Awkward Situations

Newbie. We're all there many times in our lives. And some of those times are more awkward than others. That's when it helps to have the advice of someone who has gone before you, who has more experience. I witnessed two people in the last week go through this in circumstances with which I was totally unfamiliar. I don't know which is worse, being the newbie or watching a newbie and not being able to help. So, in light of these two people's situations in particular, I'd like to learn. Somehow though, I don't think I'm going to learn by firsthand experience. That's where you come in. If you know the answers to these dilemmas, please share.

Awkward Situation #1:
You have a cleaning person in your house. Do you follow them around? Do you work ahead of them picking up and putting away? Or do you retire to your couch with a cup of tea and some bonbons and snuggle up to the remote to watch daytime tv?

Awkward Situation #2:
You're spending a day at a spa. What do you wear to get there? Do you really wear those foam flip-flops to drive home? Should you try to make conversation with the nail technician? What about your masseuse?

Clearly I am not going to be struggling with any of these issues any time in the near future. But I hope I have friends who will. And wouldn't it be nice to be able to tell them that "I'm pretty sure you shouldn't chat on your cell phone while getting a facial"?

Thanks for your help.

Works For Me - Birthday Party Games

Each year we host our children's parties at home. It's old-fashioned maybe, but I've never been able to justify spending $100 and up to have someone else do it for me...until this year. I finally decided that I was getting tired of all the work of planning and organizing games. So I offered to my girls that they could have the option of going somewhere like the bowling alley or Pump It Up (inflatables place). They would have none of that! They wanted a party at home. So it was back to planning and organizing.

But two things happened this year for Little Miss History's ninth birthday that made it a walk in the park for her dad and I. Number 1: she planned it all - at least the order and timing of things. Number 2 - her dad found a great website of party games.

We actually had fun just reading through the University of Illinois Extension's list. It brought back great memories of when we were at the University of Illinois and spent Friday evenings with our InterVarsity group playing a lot of these games. Have you ever heard of King Elephant? Instructions are there. How about Wink'um or Honey, I Love You? They've got those too. And there's an Orange game on there, using an orange and pantyhose, that I've never played but it sounds hilarious. There are other tips on this site, but unless you're hosting teen/preteen parties, you probably won't need them.

So armed with a handful of games from the site and her trusty schedule, LMH pretty much ran her own party while her dad and I chatted in the kitchen (okay, I ran the craft and he helped with games...but it was nothing near the work we'd done in years past). I'd say it Works For Me.

For other Works For Me Wednesday posts, head on over to Rocks in My Dryer today and check out the list.

Half Way

Little Miss History turns nine today. Maybe that number doesn't seem so momentous. It's not a decade, like ten. Or new teen, like thirteen. But to me it marks a big point in my journey as her parent. We have hit the half way mark. In nine more years she'll be preparing to graduate from high school and head off on her own, hopefully to college, definitely into adulthood.

So I've been cataloging and calculating:almost 10,000 meals fed to this child and close to that many nightly tuck-ins. I've bathed and dressed and diapered her countless times. She's learned to sleep through the night, eat big people food, walk, talk, skip, do the monkey bars, jump rope. She knows her ABC's and 123's and the length of her small intestines. She can read (and does so voraciously) and write. She makes her bed and her lunch and her sisters mad. She's learned the importance of kindness, respect, honesty, forgiveness.

And there's where I see the bend in the road. She has learned the practical things of life, how to count by two's and tie her shoes. Now more and more will the lessons of these second set of nine be those of the heart, shaping her morals and values. We've given her many of those foundations, but she'll begin now deciding whether to use them. And even though I'll still be here to teach and correct, it will depend even more on what I model, however imperfectly I do that.

It inspires prayer, age nine. It was hard work, physically, to get her this far. To finish well will require hard work emotionally. Am I ready?

We Need a Dog!

"Come on, Wiggles. Let's go for a ride!" Timid Daughter climbed on her bike after gently placing Wiggles into the pouch on the front of her bike.

