Remember "Weird Al" Yankovic? Wasn't his music a guilty pleasure back in the '80's? Or was it just my nerdy self?
Anyway, my nephew showed me this. I offer it now to you.
This one is just for the weird factor.
Your kids probably sing this one. If they don't, be grateful.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
WARNING: The following may make you sick, throw up.
I've been on vacation!
That's not something I have been able to say often in my married life, mostly because we have always talked ourselves out of spending the money on something frivolous while there were serious things to spend it on; also, the thought of driving hours and hours in the car with small children frightened us too much.
This year, however, we spent the money and weathered the drive. It wasn't a long drive -- just four or so hours -- but it was the longest we've ever gone with six kids in one van. Before we started we stocked up at Costco: red vines licorice, fruit snacks, and M&Ms. Sugar, sugar and sugar. Take note of that because it will come up later. Literally.
I drove because Husband had just found out that his pulled wisdom tooth had developed into dry socket. He, therefore, was not having much fun and was on heavy painkillers, which are not conducive to operating heavy machinery. Being chronically sleep deprived (mostly because I don't go to bed when I should), I took a little mental break for a while between Malad, Idaho, and Pocatello, but through the process of slapping my face and pinching my cheeks, I avoided killing us all. Husband woke up and put in his new Carpenters CD and that woke me up. I know that it should really have put me to sleep for real, but being able to sing along helped immensely.
A side note about the music: I grew up listening to classical music because that's what my parents listened to and played. I missed out on all the disco and smooth groove music of the '70s that Husband grew up listening to. For him, The Carpenters is nostalgic and sentimental and evokes happy childhood memories. For me, it was mostly new stuff, although I did recognize and know some of the songs. Who doesn't recognize and know at least some of their music, I'd like to know?
Meanwhile, in the back seats, our children watched DVDs and ate the aforementioned sugar. Little Gary ate a great deal of the sugary snacks, more than I knew, happily fed by his sisters.
When we had arrived at my brother's house, we settled in and I changed Little Gary's diaper. "Sick. Throw up," he said, matter-of-factly, but since he didn't look ill or exhibit greenness around the gills after making that statement, I just thought he'd get over it as he cooled down. A couple hours later we were getting dinner on the table and I picked him up. With no warning whatsoever he was sick and threw up. Twice. With volume and emphasis. I then realized how much licorice he'd consumed. Little Gary got a bath and I got a shower before dinner.
My brother was worried we'd brought some dire illness into the house, I could tell. I think I had just mentioned that our neighbor and Relief Society president was still recovering from Swine Flu and subsequent pneumonia when Gary heaved all over the kitchen and the white(!) living room rug. Fortunately, once he'd relieved himself of extra baggage, Gary was fine. No one else exhibited flu-like symptoms and the vacation passed peacefully. (And the rug cleaned up just fine.)
Husband, however, is still suffering from dry socket, although he is now able to cut out the heavy narcotic pain-killers and rely on ibuprofen alone. If you don't know exactly what dry socket is (which I didn't), imagine a scab forming in a dome over the hole in the gum, rather than directly on the wound, as it should. Under the scab an air pocket is formed, and the air presses down on the gum wound and causes amazingly great pain. You can either have the dentist scrape it out and let it bleed again or you can take painkillers and wait for it to heal on its own. Husband opted for taking pain-killers, probably not realizing just how long it would take to heal.
By the way, I bought some Mountain Dew for the drive home and had no mental lapses, despite a very long detour to drop Sian and Gabrielle off at camp. In fact, I'm still wired.
That's not something I have been able to say often in my married life, mostly because we have always talked ourselves out of spending the money on something frivolous while there were serious things to spend it on; also, the thought of driving hours and hours in the car with small children frightened us too much.
This year, however, we spent the money and weathered the drive. It wasn't a long drive -- just four or so hours -- but it was the longest we've ever gone with six kids in one van. Before we started we stocked up at Costco: red vines licorice, fruit snacks, and M&Ms. Sugar, sugar and sugar. Take note of that because it will come up later. Literally.
I drove because Husband had just found out that his pulled wisdom tooth had developed into dry socket. He, therefore, was not having much fun and was on heavy painkillers, which are not conducive to operating heavy machinery. Being chronically sleep deprived (mostly because I don't go to bed when I should), I took a little mental break for a while between Malad, Idaho, and Pocatello, but through the process of slapping my face and pinching my cheeks, I avoided killing us all. Husband woke up and put in his new Carpenters CD and that woke me up. I know that it should really have put me to sleep for real, but being able to sing along helped immensely.
