twilight, when people's blinds were still open but they were beginning to close their homes up for night. not all of the homes were huge, and some of the smaller ones were way more charming. i'd see potted geraniums on a porch, or a cat in a window and i'd say, "look. love lives there." he'd laugh at me, but he knew what i meant.

and love appears in different forms. it's more of a feeling or a vibe that is transmitted. and for me, love is tidy. it is order.

so i won't judge you for being a slob. just don't judge me for following you around with a wet rag.

why i watched obama with my kids

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 22:36:00 +0000

when my kids got home from school today, my mother and i watched obama's speech to schoolchildren with them.

i felt two strong emotions while watching it. extreme pride to be an american. to live in a country that could elect a black president, who rose above all odds to win the presidency. and deep shame, that for veiled reasons and beliefs, so many schools here in texas - including ours - chose not to show it.

it was a wonderful speech. and i kept thinking, how sad that some of these young boys (and girls) in my sons' school, who do not have a good role model or father to look up to have missed out on this most simple and important of messages: stay in school. work hard. study.

i read some remarks written by "christians" online, suspicious of his intents. citing propaganda. quoting the bible. making comparisons to hitler. i wish i was kidding. one said, "when i heard it (the speech) i laughed since it's obvious that he doesn't believe a word of it!" in response i could only write one word. WOW. and not wow in a good way.

the simple truth is that it freaks a lot of people out that he is black. they hide it behind other words like "muslim" or "socialist," because you can not very well say, "i don't like having a black president."

but the truth is, more people than not voted for him. my mother, for the first time in maybe her whole adult life, voted democrat. and as i have become fond of saying, you can't hand obama the ingredients for shit soup and expect filet mignon.

the fear-mongerers will continue to scream and yell. the extreme right wing will keep trying to discredit this president, no matter what he does.

one of my facebook friends posted this, and i wholeheartedly agree: "it is a dark day for democracy when schools charged with instilling patriotism in our children tell them that they can decide to turn a deaf ear to a message of hope from our president. to every administrator who allowed an opt out: take down the flags in front of your schools and burn them, you have disgraced their meaning. hang your heads in shame."

we are all american. but it sure doesn't feel like it today.

the night in which there was a fire

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 02:41:00 +0000

today someone made me chocolate chip cookies. bought my son and me a shrimp ring. took my other son to his baseball practice. waited on my children so i could just sit and read. that person was my mother. we have invaded her house like a tribe of demanding gypsies and she could not be happier.

we have been here now for three days. and three nights. our stuff is strewn all about her house. she has given up her own bed so that her grandson, who sleeps like a starfish, can have the whole thing. we arrived here at 2 a.m. sunday morning and she didn't complain. she was just happy we were alive.

this is because our garage caught on fire saturday night. and it is finally a good thing that we are vampires and stay up half the night.

i had just fallen asleep when i heard the electricity click off. that is not a happy sound to anyone who lived through hurricane ike. because you immediately recall having prep time to hunker down. and the insanity that ensues from days upon days with no electricity. and you remember the destruction. but i digress.

my husband went out front to see if the neighborhood was blacked out. but no, other people had lights. then, as he was walking back up the driveway, he saw a blue flame through the garage window. on the breaker box. in a closed garage that held a car and gas cans. at 1:30 in the morning.

this story might have a very different ending if we had been sound asleep. take a look at our neighbor's garage:

they had thrown warm coals into a garbage can. the details of what happened next are fuzzy and varied, but a few minutes later their garage pretty much exploded. and it took much of their house with it.

as fires go, ours was very small. it melted some buttons and blew out our electricity. turns out we had faulty wiring. we got it fixed today. we are going home tomorrow.

the same night, my husband's young cousin was driving home from denton. it was late, it was dark, she was alone with her cat. she saw the car in front of her brake hard, and a deer come flying towards her windshield. her car flipped and she had to be cut out of it.

she is fine. her cat is fine. we are all fine.

but isn't life always just a hair away from not being fine? if we had been asleep. if she had been driving on an overpass. if this. and if that. most of the time it doesn't happen to you. but sometimes we all get a jolt.

it's one of those things that quickly puts everything into perspective. like a fatal diagnosis. so to summarize, let me just recap for you what is not important: it is not important that my husband's cousin totaled her car. it is not important how much money it costs to fix wiring and replace a fuse box.

what is important. safety. health. staying alive. go hug someone you love today.

my, how times have changed....