Wiggles is her new pet. Wiggles goes for rides on her bike, climbs trees with her and generally hangs out. He has a comfy home she's make for him in a plastic container with holes in the lid, dirt and grass in the bottom and a handle for portability. Wiggles is your garden variety pet, but that doesn't mean he's typical. He's anything but typical.

That's because Wiggles is a worm.

The other day my kids offered to help me in the garden, with selfish motives. They wanted to dig for worms. So I let them clear out the weeds and keep whatever worm(s) they found. They were ecstatic.

Little Miss History named hers Crackers and was momentarily freaked out during a climb in the tree with him when she'd thought he'd fallen from the tree limb she'd placed him on. I was afraid he'd become bird food. But she found him, safe and sound a few inches from where she'd left him.

The pet worms happily occupied my girls for an entire afternoon. I'm not sure where they are today (hopefully NOT in my house). And I can't help but wonder what the girls will do in a few days when their "pets" have come to the end of their days.

And in all of this the biggest question that comes to mind is: is it time to get a dog?

Culinary Travelogue (NYC)

Okay, I'll admit it, I can't stop thinking about the incredibly delicious chocolate frosted, chocolate buttermilk cupcake I had from Magnolia Bakery on Columbus Avenue. Wow! I'm not a big cupcake fan, except for kid parties where it makes total sense. But Magnolia makes them completely acceptable for big people.

Only problem is, Magnolia Bakery is located in New York City, not Naperville. Which I guess I should see as a blessing. If they were located here I'd be bound to balloon a dozen pounds or so. Regrettably (or not, for the same reason), I only got to try them once, on the last night we were there. Perhaps if I'd known how good they were, I would have at least brought home a dozen - in a box, on my lap, on the plane. It would have been worth it. And I might have even shared them with my family so they could experience the bliss.

I also can't stop wondering if there are any chocolate shops in Naperville that make a good thick, Italian hot chocolate like the one I had at Max Brenner's. It was a dark hot chocolate with steamed milk. As thick and rich as it was when steaming fresh, it only got thicker (and richer) as it cooled. After many sips and much analysis, my mom and I decided the only thing that came close to describing it was that it's like drinking chocolate pudding. Really delicious chocolate pudding.

Like Magnolia Bakery, there is no Max Brenner's here. But we do have Ethel's Chocolate Lounge. And something tells me there was a new chocolate place that just opened downtown. But do I dare go there to see if they make Italian hot chocolate? Could my waistline survive it?

My sweet tooth is not so fierce as this post would make it seem. My experience with sweets in New York City was just that over-the-top good. Oh, and the Thai food was good (albeit hot enough to fry off my tongue even though I'd asked for a milder version), the seafood was excellent and the bagels unbeatable. New York style pizza though? I just don't get it. The whole folding it in half to eat it and all. We had mediocre pizza (my fault for getting my sister to try a place close to her apartment). It was floppy and overloaded with toppings. Give me Chicago style - thick crust or deep dish. And I'll take an Italian hot chocolate with that and a Magnolia's cupcake for dessert.

Travelogue-NYC

We are having fun here in New York City. I'm not sure how many miles these feet have logged, but we've been seeing quite a bit.

A few observations about New York from a Chicagoan:
-garbage on the curb. Took me a day or so to figure out that without alleys behind the buildings, the only place to put the garbage is the curb. It's not that bad, but it makes me appreciate how clean Chicago looks.
-no bums or panhandlers. Where are the homeless folks? In Chicago, as soon as you step off the train at Union Station you're greeted by people asking for money. And just about every street you go down, you'll see at least one or two. I think I've seen one in the past three days. Makes walking around here feel more relaxing and less interrupted.
-public transportation here is excellent. We've ridden in a cab a few times only because my sister was tired of the subway. It's fast, clean and gets you around everywhere.
-the hustle and bustle is so exciting, invigorating even. The streets (sidewalks) are full of people, but it rarely feels crowded.
-very tourist-friendly. I've never hesitated to stop and take a picture. There are always people doing that, practically everywhere. I was surprised at how much picture-snapping was going on in SoHo. In Chicago we always notice the tourists, because they're staring upward and they're around in bunches. New York? Tourists make up a decent portion of the public.
-celebrity sightings. They're rare in Chicago. But in New York it seems like it's just a matter of keeping your eyes open. Now I don't watch much TV or see many movies, so chances are I could be standing shoulder to shoulder with a celebrity and not know it. My sister was the one who noticed Hilda from Trading Spaces while we were in SoHo yesterday.