A side note about the music: I grew up listening to classical music because that's what my parents listened to and played. I missed out on all the disco and smooth groove music of the '70s that Husband grew up listening to. For him, The Carpenters is nostalgic and sentimental and evokes happy childhood memories. For me, it was mostly new stuff, although I did recognize and know some of the songs. Who doesn't recognize and know at least some of their music, I'd like to know?
Meanwhile, in the back seats, our children watched DVDs and ate the aforementioned sugar. Little Gary ate a great deal of the sugary snacks, more than I knew, happily fed by his sisters.
When we had arrived at my brother's house, we settled in and I changed Little Gary's diaper. "Sick. Throw up," he said, matter-of-factly, but since he didn't look ill or exhibit greenness around the gills after making that statement, I just thought he'd get over it as he cooled down. A couple hours later we were getting dinner on the table and I picked him up. With no warning whatsoever he was sick and threw up. Twice. With volume and emphasis. I then realized how much licorice he'd consumed. Little Gary got a bath and I got a shower before dinner.
My brother was worried we'd brought some dire illness into the house, I could tell. I think I had just mentioned that our neighbor and Relief Society president was still recovering from Swine Flu and subsequent pneumonia when Gary heaved all over the kitchen and the white(!) living room rug. Fortunately, once he'd relieved himself of extra baggage, Gary was fine. No one else exhibited flu-like symptoms and the vacation passed peacefully. (And the rug cleaned up just fine.)
Husband, however, is still suffering from dry socket, although he is now able to cut out the heavy narcotic pain-killers and rely on ibuprofen alone. If you don't know exactly what dry socket is (which I didn't), imagine a scab forming in a dome over the hole in the gum, rather than directly on the wound, as it should. Under the scab an air pocket is formed, and the air presses down on the gum wound and causes amazingly great pain. You can either have the dentist scrape it out and let it bleed again or you can take painkillers and wait for it to heal on its own. Husband opted for taking pain-killers, probably not realizing just how long it would take to heal.
By the way, I bought some Mountain Dew for the drive home and had no mental lapses, despite a very long detour to drop Sian and Gabrielle off at camp. In fact, I'm still wired.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Dumpster Day
Today was Dumpster Day, that eagerly anticipated day in summer when the county puts dumpsters up and down the streets of our neighborhood. Without regaling you with a list of junk we shoved in there, just know our house is about 20 tons lighter. I got my workout in (skipped it this morning) and got a lot of Vitamin D from the sunshine.
Last night we finally got Joseph's bed into his room and Husband dismantled Little Gary's crib. Gary inherited Joseph's toddler bed. Of course, Gary took a long, late nap while I was at a baptism last night, so by the time bedtime rolled around, not only was he not tired but he figured out very quickly that he could get up and come out of his room. Finally, tired of sitting futilely by his bed and holding his hand in an effort to get him to sleep, I brought him into my room. Husband promptly took his pillow to the couch in the living room so he could get some sleep, and I tried to keep my eyes open during a viewing of "Ice Age." It wasn't until 1 AM that Gary decided he was ready to go to bed. Of course, he woke up on the floor this morning. It takes a while to get used to a bed that doesn't have bars.
That's why I skipped my workout. Too tired. Moving like mud. No motivation.
Now we're off to listen to Sian's orchestra perform in the park. We'll have a picnic dinner and the kids can play for a couple hours in the cool of the evening.
Last night we finally got Joseph's bed into his room and Husband dismantled Little Gary's crib. Gary inherited Joseph's toddler bed. Of course, Gary took a long, late nap while I was at a baptism last night, so by the time bedtime rolled around, not only was he not tired but he figured out very quickly that he could get up and come out of his room. Finally, tired of sitting futilely by his bed and holding his hand in an effort to get him to sleep, I brought him into my room. Husband promptly took his pillow to the couch in the living room so he could get some sleep, and I tried to keep my eyes open during a viewing of "Ice Age." It wasn't until 1 AM that Gary decided he was ready to go to bed. Of course, he woke up on the floor this morning. It takes a while to get used to a bed that doesn't have bars.
That's why I skipped my workout. Too tired. Moving like mud. No motivation.
Now we're off to listen to Sian's orchestra perform in the park. We'll have a picnic dinner and the kids can play for a couple hours in the cool of the evening.
Friday, June 26, 2009
What's For Dinner? And What Am I Listening To?
