Now most of you who know me know that happiness for me is when someone else does the cooking. I come from a long line of bad cooks on one side and a long line of amazing cooks who refuse to go into the kitchen on the other side. I am going to say that I am very talented but I still haven't figured out which side I take after. Due to the nature of my life now I am forced into the kitchen on a semi daily basis. This works well and dandy when the only thing I'm cooking are quesadillas and hard boiled eggs, but God insists upon me taking the role of comic relief. He does this by pushing me out of my comfort zone and into the kitchen.
This week I made Zucchini bread, banana bread, sweet mustard beef, and my favorite, pesto. I have managed to screw up all of them. Being an Anne, of course I messed them up beautifully in different ways, so at least I'm learning and not making the same mistake twice.
I jokingly tell people that nothing could be worse than the time that I killed Mrs. Fleischman's yeast. Mrs. Fleischman is the mother of one of my favorite college roommates and sometimes on long weekends we would go home with Abby because she was the only one of us who had family who lived in the state. On one such weekend Mrs. Fleischman invited me to enter the sacred of her kitchen to help her make bagels. I was in charge of adding the ingredients while she puttered around making dinner. Did you know that salt comes out in a rush if you are not careful? Well I didn't. Poor Mrs. Fleischman could not for the life of her figure out why her perfect bagels were not rising and instead were doing their best impression of a sat upon pancake. After some research and various repetitions of what I had added we discovered her mistake- namely, it was her fault for letting me help. The bagels/pancakes were my fault because I added too much salt which killed the yeast which made it so the dough would not rise which resulted in me being flung from the kitchen while she fixed the dough. Then she graciously allowed me to return and destroy her bagels further. Did you know that bagels are supposed to be round? And they're supposed to have holes in them? Somehow I knew this but I think it didn't work so well because none of my bagels were round or had holes in them. They looked more like scares with random pokey marks in the tops of them. Her bagels were perfect. In case I had not done enough damage she then had me put toppings on them- you know sesame seeds, poppy seeds, garlic, etc. Well guess who managed to poor an entire case of sesame seeds into the pan, almost hiding the bagels. For the record, this saintly woman did have a lapse of judgement again, and again, every time I came to visit. She would let me "help" her (or desecrate her kitchen) and then would dutifully fix my mistakes while I stood shamefacedly as far away from it as I could manage while remaining in Florida.
Anyways, like I said, nothing could be worse than that time, but believe me when I say that I've come close this week. When I made zucchini bread (with directions set out in front of me) I misread "tsp" for "tbs". Did you know that there is a significant difference between two teaspoons and two tablespoons? Especially when it's salt? Unfortunately no one caught this particular mistake until long after it was done cooking. Consequently my zucchini bread which is supposed to be sweet, tastes like I used salt water instead of regular water. My only thought is that most of it's been eaten (thankfully as it appears to get saltier with age) and that if you put enough jam on the bread you can't REALLY taste it.
Then I made banana bread. I cannot take full credit for this one as no one warned me that we do not have standard size bread pans. Consequently they take longer to cook. So I kept on adding ten minutes to the cook time, and then adding ten more and then ten more. I did this for at least forty minutes and then I thought for SURE it must be done by NOW. I was wrong. Now we have to toast the banana bread to make sure it's not half cooked in the center. As I said before, I am so very talented.
This morning while making the sweet mustard beef, my tongs slipped and I now have a rather large blood blister on my ring finger that make me feel squeamish. I am one of those people that as long as I don't see it, you can poke me, prod me, slice me and dice me. Describe it to your heart's content, while I'm eating, and I will not care, but God help you if I see it. Consequently this blood blister is running me through the ringer because it hurts, and me being the ADD person that I am I keep on thinking, why does my finger hurt? Oh yes, because there's this giant red thing on my hand, pulsating blood just under the surface. blech. Have I mentioned I am still suffering the effects from a migraine I acquired late last night? The rest of my recipe seems to be turning out reasonably well, other than the fact that it has a great deal of molasses in it (yuck) and I seem to have run out of it. Ah well, I'm hoping that this works.
As to the pesto I am making, well, it's not quite done, so I'm praying that maybe, just maybe, this one might turn out alright. Pesto is one of my favorite foods, along with anything with basil in it. Just the same I have managed to ruin basil before and killed several plants in the process. Some days I think my garden would be better off if I were not the one gardening it. Just the same, at least once a week I go out and sit with my basil and croon to it, "Good basil plants. You're so beautiful. Someday you will grow big and strong and if you're really lucky you'll become pesto." It was only after someone caught me at it that I realized that this might not be the best incentive to the basil to grow "big and strong."