Any New Yorkers care to give their take on Chicago?

I Love Public Transportation

I just wish there was more of it available here in the suburbs. If I wanted to, I could get into and all around the city of Chicago by simply walking across the street and hopping on public transportation. But to get to the grocery store or the doctor or the library I have to drive or ride a bike, or walk.

I'm thinking of this now because of a trip my girls and I took into Chicago last week during Spring Break. I had asked what they wanted to do over break and they listed four things, two of them being "go to American Girl Place" and "ride the train". So I combined those into one trip.

We had a blast! We got on the train by their grandma's house and rode into Union Station. From there I had found a bus to take us up to American Girl. I was a little nervous about navigating the bus and all with three kids. But we did some prep talks beforehand and everybody was set. On the return trip on the bus I stopped to pay our fare and when I turned to my kids they were already seated at the very back of the bus as if they'd done it every day of their lives.

When our day was over, I asked what their favorite part had been. The answer? The bus and the train! They had enjoyed the adventure as much as I had. I felt so energized and empowered by the fact that we'd made the trip without incident. Pretty goofy, huh? Shows how sheltered this suburban mom's life is.

Question is, am I up for the big time now? I'm traveling to New York City tomorrow for a girls' weekend with my mom and sister. And since sis lives in Manhattan, we'll be doing the public transportation thing all weekend. Woo hoo! Bring it on, I say!

Now if I could just find a way to ditch the minivan once I get back home!

Fun For a Gray Day

It's dreary outside and too quiet in. Our houseguests departed this morning after six days with us and it's noticeably different in our house. Not that they were noisy, but I notice their absence after having them here for that amount of time. And given that our doggy houseguest arrived just before they did and also left today, it is a bit of an adjustment.

So what to do on this rainy day in March when we're on Spring break? Well, following the headline news in our local paper today, we're searching for report cards and hoping for a break in the weather to cash in on the girls' good grades (maybe breakfast at Wendy's tomorrow).

Spaghetti Sauce & Chocolate Milk & Red Jello - Oh My!

The other night one of my daughters got spaghetti sauce on one of her favorite shirts. She immediately began to cry. And it's all my fault. You see, I'm terrible at laundry. I make sure to sort darks, lights (I call them mediums, as in pink, and in our house they make up the bulk of our laundry) and whites. I also sort them into warm and cold, which baffles my husband, but it's what the tags say so I do it. And I search for stains and dutifully spray treat them.

But half of those stains never come out. Even if I scrub the stain spray in, no matter what brand, the stains stick. Chocolate for instance, particularly chocolate milk: that never, ever comes all the way out. Nor does red spaghetti sauce. Or mud. Sometimes even red jello leaves behind it's mark.

Which makes dinnertime a stressor for my kids. I'm thinking I should just designate "eating clothes" for everyone and let them enjoy meals again. I try not to moan or gripe or harangue them (although chocolate milk spills nearly send me over the edge every time). But they know my lack of laundering ability. When they slop on a treasured piece of clothing, they're aware it may be that way forever.

It makes me feel like a bad mom. After all, what are my primary duties? Feeding and clothing my family. Cuddling and reading. And when I can't properly perform one of those jobs, well it just makes me feel bad.

So I'm making an apeal: just what on earth does it take to get chocolate milk out of a shirt? Any hints? Any?