On Sunday, because of my lack of planning, I had to cobble dinner together out of whatever I could find in refrigerator and cupboard. I ended up concocting a dish of fried sausages, apples, and onions with a marsala chutney glaze, and cheesy grits -- I mean polenta -- on the side. It was a little too exotic for half the family; mostly the half that hasn't reached adulthood. Otherwise, it was a big hit.
Yesterday I bought some pizza shells from Papa Murphy's and made pizzas. I hate making the dough, so it's worth it to me to spend $2 a crust to save myself the time.
Now I have yet another meal to plan. I have quite a few cans of butter beans in the cupboard. What can I make that is delicious and filling? I am so sick of coming up with meal plans these days.
Any ideas?
In other "ME!" news, I loved listening to my music when I was a teenager. I had lots of tapes, mostly given to me by people who thought I would like something they liked, which I generally did. Somehow, I need a recommendation to buy an album -- or what are the kids calling it these days? Is it still an album or CD if you buy it on iTunes?
Then, after my mission, where I was severely restricted in what types of music I could listen to, all my tapes sat and gathered dust. I just wasn't all that interested anymore. I didn't even have the desire to turn off all the lights on a Sunday night and have a sensory deprivation moment (except for hearing, of course) with NPR's Pipe Dreams and Music From the Hearts of Space, which was a forum for playing with synthesizers, since they were so new at the time. Gosh, I'm old.
Of course, I was married pretty quickly after I got home from my mission, and then I was puking my guts out with Sian (thank goodness she turned out so well!) so sitting in the dark watching random images from my brain on the back of my eyelids was often interupted by the need to slap my hand over my mouth and run for the bathroom.
There followed a long, long hiatus on the music-listening scene, punctuated only by my love for playing the piano and my wonderful, wonderful cello. I would occasionally find something I liked and listen to it a bit, but only half-heartedly. I would barely notice when Husband stole all the best CDs and took them to work.
Now I think I'm becoming obsessed again. I have found enough new stuff that I like to listen to it over and over. I'm walking around with earphones in my ears and have to pull them out to allow the children to say something to me. There are those of you far more versed in the music scene than I am (I'm thinking of MKShelley and David S., for instance, and Allyson always has a song stuck in her head) but I'm finding some good stuff with the help of pandora.com, iTunes, and, of course, friend recommendations.
As long as you're giving me dinner ideas, why not throw in some music recommendations? It doesn't matter if you don't know what I like. I only really dislike heavy metal and hard-core rap. Everything else, including opera, is fair game. C'mon. Tell me what you love.
Yesterday I bought some pizza shells from Papa Murphy's and made pizzas. I hate making the dough, so it's worth it to me to spend $2 a crust to save myself the time.
Now I have yet another meal to plan. I have quite a few cans of butter beans in the cupboard. What can I make that is delicious and filling? I am so sick of coming up with meal plans these days.
Any ideas?
In other "ME!" news, I loved listening to my music when I was a teenager. I had lots of tapes, mostly given to me by people who thought I would like something they liked, which I generally did. Somehow, I need a recommendation to buy an album -- or what are the kids calling it these days? Is it still an album or CD if you buy it on iTunes?
Then, after my mission, where I was severely restricted in what types of music I could listen to, all my tapes sat and gathered dust. I just wasn't all that interested anymore. I didn't even have the desire to turn off all the lights on a Sunday night and have a sensory deprivation moment (except for hearing, of course) with NPR's Pipe Dreams and Music From the Hearts of Space, which was a forum for playing with synthesizers, since they were so new at the time. Gosh, I'm old.
Of course, I was married pretty quickly after I got home from my mission, and then I was puking my guts out with Sian (thank goodness she turned out so well!) so sitting in the dark watching random images from my brain on the back of my eyelids was often interupted by the need to slap my hand over my mouth and run for the bathroom.
There followed a long, long hiatus on the music-listening scene, punctuated only by my love for playing the piano and my wonderful, wonderful cello. I would occasionally find something I liked and listen to it a bit, but only half-heartedly. I would barely notice when Husband stole all the best CDs and took them to work.
Now I think I'm becoming obsessed again. I have found enough new stuff that I like to listen to it over and over. I'm walking around with earphones in my ears and have to pull them out to allow the children to say something to me. There are those of you far more versed in the music scene than I am (I'm thinking of MKShelley and David S., for instance, and Allyson always has a song stuck in her head) but I'm finding some good stuff with the help of pandora.com, iTunes, and, of course, friend recommendations.