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 13:27:00 +0000

last night i was chatting online with an old college friend. we were talking about old times, and i remembered how he had once coerced me into typing a several pages long report for one of his classes. this was because he did not have a typewriter, and i did. (also because he could not type, and i could.)

this image merged with a conversation i had the other day with my 10-year-old son. he wants his own computer/laptop very bad, and we keep putting him off. he asked me, "mom, do you think when i go to college i can have my own computer?" i told him, yes, most definitely. because what kid today doesn't go off to college with their own laptop and cell phone?

do you know what i went off to college with? a big-ass ibm selectric typewriter and a mini-fridge. i lived in the dorm and took potluck for a roommate. she was not there when i arrived, nor the next day, nor the day after that. her side of the room was completely decorated, however. there were framed pictures of some dude all over the wall, and big cushy letters above that spelled out "JAY." not a good first impression. hell would freeze over before i would ever decorate my living space around some guy.

she finally arrived, near midnight the night before college 101 started. she had driven back from austin, where she had seen JAY. i was quite sure that JAY in austin did not have his room decorated with big LAURA letters. in fact one time, she fell asleep while waiting for him to answer his phone. it woke us both up, hours later, when he got home and answered, startling her (and me) awake. the phone bill that month? priceless.

but i digress. i fell asleep last night thinking about the huge ordeal it was to misspell a word on a typewriter. that is, unless you had some special correction backspace key. you had to insert some kind of filmy paper directly over your mistake, and retype it. am i the only one who remembers this? it was very time-consuming. there was no cut and paste feature. there were no friendly windows. and i definitely don't remember anyone back then having a mac attack.

and here's another thing. these kids today can't type. they peck. i feel some bit of lingering superiority for being able to belt out my a-s-d-f-j-k-l-; keys in rapid succession, upwards of 80 words per minute. that is because typing was a class i took in high school. today i'm thinking maybe they should offer it to pre-schoolers.

i still text with one finger, though. i'm told, and i have read, that if you are truly great you text with both thumbs. that ain't gonna be happening for me.

so anyway, back to last night's chat. my friend and i had years to catch up on. i would type a question and wait an eternity for a response. so i'd send another line. "hello? you still there? did you fall asleep?" and eventually, he'd come back with, "i'm typing as fast as i can," and then a paragraph would appear five minutes later.

he still can't type. but that's okay. my ibm is probably in a landfill somewhere, and i've upgraded to apple products. i can scan pictures, upload my blog, and do lots of other things. surely i can wait a few minutes for a reply...

it doesn't take 1,000 words

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 16:17:00 +0000

when i spotted this picture on a friend’s facebook page, it caught my eye. in fact, i couldn’t stop looking at it. i don’t know anyone in it. i don’t know where it is, or what’s going on. but i love everything about it. it made me feel…like i was there.

because i have been there. many times. i can tell it’s probably in a small house, with wood floors that make a lot of noise when you walk across the room.

i can tell that the floor is probably lopsided because of all the different occupants – and furniture – that the house has seen. marbles would roll.

it’s maybe somebody’s birthday or perhaps even new year’s eve.

it’s loud. it’s personal. they all know each other.

i love the twinkling lights in the window, like maybe it’s cold outside but inside it’s kind of stuffy, and there’s lots of laughter. there’s inside jokes, eye rolling, standing around with awkward arms.

there’s food, but not much. some chips but all the dip is gone. you should have eaten before you came, because you might drink one beer too many. or heck, we’ll just go out afterward to that little mexican place that stays open all night.

you know the songs, or most of them, or some of them, because these are your friends.

from the outside, to someone driving by, it looks warm and nostalgic, makes them remember a similar time light years ago.

but for you, on the inside, it’s just another night. a fun night. that someday you will remember fondly. nostalgically. in about 20 more years from now.

...turns out, i do know someone in the picture. thank you, matt (on drums) for letting me share it...

the kid conversations

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 20:31:00 +0000

funny things happen all the time at my house that i am not allowed to laugh at. and just so you know, holding a laugh in is similar to holding a sneeze in. it kind of funks up your head.

like this morning. my girlfriend had a doctor's appointment so she asked if she could drop her son off to play. now, her son is one of the worst children i know. he's already on a first-name basis with the principal and all of the principal's pals at school. so i said sure, because i like my friend. and i purposely waited until this morning, 10 minutes before his arrival, to tell my kids he was coming.

"WHAT?!?" said my oldest son. "OH GOD WHY ME," he said. "I CAN'T STAND THAT KID."

"you'll live," i said. hoping the same could be said for my house and my own self.

so i did what any good mother would do. i bribed both my kids to be nice to him, reminding them that their promised trip to target this afternoon now hinged on their including him.

my youngest son ignored him completely. that is how he rolls. that, in his world, is being nice. he has no diplomacy button and he knows it, so he just shuts the hell up.

my older son....he is the nicest child. all kids love him. it has always been this way. and he can say the rudest things in the most charismatic tone you have ever heard. so the conversation goes like this....

visiting child: "ben, what level are you on in pokemon? what's the highest level you can get? how long did it take you? how'd you get requesa? do you use cheat codes? how'd you get it onto your wii?" and so on.

ben looks at me, rolls his eyes back in his head, and answers each question in the flattest tone you have ever heard.

then the visiting child says, "hey ben, if you come to my house sometime can you help me get requesa onto my wii?"

and ben says - and this is the part that had me stifling full-out laughter - in the MOST polite tone, "well, if i *ever* go to your house, which i don't know why i *ever* would, i guess maybe."

and the visiting child, totally oblivious to the insult, says, "awesome! thanks, ben! awesome!"

i cannot laugh. it would be too rude.

so then saturday, at a fish fry, one of the little scouts there had the worst mouth i have ever heard. he is 6. and it was compounded by the fact that his father did not correct him in any way, which led me to believe i had misheard him each time. until he came out to sit down and there were no chairs, and the child said, "where is my god-d***ed chair??" i almost fell out of my seat.

ben and i gave each other looks like, holy shit batman did you just hear what i heard, and kept eating.

so then later, the kid says about someone, "oh, i hate that bastard."

i mean, it was funny. but also shockingly inappropriate. so later at home, i'm explaining to my own foul-mouthed 7-year-old that the words his friend used are very bad, and to please not repeat them.