A Long, Hard Day

Today it has been tough going. I woke up in pain from my right shoulder (the one I injured two years ago). This happens to me from time to time. It starts as a stinging ache and builds to a burning background roar. From past experience I know it will continue all day. Maybe it will travel to my other shoulder. Probably it will go into my wrists. I can still move, still talk, still do everything like normal, but slower and more haltingly.

On days like today I start off with an Advil. But like today, it usually doesn't help. So I take another a little bit later. And often still other until the pain is dulled to a whisper. I don't go to the doctor. What will she say? "Take an Advil", probably. There's nothing actually wrong with me. The pain will be gone tomorrow or maybe the next day. But for today it's here, distracting me. Occasionally I will forget about it and then wonder why I am on the verge of tears. All day I am on the verge of tears.

It's so tiring too. And it's hard not to get snippy or short with my children. I haven't today and I'm glad for that. Of course they'll be home soon. And there's a chance I'll get that way then, although I always hope not, always try not.

The pain makes me think of other people I know. People with real illness, real disease, real pain. A friend with rheumatoid arthritis comes to mind and I pray for her, glad that she has medicine that helps her condition. My fingers go cold and then numb from pain shooting down my arm and I think of someone from church battling a crippling, life-threatening disease. I pray for him, for healing, for mobility.

It's a hard day, a tiring day. I'll be glad for tomorrow. I'll be glad for the chance to wake up pain free. But I'm also glad for the chance to learn a little more compassion, to see a glimmer of what others go through day after day, to pray a heartfelt prayer for healing and comfort on someone else's behalf. It's a hard day, but not a wasted day. And when the next day of pain comes for me I hope that it will be profitable too.

"Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." Romans 5:3-5

Schools' Rules Schmools

Today was kindergarten round-up...for the Uber-Princess's friends; not for her. And I feel like it was one of those days of no turning back. You see, her birthday is 9 days after the official cut-off. So she must spend another year in preschool (or at home) and wait to be five the day she starts kindergarten. This shouldn't bother me. Many moms of July and August babies fret over them being the youngest in their class and the challenges that brings. The Uber-Princess won't have those problems. However, I anticipate other problems, like, say...boredom.

Here's an example from today of why I worry about this. As I was tucking her into bed for her nap she was commenting on being four-and-a-half (we marked this milestone about a week and a half ago with the ditching of her blankie, because "four-and-a-half-year-olds are big girls"). Then she announced that she could count to four and a half.

To which I replied, "really?"

So she demonstrated. "One, one-and-a-half, two, two-and-a-half, three, three-and-a-half, four, four-and-a-half!"

Need I worry?

Oh, and right before that she was working with our magnetic fridge letters, trying to find the one that says "whuh" as in "Wildcats". Now we have a Fridge Phonics toy that lets you insert the letters and says the sound they make aloud. So she inserted a few until she got to "W". But the fact that a four-and-a-half-year-old cares to learn the letter that starts "Wildcats"? And yesterday she counted to 112, with a few prompts. Need I worry?

I realize kindergarten readiness is composed of more than just academics. So let's see: she dresses herself, feeds herself, separates easily from mom, plays well independently, plays well with others... Now, I don't think she's overly brilliant. Sharp? Yes. Bright? Yes. On target to join other kids the age she'll be nine days after the cutoff? Definitely.

I've been told though, that the rules are the rules. No exceptions are made. No testing will be allowed, no looking at individual cases. So I quickly dropped my thoughts of championing her "early" admittance. And today another door was closed.

God has it all under His control. My daughter's birthday was decided long ago. And God knew the rules of the school she'd be attending. I will enjoy, truly enjoy this extra year with her at home more. I just hope she enjoys the year(s) following that.

Passion Week Meditation: Betrayed

My children and I are reading day by day the story of the week that Jesus went to the cross. Today we read about Judas being paid off to betray Jesus. On my own I'm reading meditations on the Stations of the Cross and started with number one this morning: the Garden of Gethsemane, which ends with the arrival of Judas to betray Jesus into the hands of His killers.