As long as you're giving me dinner ideas, why not throw in some music recommendations? It doesn't matter if you don't know what I like. I only really dislike heavy metal and hard-core rap. Everything else, including opera, is fair game. C'mon. Tell me what you love.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
An Unnatural Pairing
From this...
To this!
A friend emailed this to me. I'm going to try it. A little cheese sauce and lunch is made!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Dream Interpretations "R" Us
It's been a while. Mea culpa, shame on me and all that. The thing is, I often compose really great blog posts in my head while doing other things -- mostly things that require I distract myself just so I don't scream, like dishes or cleaning the toilet or pondering the state of the back yard. In my head I'm hilarious and articulate. When faced with a blank white box to fill with little black letters, not so much.
But there's nothing like getting something done like getting it done. (Yes, you can use that quote freely. You're welcome.)
I recently had lunch with a former mission companion. She and I had a great visit while munching on delicious Mimi's Cafe fare for a couple hours. I mentioned that I will go back and finish my education and she asked me what I would study. In that moment I experienced a moment of utter clarity. When I said I would study architecture, specifically so I can design houses that utilize resources within a particular environment (not that I'm an activist for green building in the sense that I HEART Al Gore, 'cause I don't, but what is wrong with using resources wisely?) the very air gelled around me and I felt that gut reaction of YES! Does that ever happen to you? I also get that feeling when I've reached a correct interpretation of my dreams. The spirit within knows.
When Husband and I had a chat about interpreting dreams last night, he had himself a good laugh about that gut reaction that I tried to describe. When he laughs I always have to laugh, of course (it's infectious), but I think he finally understood what I was trying to say. When I didn't have six kids, a husband, and a household to run, I had time to write down and ponder my dreams. I got very good at figuring out what my brain was rehashing throughout the night and learned to recognize that inner sense of...rightness...that accompanies a correct interpretation. That's why those dream dictionaries you buy at a bookstore are a load of hooey. No one else can interpret your dreams for you. It's not just the visual part of the dream that's important, it's the thought process and the feelings accompanying the visual symbols. And while the interpretation might be nothing more complicated than, "I was thinking about this movie I watched and this is how I felt about it," there's usually more going on.
Not that I am trying to get all esoteric on everyone here, but I just have one more thing to say on the subject, and then I'm done with it.
The fact that Joseph of Egypt could interpret the dreams of Pharaoh, or Daniel could interpret King Nebechadnezzar's (which is the best I can spell it without actually looking it up) dreams could only be a product of divine intervention. Why did Pharaoh and King Neb get disgusted with the interpretations offered by their advisers and soothsayers? Because they could tell, inside, that those interpretations were incorrect. They didn't get that gut feeling because the advisers didn't know all the thoughts and feelings that went along with the visuals. Only God could have known, and only through that revelation from God could Joseph and Daniel offer the correct interpretation, the one that hit Pharaoh's and King Neb's guts with a satisfying clunk.
Anyway, since I've already gone on long enough, here's a short list of recent events:
* Our big orange cat, Babe, got himself hit by a car and had all the fur ripped out of his tail. No broken bones, no internal damage, thank goodness; but his tail looks like a rat's. A rat who doesn't respect himself very much. Poor cat.
* Husband finished the entire first draft of his book, about 150,000 words! I couldn't be more proud. Now he's going back and revising, but after the first day of revising he came home absolutely disgusted. "It's like re-writing the whole thing!" he said. "The first chapters are awful! The flow is bad and I had such awkward sentence structure." Hey, I thought his first chapters were pretty good, but I did tell him as he went on that his writing was getting smoother and better. Practice makes perfect.
* Despite the inclement weather for the past month, the girls have gone to the neighborhood pool, which is outdoors, nearly every day . Sure, they come home in the stages of pre-hypothermia, but they have determined blue lips. Finally, yesterday, we had a sunny day and the pool heater was fixed. Hallelujah. The girls also came home very burnt, as they forgot to apply sunblock. Ouch. But now I can take the boys, since they won't freeze to death.
But there's nothing like getting something done like getting it done. (Yes, you can use that quote freely. You're welcome.)