"which words?" he asked, totally fascinated with whatever new bad words he had never had the pleasure of hearing. so i skipped the one with god's name and just told him "bastard."

"baster? what's a baster?"

"no," i said. "BASTARD. and it doesn't matter what it is, it's a very bad word and i don't want you to ever say it."

so he is thinking very quickly and says, "but what if someone is about to kill me, for no reason, can i call that person a baster?"

well. he has a good point. "yes," i told him. "that would be an appropriate time to use it."

and i cannot laugh. because it would confuse the situation.

and then the last thing, which to me is just cuteness beyond words. my young son comes to me with a note he has written for himself. "rember" it says, instead of "remember." then it says "play club penguin july 3-5." he is asking where he should put this note to remind himself so he won't forget this very important piece of information.

"oh, honey, but those days have passed," i tell him.

he looks at me with pity, sighs and says, "mom. this is for 2010."

i am stunned, but i get him a thumbtack to hang it on his bulletin board.

and i cannot laugh. because he did not laugh at me.

my life in compartments

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 03:04:00 +0000

years ago in college, i remember one sunday driving with my (gay) friend andy. i had to drop off a cassette i had borrowed at a (platonic) friend's house. it was a newspaper friend, glen, and he lived in an odd house in a church parking lot. we went in, chatted a bit, and left. i guess my easy rapport with glen threw andy for a loop.

"i can't believe you have friends i don't know about," he said. "this shocks me."

"why?" i asked.

"because you are always with us," he said. "i had no idea."

this pleased me to no end. once again, i had kept worlds from colliding.

i have been doing this ever since i can remember. and i thought i was the only one until a few years ago.... a single fellow at work used to be very private and mysterious about what he did after hours. the girls at work would all tease him, ask him if he was dating anyone, why so secretive. i have two worlds, he said. work and not-work...and never the twain shall meet. i began to see there were more like me.

in high school i had my friends i had grown up with, and i had my alter-ego life that included misty, a friend who drove an unmarked police car, and cindy, my friend whose dad sold pot out of a garbage bag from their living room. we were good girls but we did like to go to clubs and hear bands play. and dance. and perhaps once in a while egg or toilet paper someone's house.

in college it got a wee bit more complicated because i had my high school friends, then my newspaper friends, and then my core-group of coolest-people-to-ever-walk-the-planet friends. i still did not want any crossover. because to me it was like having a plan B and C. like if one group didn't work out, i had something to fall back on.

flash-forward years later to me about to get married. and in planning a wedding i realize that four very distinct groups will collide: my mother's conservative church friends. my redneck relatives who have no filters. my rowdy college friends, also lacking filter and sometimes clothes. and my husband-to-be's filipino relatives.

this was my worst nightmare come to life. these people, all in one room, with alcohol. with me as the center of attention. and all that i could see myself taking from this coming together of peoples was a migraine headache and the mother of all culture clashes. no, this must never happen, this was the very reason for which elopement was invented.

and now for many years my worlds have not collided. and that is pretty much because they have all but ceased to exist. when you are busy shuffling off to swim team and baseball and scouting events, your world once again closes in and becomes rather small. manageable. aligned. until the internet invents something called facebook.

and here is the catch-22 of facebook: all the people you have ever met/known/seen/spoken to show up and want to be your friend. they all show up and look at your life, spy on your words, or maybe they participate and get in a facebook quarrel with someone they've never met. maybe someone who has loaned you a wig gets mad, threatens you and deletes your friendship. the praise-god christians show up to help you with your life. do you think i am kidding? sadly, all of this is fact.

it is, hands-down, the biggest intergalactic collision of worlds i have ever seen.

and now my worlds consist of college friends. old newspaper friends (from a real newspaper this time, not the college one). some cousins. and the PTO. yes, i know, it sounds like snoozer categories on jeopardy. and which of these does not fit? oh well that would be the PTO. they are lovely people, but they are not to be invited to the wedding. and by PTO i mean pretty much anyone associated with my kids' lives. they are in a compartment all their very own. i adore them, i see them everywhere i go, and that is why i do not need to see them every night on my computer.

i need my peace and quiet. and that quiet you hear? that is the sound of my worlds not colliding.

farrah and michael: sadder still because they were tragic figures?