I went through my morning routine with those thoughts on my mind and it brought me back to a time in eighth grade when my best friend betrayed me. Here's how it went. We were at a "boy-girl" party, the kind where the entire class is invited (and shows up). The kind where some kids hang out playing pool or cards or something like that. By eighth grade the match-ups were going strong. This one was "going out with" that one, although it didn't seem like they ever actually went anywhere. It was more of an identity thing, a bit of prestige, depending on who you were paired up with.

My "best friend" took me off to the side during this party and asked me who I liked. Now, I was no dummy. She'd shown herself to be less than trust-worthy before. I was not about to reveal my true crush. So I named a boy in the class that I could care less about, that was currently "dating" a girl I couldn't stand. What could my friend do with that information? And what did I care?

Sure enough my friend scooted away a short time later and returned with the-girl-I-couldn't-stand. "You like Danny?", she asked. Then she continued, not waiting for my response, "well we're not going out any more. And I think he likes you too. He wants to ask you out. He's in the other room, waiting". She gave me a sly smile. My friend stood behind her looking as though she'd swallowed the Cheshire Cat. I rolled my eyes and played along.

I don't remember what happened after that. But I do remember coming out of the situation more triumphant than not. I'd known the betrayal was coming and so I'd been able to script it. Most of the sting was gone. Yet knowing I'd been chosen as the object of junior high trickery still hurt. To have a "friend" who'd behave so callously? It made me angry...and sad.

I wonder about Jesus. He knew, long beforehand, that Judas would betray Him. Yet He let Judas into His circle of friends. He acted on trust toward him. And I'd almost say that He scripted His betrayal too. But the scene in the Garden beforehand shows otherwise. It was His Father's plan and it grieved Him to know how it would go. But He chose to follow it through. His betrayal, even though He knew it was coming, hurt. It hurt a lot. It was part His being fully human.

As we approach Good Friday and then Easter, remember this: we have a Savior who knows the hurt we feel because He has felt it Himself. Even more, think of His love that He knew everything He would endure and still did it - for us!

Getting it right ... again

(Overheard today in the Musing Household)

Little Miss History to Uber-Princess: Do you want to be a teacher when you grow up?

Uber-Princess: No. I want to be a princess. (surprise, surprise!)

LMH to Timid Daughter: Do you want to be a teacher?

Timid Daughter: No!

LMH: Well, what do you want to be?

TD: I want to be a mom!

LMH: Well, I want to be a teacher. (Stops to think for a moment).
A teacher AND a writer AND a mom.

Uber-Princess: I want to be a princess and a mom!


All I can say is, it warms my heart. They all want my job!

Getting it right...maybe

Parenting at times seems so much like a bunch of guesswork. Sure, we've taken classes and formulated our ideas of how we want to parent (allow little or no tv but lots of reading, be involved in their school & sports, encourage good behavior, correct for bad...). But more often than not we find ourselves in that grey area (tv during illness? is tattling always "bad"?). And so it seems hard to gauge whether we're doing a good job or not as parents. "You're the best mom in the whole wide world" lets me know what my kids think (and oh, am I so very grateful to hear those words because they often come when I feel less-than-deserving). And compliments from strangers when we're out in public seem to second that. But...

There's all the day to day in's and out's. It's having to do the job of counselor, mediator, accountant, boss, and nurse, without any qualifications for any of them, that I get hung up on. Many times my husband looks at a situation ('cuz many times that's what we have in our house - "situations") and has a different take. Which makes me glad for a partner in this, but also makes me wonder about all the decisions I make (and possibly screw up) while he's gone.

Today though. Today I got something right. You see, yesterday and today our Timid Daughter awoke with pain in her calves. And yesterday she managed to hobble off to school. But this morning she crawled to my room to ask for help because it was too painful to even stand. So I trundled her back to bed with some ibuprofen, then later woke her for breakfast (and carried her down to it) and afterwards put her in a warm bath. After calling her in sick at school I got a heating pad going under her legs while we waited to hear from the pediatrician. Thankfully the pediatrician saw us right away. The diagnosis: myositis (inflamation of the muscles) caused by a virus she had over the weekend. And the blessed doctor prescribed (get this): ibuprofen three times a day, warm baths, and heat applications to her legs.