I recently had lunch with a former mission companion. She and I had a great visit while munching on delicious Mimi's Cafe fare for a couple hours. I mentioned that I will go back and finish my education and she asked me what I would study. In that moment I experienced a moment of utter clarity. When I said I would study architecture, specifically so I can design houses that utilize resources within a particular environment (not that I'm an activist for green building in the sense that I HEART Al Gore, 'cause I don't, but what is wrong with using resources wisely?) the very air gelled around me and I felt that gut reaction of YES! Does that ever happen to you? I also get that feeling when I've reached a correct interpretation of my dreams. The spirit within knows.
When Husband and I had a chat about interpreting dreams last night, he had himself a good laugh about that gut reaction that I tried to describe. When he laughs I always have to laugh, of course (it's infectious), but I think he finally understood what I was trying to say. When I didn't have six kids, a husband, and a household to run, I had time to write down and ponder my dreams. I got very good at figuring out what my brain was rehashing throughout the night and learned to recognize that inner sense of...rightness...that accompanies a correct interpretation. That's why those dream dictionaries you buy at a bookstore are a load of hooey. No one else can interpret your dreams for you. It's not just the visual part of the dream that's important, it's the thought process and the feelings accompanying the visual symbols. And while the interpretation might be nothing more complicated than, "I was thinking about this movie I watched and this is how I felt about it," there's usually more going on.
Not that I am trying to get all esoteric on everyone here, but I just have one more thing to say on the subject, and then I'm done with it.
The fact that Joseph of Egypt could interpret the dreams of Pharaoh, or Daniel could interpret King Nebechadnezzar's (which is the best I can spell it without actually looking it up) dreams could only be a product of divine intervention. Why did Pharaoh and King Neb get disgusted with the interpretations offered by their advisers and soothsayers? Because they could tell, inside, that those interpretations were incorrect. They didn't get that gut feeling because the advisers didn't know all the thoughts and feelings that went along with the visuals. Only God could have known, and only through that revelation from God could Joseph and Daniel offer the correct interpretation, the one that hit Pharaoh's and King Neb's guts with a satisfying clunk.
Anyway, since I've already gone on long enough, here's a short list of recent events:
* Our big orange cat, Babe, got himself hit by a car and had all the fur ripped out of his tail. No broken bones, no internal damage, thank goodness; but his tail looks like a rat's. A rat who doesn't respect himself very much. Poor cat.
* Husband finished the entire first draft of his book, about 150,000 words! I couldn't be more proud. Now he's going back and revising, but after the first day of revising he came home absolutely disgusted. "It's like re-writing the whole thing!" he said. "The first chapters are awful! The flow is bad and I had such awkward sentence structure." Hey, I thought his first chapters were pretty good, but I did tell him as he went on that his writing was getting smoother and better. Practice makes perfect.
* Despite the inclement weather for the past month, the girls have gone to the neighborhood pool, which is outdoors, nearly every day . Sure, they come home in the stages of pre-hypothermia, but they have determined blue lips. Finally, yesterday, we had a sunny day and the pool heater was fixed. Hallelujah. The girls also came home very burnt, as they forgot to apply sunblock. Ouch. But now I can take the boys, since they won't freeze to death.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Heading Sweatily into Summer
We've been getting what seems to be more than the usual amount of rain (or "moisture," as the natives call it. Husband and I can't help but giggle whenever they say that) this year. Those in the know are telling us that this is actually normal rainfall when we're not having a drought. I am not minding it at all. If we can put off the seriously hot, dry days that I know are coming, I'm that much happier with life.
The girls are nearly done with school. Sophia, my Child Three, has worked very hard to reach completion in her homeschooling studies, as has Sian, Oldest Child. Sophia has done more in a day than she thought was possible, proving to herself that she will be happy when summer comes.
I, on the other hand, have the usual mixed feelings about summer. Not only is it a hot and sweaty time, but the kids spend an inordinate amount of time being bored. I've written about this before, so I'm not going to belabor the point any more, but you know what I mean. A columnist in the Deseret News wrote about how sad it is that he doesn't see kids playing outside any more. He attributed it to the fact that kids are now so involved in scheduled and structured play activities, such as sports leagues and lessons of all kinds, that they don't get to just play and be kids. I can guarantee that's not the case with my kids. I'm just afraid to let them run unsupervised outside.
When I was a kid, I ran all over the neighborhood and even the city. My hometown in Northern Minnesota is not in any way comparable in size to Salt Lake, but we still lived in a city. I would be gone for hours: playing at the park, skipping stones in the creek, taking the bus to the library, forming detective agencies and doing investigative work. We went home when we got hungry or when it got dark. We were wary of strangers, but we weren't scared.