Dear God, I know that this life you have given me is really just one big adventure and everything I have is a gift from You, but please, please let me not ruin the pesto. I don't know if the basil plants will ever forgive me for letting them down. Let me not desecrate another one of my favorite foods. Amen. Sincerely, The Gabbie Lady
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Sir John
When my Mother was pregnant with my second brother she went to my grandfather and said, "Sir, they say it's a boy. What shall I name him?" At least according to the version of the story that she tells he replied with a smile and said, "Name him John." Apparently a few of my aunts had the same idea. Consequently I grew up in a family either blessed or plagued with "Johns". I have a brother named John-Paul, cousins named Jonathan, Jonah, and Joseph, and they are all named after my Grandfather, John. True, most of them aren't perfect "Johns" but that's because my aunts and mother are all trying to cleverly name their sons after Pop without actually taking "the name" we hope to reserve for my Uncle Johnny to someday use if he should ever have a son. Either way, between all the boys named John and all the men named John and them all coming from Pop who can also be known as John, you might understand why many of us took to just calling him "Sir."
Now that I've explained the name allow me to speak on the topic of the man and perhaps I may explain why his daughters think so very highly of him. My Grandfather, fondly known as Pop, respectfully known as Sir, was born in New York (gratefully he does not speak with any accent) to Irish immigrants. As a young man he attended the California Institute for Technology, the only real challenge to MIT, and then was a paratrooper in the Army. He wrapped his motorcycle and himself around a tree and consequently has a great deal of metal in his leg. At the age of 21 he stopped smoking (which he claims is the best thing he ever did for himself) and promised never to drink hard liquor again- beer and wine do not count. He married his high school girlfriend and had four children. After she died he married my grandmother (who had four children at the time) and together they had two more children, equating to the amazing number of ten children. In his spare time he worked on the Apollo missions, building the rockets. At every wedding he makes the same toast, "May all your problems be little ones."
When his first grandchild was born he said he was too young to be "Grandpa" and declined the title. Instead he adopted the name of "Pop."
He has battled cancer three times (and won all of them) and had numerous diseases where he was told that he would not make it. Some of his less cautious female progeny question whether Oscar Wilde based The Picture of Dorian Gray upon him. All of his stories are entertaining but most of them I have to question the reliability of the source. HHe is an excelent cook and his taste is second to none. Among his favorite songs are such titles as The Battle Hymn of the Republic, Oh Danny Boy, and The War Requiem. When he walks into a room everyone turns and listens to him. His presence demands respect. He is one of the most demanding and generous men I have ever known and he always answers his wife with "Yes dear."
Since he retired he likes to cook, spoil his children and grandchildren, embarass his granddaughters, and globe trot.
I'm writing this largely because he just visited with my grandmother. Perhaps this description will explain why for the longest time I thought that my grandfather and John Wayne were one in the same. It made perfect sense- they're both first generation Irish men. They both can scare the living daylights out of you. They both have a sort of classic cowboy image. They both have really great one liners. Everyone is drawn to their presence. And most importantly in every shot they are always the hero. He has been informed by three generations of his descendants that he is not allowed to die , but being the stubborn man that he is, he refuses.
Pop says that of all his accomplishments (and he has a great many) he is most proud of his children and his grandchildren. He says that Nana prays for a just God because she deserves heaven. Pop says he prays for a merciful God because he knows what he's done wrong in this life. He says that in this life we are all stewards and that all the gifts we have come from God. At days end we will be asked what we did with our gifts. I've never asked him but he doesn't appear to be worried. Looking at the family that he created (32 grandchildren, 10 children, and nine children-in-law) I wouldn't be either.
Now that I've explained the name allow me to speak on the topic of the man and perhaps I may explain why his daughters think so very highly of him. My Grandfather, fondly known as Pop, respectfully known as Sir, was born in New York (gratefully he does not speak with any accent) to Irish immigrants. As a young man he attended the California Institute for Technology, the only real challenge to MIT, and then was a paratrooper in the Army. He wrapped his motorcycle and himself around a tree and consequently has a great deal of metal in his leg. At the age of 21 he stopped smoking (which he claims is the best thing he ever did for himself) and promised never to drink hard liquor again- beer and wine do not count. He married his high school girlfriend and had four children. After she died he married my grandmother (who had four children at the time) and together they had two more children, equating to the amazing number of ten children. In his spare time he worked on the Apollo missions, building the rockets. At every wedding he makes the same toast, "May all your problems be little ones."