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 02:59:00 +0000

leave it to michael jackson to upstage farrah and steal her last moment in the spotlight. but as one radio announcer pointed out, MJ is getting all the attention because his death was sudden and unexpected. farrah's was not.

i got overly sentimental about farrah last night after watching the barbara walters special on 20/20. but not because i was a huge fan -- although i do have happy associations with her, the 1970s, and charlie's angels -- but because she went from this beautiful girl to a caricature of what can happen when you subscribe to hollywood's prescription of plastic surgery, pills, and people who are not good for you.

this is how i like to think of farrah:

not this:

and not just because she's older. i love it when people age naturally because then you can see some semblance of their younger self in their face. to me, in the last few years her skin looked stretched too tight. she no longer had the huge magnificent smile.

i think it's tragic that her one and only child is a drug addict in jail. i think it's awful that her partner, ryan o'neal, was arrested for doing meth with his own son. she had a rocky relationship at best with ryan, but it is terribly moving that they showed up for each other in later years when they both faced serious health problems. he was at her side when she passed, and his words about it ("she's gone. she now belongs to the ages") were perfect. a perfectly tear-jerking story that is all too real.

and michael. the very definition of hollywood tragedy. the very worst things that can happen when your parents pimp you out and no one is there to be your safety net.

my kids see pictures of michael jackson now and ask why does he look like that. why did he try to turn himself white. why does he look like a girl. what happened to him.

in no way would i ever give him or anyone a free pass for molesting children, just because some terrible things may have happened to him. but who were those parents who let their children go to his home? and let them spend the night? they are just as much a monster as he was, if not more, because they knowingly put their child into danger and left them there. and for what? a possible lawsuit? a good time at neverland? please. there's always enough blame to go around.

i love his music, and so does most everyone i know. he just got progressively weirder as the years rolled by. he lost complete touch with reality. and i can't help but think that at least now, his three kids might have a better shot at some normalcy. depending on who gets them.

i don't think his death is tragic. i think his life was tragic. and sadly he'll be remembered just as much for his dark side as his fantastic music. that's the price of immense fame. a lion's den but as many free passes as money can buy. and it can buy a lot.

RIP farrah and michael. you need the peace.

scout camp photo essay

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 19:34:00 +0000

this is the first day of scout camp. myself and my younger son, little brown bear of raccoon eyes, are waiting for instruction on how to succeed in archery. i know from past experience that you are doing well just to not land in the dirt or sail it over the target. i tell myself it is much like darts, except with bigger, more cumbersome tools.

brown bear lucks out and gets a smaller bow. which could later explain why he gets two bulls-eyes and i get zero. that is my story and i'm sticking to it.

there is a long line of boards and, as you can see, plenty of arrows land in the dirt. i am so glad i was not an indian. i would have starved to death.

the older boys, the webelos, get more arrows and more turns. they have a few years behind them now and are not a menace to society with a bow and arrow in their hand.

...although that did not stop brown bear. he shot like a hungry man aiming at a charging bull.

and that is why he got the coveted mark of the expert marksman. there were fist bumps and high-fives among the kids, whether they knew each other or not, who hit their target.

next was something i'm more comfortable with, having been born and bred in texas. guns. or rather, bb's. this is most everyone's favorite station at scout camp. the boys have four days of shooting where they load their own gun, cock it, learn about gun safety, and fire. and not necessarily in that order.

a few of these little dudes have a lot to learn about gun safety. because while they are reloading they will aim the gun up, down, and all around. or they will aim at the wrong target. much like dick cheney.

there were frequent rehydration breaks for water, gatorade, or snow cones.

there was the making of slime. always a big hit, since it looks like jello but is similar to something you might pull from your nose. i wanted no part of this. our slime has since "disappeared."

the webelos (the older boys) ("we'll be loyal scouts") spent time each day building their own rocket. i was surprised at how professional they all looked. and inside each one is a tiny parachute that will shoot out once it is fired into the atmosphere.

this is my older son's rocket on the launchpad. he got to launch it twice. it was most awesome.

to infinity . . . and beyond!

trials and tribulations at swim team

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 14:20:00 +0000

i lost 10 pounds last night. i sweated it off in a puddle at a swim meet. four hours in direct sunlight can do that for you.

swim meets are insane. they last for hours. while your child maybe competes in four races, those four races could each be spaced 1.25 hours apart. let's say you have two kids. you do the math.

yesterday i was a timer. i stood at the end of a lane (lane 6 if you must know) and timed each child coming my way for hours on end. people, lane 6 is a slow lane. and many times there is no swimmer in it depending on the particular race. since it's an even number lane, it was our competitor's lane and i found myself rooting for them if only so they didn't place dead last in every single race.

some of the children will stop mid-lane, look around to see how the competition is doing, wave to their parents, and then they may or may not continue the appropriate stroke to the end. we are yelling, swim! go! you can make it! don't stop!

it is -- exhausting. yelling. in the sun. for people who cannot hear you underwater.

there are three timers per lane. everything goes really fast. well, except in lane 6.

when we had no swimmer, i would beat it over to where my kids were sitting with their groups waiting to be called. they write on them with permanent marker -- their number, their races, their heat, their lane. they look like a tattoo experiment gone really bad.

my older son, who is always surrounded by kids, has taken to saying "peace out yo" after everything he says. so basically i am playing straight man to his little comedy routine. excuse me, holmes? how did this happen? you don't think i know what peace out yo means? i play along, which means i basically ignore it, and his friends think it is hilarious.

here is a sample conversation:

him: "yo, mom, those pudding cups are awesome!"

me: "oh, you had one already? did you find the spoons?"