In my mind I was pumping my arms up and down saying, "Yes! Yes!". For once my instincts proved right. So do you think I'll trust myself any better when the next dilemma comes in...oh, a couple of hours?

My Really Interesting situation

I squeeze my eyes closed, arms crossed over my chest as I'm propelled into the machine. Air blows across my body and I attempt to slow my breathing by sucking in large gulps. I am trapped. Thick tape binds my feet together and my hips are strapped down to the table on which I lay. And now, inside this small tube of a tunnel, I can barely move my arms. I lay there, keeping still. If I can just do that long enough... A voice, tiny and distant echoes into the tube, "Can you hear me?". I answer back that I can. Then there is silence.

Back to my breathing. I notice it too much. It's too fast, too hard. So I try to slow it down again. But it just gets harder the more I notice it. Think on something else, I tell myself. Then the voice issues a warning and the loud noises begin. Very loud. First a few pops, then a series of clangs and bangs, more and more of them, some faster, some slower. There are plugs in my ears, but that doesn't matter. It's still loud. My thoughts jump around. Breathing too fast. Don't open eyes. Don't move. Too small. Too tight. I'm trapped. I swallow hard and suddenly my throat feels scratchy. On the right side. It itches more. And then more. I swallow, trying to sooth that itch. I swallow again. Then as the banging stops I begin to cough and to choke. The voice comes again, "Are you okay?". I answer with more coughs. "I'll bring you water", the voice responds.

Moments later the table shifts and I glide out of the tunnel, opening my eyes to see the gentle smile of the technician and then the bottle of water in her hands. I sit up as much as I can and take a few gulps. Then I lay back again and close my eyes as the table glides me back into place. There will be more loud noises, pops and hisses. This time my breathing will settle and my mind will gain focus for the time that remains. No more coughs, no more itches. Just vibrations and strange sounds. Just the passing of time in slow motion, where fifteen minutes feels like hours.

A Lite Brite Life

My children were playing with their Lite Bright the other day. It was fun to see them working so seriously at it. It reminded me of when I was a kid...until the Uber-Princess asked me to help. Thanks to upgrades to the modern version, I was able to help her complete it in the fraction of time it used to take. How is that? Cheater pegs! They now make the pegs fused together in groups of two's, three's & four's. So when you can pop them in four at a time, imagine how much faster it can go (and believe me, I made heavy use of those ones on Uber-Princess's design).

Afterward I began thinking about the Lite Brite and how it works. You start with a blank sheet, or maybe one with some lettered spots. Slowly you piece in the colored pegs and a shape begins to form. Yet even with all the pegs in place, while you can see the shape, the actual figure is still dull. But plug it in and let the light shine through and all sorts of details and dimensions come out.

Aren't we like that as people? We're born, albeit not blank sheets, but with a design imprinted on us by God that has no color or shape yet. Then we begin to live and one by one opportunities and circumstances begin to fill in our outline. Over the years our shape becomes recognizable, but perhaps still somewhat undefined. Then one day we find ourselves doing and being what we were made to be. Suddenly God's light shines through us and we're made aware of all the brilliance of color and subtlety of substance that makes us who we are!

Those cheater pegs? I think we have those in life too. Maybe they're shortcuts we take toward our life goals. Or maybe on the positive side they're people who have believed in us and invested in helping us grow.

What do you think?

WFMW: Alternative Cleaning Solutions

Today I ran low on my regular bathroom cleaning spray. As I stood staring at my other cleaning supplies, a thought occurred to me: why not put all the left-over glass-cleaner to use? You see a few years ago I started using micro-fiber cloths to clean my windows and mirrors. They work very well and eliminate the need for any chemicals. So my industrial-sized glass cleaner has languished in the cabinet ever since. However, necessity being the mother of invention that it is, I read the suggested uses for the window spray and low and behold it listed counters. Off to my bathroom I went with the window cleaner. And here I am a few minutes later to tell you - it worked! Which has me thrilled because I now have a means for using up all that cleaning solution that I hadn't the heart to throw out.