When his first grandchild was born he said he was too young to be "Grandpa" and declined the title. Instead he adopted the name of "Pop."
He has battled cancer three times (and won all of them) and had numerous diseases where he was told that he would not make it. Some of his less cautious female progeny question whether Oscar Wilde based The Picture of Dorian Gray upon him. All of his stories are entertaining but most of them I have to question the reliability of the source. HHe is an excelent cook and his taste is second to none. Among his favorite songs are such titles as The Battle Hymn of the Republic, Oh Danny Boy, and The War Requiem. When he walks into a room everyone turns and listens to him. His presence demands respect. He is one of the most demanding and generous men I have ever known and he always answers his wife with "Yes dear."
Since he retired he likes to cook, spoil his children and grandchildren, embarass his granddaughters, and globe trot.
I'm writing this largely because he just visited with my grandmother. Perhaps this description will explain why for the longest time I thought that my grandfather and John Wayne were one in the same. It made perfect sense- they're both first generation Irish men. They both can scare the living daylights out of you. They both have a sort of classic cowboy image. They both have really great one liners. Everyone is drawn to their presence. And most importantly in every shot they are always the hero. He has been informed by three generations of his descendants that he is not allowed to die , but being the stubborn man that he is, he refuses.
Pop says that of all his accomplishments (and he has a great many) he is most proud of his children and his grandchildren. He says that Nana prays for a just God because she deserves heaven. Pop says he prays for a merciful God because he knows what he's done wrong in this life. He says that in this life we are all stewards and that all the gifts we have come from God. At days end we will be asked what we did with our gifts. I've never asked him but he doesn't appear to be worried. Looking at the family that he created (32 grandchildren, 10 children, and nine children-in-law) I wouldn't be either.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Alright so tell me if this is funny?
Tonight at the dinner table we discovered the joy of the oh so clever "Knock-knock" joke. Fortunately, half the people at the table were entirely unversed in the better known ones and therefore decided to come up with their own. This added to the joy because, well... I'm not sure if they were actually funny. Some of my favorites went as follows, Karina- "Knock knock!" Mama- "Who's there?" Karina- "Cantelope." (I'd like to point out that when she said this I could not discern what the word was.) Mama- "Cantelope who?" (I was very dutifully impressed at her ability to understand the child at this point) Karina points across the table at a bowl. "Cantelope!" Mama- "Oh, cantelope... actually darling, that's watermelon." Karina got a very contemplative look on her face and said with a grin, "Watermelon?" Grisha- "Knock knock." Papa- "Who's there?" Grisha- "Animal" Papa- "Animal who?" Grisha- "Papa!" Jonathan- "Knock knock" Gabbie- "Who's there?" Jonathan- "Interupting wampa!" Gabbie- "Interuptingwampawho! HA!" Jonathan- *gigglesnickergiggle* From this I have deduced that Karina is learning new words (and forgetting some old ones) all the time, Grisha thinks Papa is an animal, and Gabbie never grew up.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Music and poetry- Everyday
Okay, once again I am asking for feedback on lyrics. I know this is probably getting old, but I need help cause it's driving me nuts. I saw Christ today In the tears of a young girl As she sat beside her love For the last time in this world I saw Christ today In the kindness of a child As he took his mother's hand And said it'd only be for a short while Now I've heard people say That God isn't really there And if He does exist That He does exist That He doesn't really care Well I don't believe them And I'll tell you the reason why I see Him everyday You will too if you try I saw Christ today in ayoung man's eyes As he looked at his trembling hands And saw the gun still inside I saw Christ today In a soldier's cut hands As he took his fallen brother And carried him from a dangerous land I saw Christ today In a giggling baby's smile As he brought his mother hope for a different kind of life And I know people say Thag God isn't really there And if it's true that He exists Then why doesn't He care Well I feel sorry for them And I'll tell you the reason why I see Him everyday You will too if you try I saw Christ today In the wrinkles of a face That hid a heart filled with love And the secret of redeeming grace I saw Christ today In the working hands of the youth As they stood for a cause Filled with love and truth I saw Christ today Lastly on a Cross For we are the hands of Christ He gave us life and not loss/He gave us life at a terrible cost And I know peopel say That God isn't there And if He does exist Then it's clear He doesn't care Well I don't believe them And I'll tell you the reason why God cares so much for us That He sent His Son to die
Monday, March 28, 2011
I saw an ARMADILLO!