him: "there are spoons?"

me: "um, yes, how did you eat it?"

him: "with my mouth. (cue in friends laughter.) (cue in mom looking bewildered.) peace out yo."

okay. hilarious. my children are eating like dogs while i am sweating my buns off in lane 6. i rush back to my spot where i am working with a nice lady and man who forgive me for missing the starting horn, and also for thinking that last week since i was listed as "backup" on the timer schedule that i had the night off.

evidently, "backup" means you are there the whole time, starting your timer with each race just in case another timer misses the horn. because you must have three timers per lane.

sports just confuse me. there is not one single sport that i truly understand. even in baseball where it seems to be pretty straightforward, there are weirdo rules that i am still hearing about six years into little league. and it never fails that some poor person will ask me what just happened. and i always say, i have no idea. i just show up when they tell me to.

so in swimming there are four strokes. freestyle means normal swimming, on your stomach kicking your legs and moving your arms. that is misleading. because to me, freestyle implies that you are free to do whichever style you want.

then there's backstroke. the same, only on your back. i get that one. it's just hard to go straight.

breaststroke. your arms scoop up out and around. your legs do something that looks froglike and, i just learned this last night, they can under no circumstance show themselves above water during this stroke. HIDE YOUR LEGS. if there is a kick -- boom, you're disqualified. you get the purple ribbon. no one wants the purple.

and of course, the dreaded butterfly. anyone with any sense on this earth hates this stroke. it makes no sense for the human body to try and copy a dolphin. they are aerodynamic. we are not. it makes my back ache just watching the kids do it. everyone gets dq'ed (swim team lingo, people) doing this stroke at one time or another. we would like to know who invented this stroke. what drug were they on.

i had a smackdown with two 7-year-old's last week over the butterfly. there are relay medley's with four boys and each one does a different stroke. well the boy who did the butterfly got disqualified. so the whole medley team got purple ribbons. back under the tent, the boys were talking smack about the kid who did not touch the wall with two hands. yes, that's right, because the butterfly is not complicated enough, they throw in stuff like oh, you have to touch the wall with two hands simultaneously.

well, combine that with all the weird looking stuff the rest of your body is supposed to be doing (feet together, no kicking, just moving up and down like a whale tail) and your arms -- i don't even know where to begin in describing what your arms are supposed to do -- and it is a lot for a little kid to remember.

the kid who messed up the stroke had tears welling up in his eyes, listening to the other boys talk. and they wouldn't drop it. so i turn with my mommy glare and say, "okay guys, that is enough." they keep on. i step it up a notch. "do you know that you are on the same team? do you really just want to throw your teammate under a bus for messing up the hardest stroke? that is terrible sportsmanship."

they still do not drop it. i pull out my big guns. "where are your mothers? and are YOU doing butterfly tonight? because i cannot WAIT until you get disqualified so you will know how it feels." all the other parents in the tent, mainly asian, are very quiet. they see now that i am a crazy honky. two dads come over later and are very friendly. clearly, they are scared.

so later, the rudest of the two boys comes walking into the tent with a purple ribbon. he got dq'ed for butterfly. he announces that he got dq'ed for butterfly. i say, "oh really. not much fun is it." no, he shakes his head.

but the story has a happy ending. the boy who first messed it up and lost the relay race for his team got chosen "shark of the week." the other kids had to eat his bubbles.

peace out yo.

i'm a celebrity. get me out of here.

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 02:27:00 +0000

last night i did not sleep any better than the night before. there are several reasons for this. the first being the fact that i chose, at 11:30 at night, to begin watching my latest netflix. i thought that, like "golden girls," it would put me right to sleep. i was wrong.

secondly, there are rooms in this house that are like the sahara desert. my bedroom is one. while my son sleeps like a penguin in an igloo in his room, i feel like i am camping on a windless night in a safety hatch.

but thirdly, this is the reason:

the dog. for some reason she has taken to sleeping in the sahara desert also. which would be fine did she not howl, scratch, sigh, and stretch her legs all night long, tapping the wall each time she does so.

in this picture, she is trapped inside the condo that two children made for her. it has a sunroof, which was removed so i could see "how happy" she was inside. and being boys, they left a small hole for her tail to come out and, brace yourself, so she could fart. when i looked down at her, i swear she looked at me as if to say, "i am a celebrity. get me out of here." but they had blocked all exits so there was really nothing i could do to help her.

i used to be able to sleep through thunderstorms. or carpet installation. or massive amounts of dorm noise during college. but now, if someone catches their breath on the other side of the house, my eyes shoot open. what kind of cosmic joke is this?

and i love to stay up late. i like to be the last man standing. i love the stillness. the quiet. it reminds me of being a teenager and savoring those few hours after my parents went to sleep (usually around 10:30) to read or watch tv or munch on some oreos.

but now the next day usually smacks me in the face. the day cannot stand that i do not want to wake up with the birds. the dog wants out. someone is always trying to tell me something that i cannot comprehend having been dead asleep two seconds before. my eye mask is now covering the lower portion of my face like i am a bandit. i feel like a dog trapped in a condo.

don't you people know who i am? i need five more minutes. i'm a celebrity. get me out of here.