Another good alternative cleaner for bathrooms? Shampoo! I had gotten an off-brand shampoo in a gift basket once and never liked what it did to my hair. It has stayed in my shower, but now I use it for wiping down the shower walls. Hey, it's a soap and it gets things clean.

So next time you've got a cleaning solution whose original purpose no longer fits your needs, repurpose it. Remember it's just a marketing thing with the manufacturers where they position their cleaner to be used for a single function.

It's a different kind of "recycling". And it Works For Me!

You've Got Mail

I got the idea for these cute mailboxes from Jenn's Stamping' Corner. Can't say mine turned out as cute as hers, but since the Musing girls haven't seen hers, they won't care. And I tell you what, it's a good, but cheap Valentine's gift. A buck for the mailbox, less than that for paper, find a few embellishments in the scrap bin and you're all set.

A quick tip: do not try to seal with acrylic spray. It just soaks through the paper. Jenn's idea to use Mod Podge is probably the best route to go.

Then you just tuck a love note inside (or a coupon for a free Krispy Kreme donut, like I did - yum!) and you're all set. I know my girls will be thrilled because a) they love to play post office and have resorted to making do with flimsy paper mailboxes and b) these mailboxes are "American Girl doll"-sized and anything on that scale is a hit with them.

I Think I'm Starting to Understand Archaeologists

I cleaned out the bottom of my closet today. It had been much neglected since I'd done a wardrobe overhaul in it last April. Things were strewn about:shoes, boots, purses, beach balls (three), sunscreen, board games, and more. So I rounded up Uber-Princess to go on a dig with me. We pulled and hauled and tossed until the floor was empty on one side. Then I ran the vacuum and we sorted through what would go back. Simple enough. Not an eventful dig, but thorough and...done.

Then we turned to side two. This one didn't seem so bad. How could it be with a wedding gown box taking up over half of the real estate? Simply a few pairs of boots and a pile of magazines to dig out. So dig we did. And that's when the discovery happened! Sifting through the pile of magazines I came across a library book that had long been given up for lost. I turned to the Uber-Princess, holding the book triumphantly in the air.

"Look what I found!", I said.

"The Lion King!", she exclaimed and took the book from my hand, threaded her way through the debris to an empty spot in the room and sat down to read.

I was a little disappointed that the celebration was so short-lived, but I went back to the magazines...and found a SECOND missing library book!

"Woo hoo!", I hollered.

The Uber-Princess didn't even look up. So I tossed the book in her direction, figuring she'd devour it next and with another joy-hop, went back to my cleaning.

The magazines have been recycled and the closet put back to rights again. The books will go back to the library (which had graciously overlooked their misplacement) this afternoon. All that's left of that fortuitous project is the question: just HOW did those books get into that pile anyway?).

"Bummer"

I still remember trying to help my Russian friend, Dmitry, understand the slang term "bummer". He spent a lot of time hanging around us Americans and I suspect part of it was to glean some American idioms from us. In Moscow the English that is taught is purely British (they live in "flats" and take the "lift" to get to them, among other things). At some point though, he'd heard someone use the word bummer, but didn't get it's meaning, so he pressed me.

I don't remember quite how I answered him then, but if he were here today I might answer something like this:

Bummer: getting a rejection letter from a magazine that you submitted to six months ago? No, that's good news. It means you mattered enough to get a response.

Bummer: losing your glasses/sunglasses (again!)? Sort of, but not so much so if your vision coverage allows for a new pair this year (phew!).

Bummer: forgetting to thaw the meatloaf for dinner and resorting to chicken patty sandwiches instead? Naw. The meatloaf can wait.

Being this guy today?



Now THAT'S a bummer!