Since then the crazies have emerged. Now that we are parents, we're scared to let our kids run free outside because of that possibility, remote as it may be, that some unscrupulous person will snatch one of them. The thought of it sends horrors through all of us. A teenage girl from our church congregation was walking home the three blocks from the main road to the road on which she lives, in our neighborhood. She was followed by a strange man who harrassed her right up to her doorstep. She was so flustered she didn't know what to do, but after she told her father, the police were called. There have been a couple attempted abductions at the junior high right around the corner from our house, a man or men in a truck who tried to force girls into their cars. This is a decent neighborhood, not a slum. Why are these things happening?
Don't answer that. I think we all know the answer is complicated and sad. I just had to spout off for a minute.
In other news, Elannah, who had that nasty accident with the glass-embedded hill last summer, has seen great improvement in the appearance of her scars. They have gone from an angry red to a light pink. They are hardly visible any more, which I really never thought was possible, given the sheer largeness of them. After the year mark she will be able to wear shorts and swimsuits without also putting on leggings, a fact she is still trying to come to grips with.
Husband is almost done with his book. He also still has a job, for which we are very, very thankful. He will be teaching all four tracks at the same time next year at his year-round school. This year he was teaching two tracks at the same time, so at least he's had some practice in scheduling. Because he has all four tracks, he will have only a couple weeks off this summer. My in-laws are visiting for part of it and we are thinking of actually taking a vacation to Somewhere Else during the other part, even though Gabrielle and Sian will be at Girls' Camp.
That's the news. Other than the fact that I've been studying near-death experiences and reading that awful -- yet compelling -- book that MKShelley sent me, that's what's going on in a nutshell.
The girls are nearly done with school. Sophia, my Child Three, has worked very hard to reach completion in her homeschooling studies, as has Sian, Oldest Child. Sophia has done more in a day than she thought was possible, proving to herself that she will be happy when summer comes.
I, on the other hand, have the usual mixed feelings about summer. Not only is it a hot and sweaty time, but the kids spend an inordinate amount of time being bored. I've written about this before, so I'm not going to belabor the point any more, but you know what I mean. A columnist in the Deseret News wrote about how sad it is that he doesn't see kids playing outside any more. He attributed it to the fact that kids are now so involved in scheduled and structured play activities, such as sports leagues and lessons of all kinds, that they don't get to just play and be kids. I can guarantee that's not the case with my kids. I'm just afraid to let them run unsupervised outside.
When I was a kid, I ran all over the neighborhood and even the city. My hometown in Northern Minnesota is not in any way comparable in size to Salt Lake, but we still lived in a city. I would be gone for hours: playing at the park, skipping stones in the creek, taking the bus to the library, forming detective agencies and doing investigative work. We went home when we got hungry or when it got dark. We were wary of strangers, but we weren't scared.
Since then the crazies have emerged. Now that we are parents, we're scared to let our kids run free outside because of that possibility, remote as it may be, that some unscrupulous person will snatch one of them. The thought of it sends horrors through all of us. A teenage girl from our church congregation was walking home the three blocks from the main road to the road on which she lives, in our neighborhood. She was followed by a strange man who harrassed her right up to her doorstep. She was so flustered she didn't know what to do, but after she told her father, the police were called. There have been a couple attempted abductions at the junior high right around the corner from our house, a man or men in a truck who tried to force girls into their cars. This is a decent neighborhood, not a slum. Why are these things happening?
Don't answer that. I think we all know the answer is complicated and sad. I just had to spout off for a minute.
In other news, Elannah, who had that nasty accident with the glass-embedded hill last summer, has seen great improvement in the appearance of her scars. They have gone from an angry red to a light pink. They are hardly visible any more, which I really never thought was possible, given the sheer largeness of them. After the year mark she will be able to wear shorts and swimsuits without also putting on leggings, a fact she is still trying to come to grips with.
Husband is almost done with his book. He also still has a job, for which we are very, very thankful. He will be teaching all four tracks at the same time next year at his year-round school. This year he was teaching two tracks at the same time, so at least he's had some practice in scheduling. Because he has all four tracks, he will have only a couple weeks off this summer. My in-laws are visiting for part of it and we are thinking of actually taking a vacation to Somewhere Else during the other part, even though Gabrielle and Sian will be at Girls' Camp.
That's the news. Other than the fact that I've been studying near-death experiences and reading that awful -- yet compelling -- book that MKShelley sent me, that's what's going on in a nutshell.
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