not for the faint of heart

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 20:00:00 +0000

i have never had the desire to jump out of an airplane. maybe a momentary desire if i was sitting next to someone who stunk or in front of a child who wouldn't quit kicking my chair. but to voluntarily jump? for the thrill of it? no thanks. i'd rather just sit right here and get a refill on my diet coke thankyouverymuch.

and i do not have daredevil children. or i didn't think i did until a recent weekend where we ran into this pie-in-the-sky tower that included a four-story rockwall and a zipline.

i had never climbed a rockwall. and since there was no chance in this remote location of running into another mom from school who could see me strapped into this diaper-like apparatus, i gave it a go. let me tell you something. it is a lot more fun coming down than going up. i was very good at coming down. i could push off the side and not flip around in the air. it's fun to come down. going up? not so much.

the little "rocks" are very small. they were not big enough for my size 8 foot. i kept looking for a reasonable next step up the wall. there was none. i made it about four feet off the floor. my fourth grader made it all the way to the top and rang the bell.

so next, the zipline. i've seen people on reality shows riding a zipline and thought it looked like a blast. it's the sensation of flying through the air while holding onto a rope.

it was high off the ground. very high. look.

i went twice. and both times i almost chickened out at the last minute. i asked the guy, who was all of 18, to double-check the harnesses. i asked what was the most weight it could hold. (300 pounds.) i asked if anyone had ever died there. ("not yet.") he thought i was a nut. i don't care, dude. i'm about to step off a ledge and just hope to god that this tiny cord holds me.

my older, very cautious son has no qualms about stepping off the landing. i am at once proud and doubtful of his decisions in life. we are way higher than the trees.

i had to get a picture of the two of them about to tandem jump. i think next time i jump i would like not just a helmet but full body armor.

and here they come, flying through the air.

the little one asked if we could perhaps get an all-day pass to the zipline. the answer to that would be NO.

i'd like to apologize in advance to my mom, who has now had to see these pictures twice, of her beloved grandsons flying through space on a tiny wire. this is why we don't tell you what we are doing in advance, mom. by the time you see this, you will know that we survived.

my summertime rules: break them at your own peril

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 16:08:00 +0000

it's the second official day of summer vacation and the need for new summer rules is quickly making itself apparent.

for example, this. the day that school was out was a long, crazy day. my older son was invited to go to a birthday party of a kid he barely knows. but the 14 invited boys were to be picked up in a stretch hummer limo. and go play laser tag. eat pizza. tool around town in the hummer. go back to the boys' house for swimming, games, and an overnighter. this was a red flag to me that the mother was certifiable. crazy. out of her mind.

and it was also another red flag. every other kid's birthday is going to suck eggs in comparison. so, thanks lady.

nevertheless, he went. i get the report back that the boy has two laptops in his room. that his room is "so big" that 14 boys could play hide-and-seek in there. yes, great, fantastic. i really wish i could now drive him through the real-life setting of "slumdog millionaire" to show him how the rest of the world lives. because while it is nice to have friends with more who share, these are not the values i am trying to set.

but i digress. i'll leave the sense of entitlement for another post.

i drew the line at spending the night, but we let both boys stay up a little later than bedtime since it's summer, after all. here's the problem with that. i have early risers. it does not matter what time they go to bed. whether 8:30 p.m. or midnight, they will be up with the chickens. and furthermore, i was delivered the gut-wrenching blow that summer swim team begins (four days a week) at 7 a.m. this is not good news for a night owl.

so the first day of summer, when i am expecting to sleep to a delicious 9 a.m. or so, i wake up to faces in my face at 6:06 a.m. they are asking me questions about who can do what on which computer.

SUMMER RULE #1: if you should get up at some ungodly hour before 7 a.m., i do not want to know about it.

with this rule firmly in place, i can now go about my morning fog unperturbed.

the next thing that i had somehow totally forgotten about was the abnormally large amount of dirty dishes. because they're home all day. because they graze non-stop. because as soon as you clean up one mess, they're back in the pantry.

it is things like this that can drive a woman insane. like, completely out-of-her-mind nuts. it's how a mailman feels. there's no end to the mail. ever. can people just stop mailing stuff for one damn day? no, they cannot. it's the hamster wheel of life.

so i suggested with great authority that they use one cup all day long. and i don't care if you switch from lemonade to water, just rinse it out and keep going.

i also suggested, with great affection, that they get their own damn food. exceptions to this would include things baked in the oven, which will NOT i repeat NOT be happening every day.

i further went on, with what i hoped was extreme kindness, that if they were to use tray tables they are now responsible for wiping them to my specs and putting them back up. so then the next rule reveals itself.

SUMMER RULE #2: get it and put it back up your own damn self.

next i decided to do a sneaky mom move. to take something that was already on the horizon but tie it to a goal. my kids are both excellent readers and i want it to remain that way. i don't want them to slack during summer. and besides, doesn't everyone just need a little daily time to chill?

so i told them that yes, we can go to schlitterbahn waterpark once they each read an age-appropriate chapter book. so i have also bought myself a little daily quiet time in this deal.

SUMMER RULE #3: read.

read and then tell me about it. read the book and then see the movie. or vice versa. read and don't ever stop.

so that's as far as i've gotten. three rules. but it is only the second day of summer vacation. and, what's that? what do you need? a tissue, a band-aid, some goldfish? your wallet, the ds charger, your goggles?

GET IT YOUR OWN DAMN SELF, i call, with what i hope is great love and affection.

for stephanie, who never stops bugging me to write, even when i think i've got nothin to write about....

toofless

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Wed, 20 May 2009 13:43:00 +0000

today i want to write about teeth. because teeth are what is on my radar.

my youngest son, who is 7, finally lost one of his two front teeth. it has been dangling precariously for weeks. i did not know a tooth could hang on that long. it survived hamburgers. apples. twice-daily toothbrushing. that tooth had no plans to go anywhere.

and finally, i think he just got sick of it and pulled it out. so now he has a tiny gap in an otherwise adorable row of baby teeth. it is, how shall we say, not the cutest thing you've ever seen.

yesterday he spent quite awhile drawing battle scenes with his brother. there were ships, pirates, aliens, bombs, guns and the like. he brought his picture to show me when he was done and pointed out, that, "look, mom. all the bad guys have only one tooth." and sure enough, there were tiny teeth flying all over this war zone.

a couple days ago, a friend of mine got a frantic call that her 4-year-old son had knocked another child's teeth out on a trampoline. three teeth, knocked out. it was an accident, they were only baby teeth, but still. the guilt. the blood. the gaps.

which brings me to the story of how my teeth were knocked out. my young son loves this story, asks for it all the time, because there are villains and motorcycles and drama involved. i was playing in the front yard when i was about 7 with a girl down the street. fiona. we were roller skating. and for reasons which are very blurry to me now, she takes her roller-skated foot and kicks me in the mouth. there is blood. there are teeth flying. there is fiona running -- or skating -- home as fast as her feet can carry her.

it was my two front teeth. it's all fine. but i vow revenge. or at the very least, i vow to never play with fiona again. so as the ringleader of the girls on my block, i rally them to ignore fiona. fiona does not take this well, so fiona rallies her brothers with motorcycles. they chase us down the street (and really, thinking back, what kind of freaks with licenses are going to chase little kids?) and we run into someone's backyard and just start jumping fences until we are waaaay down the street. and they have no idea where we have gone to.

and that's as much as i remember. but my young son will ask, "and did they find you?"

"did you see them again?"

"did you report them to the police?"

and really, after telling the story to him a dozen times, he should know the ending is not going to suddenly change. but he holds out hope that it will turn into a big shoot-out scene on a ship with pirates and aliens.

which reminds me. my husband has a dentist appointment tomorrow.

jon & kate + 8 = loserville

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Sat, 16 May 2009 03:28:00 +0000

probably everyone knows more about jon and kate, + their 8, by now than they ever wanted to. if you live in a hole, or if you are my mother, this is a married couple with a reality show who have eight children.

cameras follow their lives. and now, surprise, their lives are falling apart.

because it seems that hubby here did not realize that perhaps he should not be canoodling with a 23-year-old teacher while his wife is gone on a book tour. he forgot, perhaps, that he was recognizable. did not realize, for a few days, that everyone now has a camera in their cellphone. and so there are pictures. and video. and witnesses. but hubby maintains he did nothing wrong, except make an error in judgment.

where. to. start.

firstly, when you pimp your family out to reality tv, it's not going to have a happy ending. look at nick & jessica, who ended up divorced. look at the osbornes, whose children both ended up in rehab. look at the girls next door, who all moved out of hugh hefner's playboy mansion.

but somewhere along the way, the fame becomes the thing. because have you seen pictures of kate before she got famous? oh, sister. it is a "before" pic if ever there was one. then in comes lighting and makeup and teeth whitening and hair bleachers and tanning beds. and a haircut that looks as messed up as her marriage.

but does she care? i don't think she really does. i think she will only care when the cameras stop rolling and the paychecks stop coming in. but i've never seen the show so i can't say for sure.

but the thing that blows my mind is that this is her children's reality. cameras. rolling. in their home. kate better start saving her checks for all the therapy these rugrats are going to need.

tonight i asked my son if he knew what porn was. i was asking him because there is currently a debate going on as to whether a 9-year-old really needs unlimited access to the internet. the answer is obvious, but he is not aware of the dangers that could pop up at anytime on google, youtube, or the mistyping of a website name. he said that no, he did not know the word.

i very briefly explained that if he were to ever accidentally end up on a site that contained nudity, or bad words of any sort, that he should immediately leave that site because it was very inappropriate. and i also told him that we, as his parents, would know because of a program that was installed on every computer or phone he might use. which is complete b.s. but nonetheless. i said it.

but what if cameras had been filming me? i cannot begin to imagine his great embarrassment to have a private moment broadcast. (yes, much like i am doing here. but hey people, i'm leaving out a huge chunk of our conversation, so there.)

and these very private, teachable moments -- they present themselves at the oddest of times. the day before i had an impromptu conversation with my youngest son about some kids at his school that i didn't much care for. and explained, in detail, why these were kids to stay away from.

soar with the eagles, i tell them.

i would never in a million years be able to say these things if cameras -- or even another person -- was in our home. it's too private. and they should feel free to say what they want to me. i'm their mother. it is a private, sacred relationship.

so really, jon and kate and all these others who sell their soul to the devil for a little fame and notoriety, are they really surprised when it all blows up in their face? they act surprised. like, oh, i had no idea. please. i almost feel just as sorry for the people who watch this garbage, but i won't open up that can of worms. (mainly because i watched all of the above-mentioned shows.)

i will be so glad when reality tv is a thing of the past. when writers and actors are back filling up all the primetime spots. because i don't really want to watch anyone's private life played out. it's not and could never be completely authentic. and i darn sure would not share mine. there is no price that could be put on a family's privacy.

you know who should own the rights to your family's history? you. not the network tv.

my invisibility cloak

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Wed, 13 May 2009 17:20:00 +0000

over the years, i've been asked by some, "what do you do all day?" because i'm a stay-at-home mom. depending on what word is emphasized, i totally get the gist of the question.

well, first off, here is what i do NOT do all day. sleep late. let the maid in. go shopping. hang out at a salon. watch tv. work out with my trainer. talk on the phone.

there is no maid. there is no trainer. and i hate the telephone.

several years ago, i woman i know who stayed home did nothing all day. for real, nothing. her husband came home and the house was a wreck. no beds were made. dishes and cups were wherever the kids left them. clothes were here and there. blinds were closed. mail was unretrieved. she looked like crap.

he said, "what the hell happened here?!"

and she said -- you guessed it, "nothing." that is what nothing looks like. it looks like a friggin mess.

at different times, i have done different things. for over a year i delivered meals on wheels. i went to a bad part of town, picked up about a dozen hot lunches, and drove them to some old folks who were still able to live alone thanks to programs such as this. my kids went with me. did they slow me down? yes. did they complain? yes. did they see people who needed a helping hand? yes. they listened to some of these old geysers tell stories of their youth. they got cookies from others. they got a clue that life isn't always a great ride into the sunset.

other times i have volunteered at school. one year -- the worst year, i was paired with a nonstop complainer and was in charge of all the volunteers for every single function the school had all year. i've been in charge of school supplies. i've been in charge of sack patrol. room parents. i show up and help kids read. i shelve books in the library. i show up.

then there are times when i'm more to myself. i stay home more. i clean, because if you want to talk to the maid, just go look in the mirror. i cull my children's clothes, see what's outgrown, what they need. i clean toilets. i schedule the cars for routine maintenance. i waste hours of my time on hold to complain about an incorrect cable bill, or electric bill, i keep our calendar organized, i make sure my kids do all their homework and stay in the straight-A zone. i protest my taxes -- and win.

what do all of these things have in common?

they are invisible. if you do them well, there is no trace. there is always a juice box in the fridge for lunch. there are no late notices on any bill. the house always looks presentable if someone were to drop in.

it looks like a free ride, i am sure, from the outside. but, my dear, there are no free rides. not even a free lunch.

i can well remember, when i was a smart-ass teenager, telling my mom that it wasn't her money because she didn't work. it was my dad's money. and she very calmly told me that it was their money, that her worth was not tied up in dollars and cents because what she brought to our family was not payable in dollars and cents. i thought she was full of it.

and now, she is me. and i need to go clean some toilets. and call my mom to make sure she knows how much i love her.

happy mother's day

noreply@blogger.com (Courtenay) — Sun, 10 May 2009 15:16:00 +0000

today is my 9th time to celebrate mother's day. i woke up to the sounds of fighting and name-calling, and quite possibly a small crash or two. i wasn't counting, and it's a little blurry to me. i've been up an hour and neither has yet remembered what day it is, nor wished me happy mother's day.

but that's okay. i forgive them. i always do.

being a mother is the single best thing that has ever happened to me. it has taught me unconditional love, firsthand. how you can be so steam-blowing mad at someone, so frustrated, so completely at your wit's end, and then everything can turn on a dime. they hang their head. they need you to be the big man first. they are just these little people, trying to find their way between who they are and what you expect of them.

you are their idol. they speak of you, in your absence, with great reverence. my youngest will tell my mother, "but that's not the way my mom does it." referring to anything from making a grilled cheese sandwich to making a bed to how i wrap up leftover food in the kitchen.

and my oldest, by virtue of being the oldest and the one often put in charge, is the soldier you would want to be huddled with if you were ever stuck in a foxhole. he will never betray you. he is the one who makes me want to be a better person. and so often, i fall short.

but they forgive me. they always do.

and today i think of my own mother. who is kindness incarnate...

i think of my friends here who i've cried with on the phone. me crying. them crying. it's not always easy to be a mother...

i think of the mothers who have left, because they didn't know how to deal...

i think of the mothers who have died, or are incapacitated, because i know a couple of those, too...

i think of mothers who have had their hearts broken by their children, which is perhaps the worst heartbreak a woman could ever suffer...

...and, again, i thank god for giving me these two little crown jewels, to enjoy and protect for these few short years. because it's one of the greatest gifts imaginable.

happy mother's day.