Yes, that's right, I saw my first living, Texan armadillo this week. After seeing it, admiring it, and watching it waddle out of the road (a process that took several minutes in spite of the fact that it was in my glaringly obvious headlights), I now understand why I so frequently see them as roadkill. HOWEVER, this was not the point of my blog. Today I right that this was one of the unique experiences this week that I wouldn't mind reliving for the first time. On that note, please pray for me. I've suffered many abrupt changes in the past few days (not the least of which is a half inch cut in my forehead from where I miscalculated the wall in the dark) and I could really use heavenly support as I try to figure some more things out.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
That can't be a bluebonnet; it's purple
"Bluebonnets are purple." "Then why are they called bluebonnets if they are purple? It's a lie. Why not purplebonnets?" "Well,look at it this way- if you put purple and surround it by green, what color does it look?" "Purple." "Fine, but it's still a bluebonnet." "But it's purple?" Yes, this is a conversation I had yesterday. I am sad to report that I am the first, allegedly, uninformed voice. Yes, fellow Texans, this is just another example to show that I am not native, along with the lengthy list of examples which includes 'service roads', 'toll roads', "gwad-ah-loop" street, and the feud between Aggies and Longhorns. I don't get it. Do y'all just try to make it hard for yourselves or do you just like to make things complicated? Anyways, back to bluebonnets. For those of you who are uninformed (perhaps willfully and willingly so), the purple bluebonnets are the Texas state flower. When I left for California I had never seen one. When I came back (under a week later) they were quite literally, EVERYWHERE!!!! Not a day passes by that they don't appear somewhere else, and I have to admit that I like it. Spring has come in abundance to this land of seasons (and I'm sulking that it waited for me to leave to appear) and every few inches is covered in pink poppies, purple lillies, and "bluebonnets", along with various other flowers that I don't know... except for dandelion. We have a few of those too but they are stamped out (I dare to say) ferociously by the overzealous, sometimes jealous bluebonnets. In their wake I find myself questioning the sanity of Texans again. Maybe whoever named the bluebonnet was being alliterative because "violet" was already taken and "purple bonnet" just wasn't as catchy. Perhaps if they had it to do over (and the flower were named more accurately) it would be called the periwinkle. Wow, I just realized how very Californian I sound. Hmmmm... ah well, maybe I should rescind my previous statement and yield to the general populace and agree that the flower might possibly be blu- pfft, what am I saying. Y'all are wrong, and further more, your state flower is a lie! I'm just gonna assume whoever named the bluebonnet was colorblind and move on from there. Btw, it's a very pretty flower. I like it lots. I might have to plant some... in case there is ever there is a shortage of them in Texas.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Try not to laugh
That's right boys and girls, er- would I be stretching it to call y'all "ladies and gents"? Perhaps I should just stick to ladies and buggers? Anyways, I promised myself upon leaving Texas that I would take good notes of my trip and tell my adoring fans (when I get them) all about it. As it is, I guess I'm just stuck with you lot. Now back from my tangent- I am sad to report that I failed. Miserably. Again. But to be fair it wasn't *my* fault I had no internet access in CA. If you want to hear the continued adventures of my life (this time with location changes in the subtext) give me a call. After all, I'm off facebook (not including Sundays) for the rest of Lent. So, unless you WANT to wait penitentially for forty days (which I'm sure some of you WANT to wait, perhaps longer) give me a call and I'll tell you all about it. Otherwise, you get the summary.
Friday after work (eight bloody, freaking, grueling hours of it) I cleaned, packed, and pushed my car in ways it has never seen before. After removing the last stowaway (there were five), I managed to close the last door, with considerable effort (remember the pushing?) and was underway. Half way out of the driveway I remembered that I needed to get my traveling companion. Curse you, you blasted carpool lane! So I drove the twenty minutes (in the wrong direction) and picked up Brittany and together we began our magical journey to that magical land for that magical season of what some hazzard to call vacation.
Once enroute the ever so brilliant gabbielady realized she had barely eaten all day and was now suitably famished. Thus aside from the first twenty minutes, Brittany did most of the driving the first night. This left my twitching hands free to take precise notes of our adventures and travels. I would like to apologize in advance to Brittany, my traveling companion, of whom I make most of my notes about. I mean I could've told you about my imaginary friend... but something tells me you wouldn't find that nearly as believable. Italicized comments are those which were made after the fact. Bold happened at the time. Again, try not to laugh.
6.55 get to brittany's
7.10 leave brittany's
7.20 stop at heb for 10 mins to buy everything in the store in order to keep Gabbie from passing out. (please note: never again will Gabbie go shopping when hungry)
8.05 Brittany scares her GPS by going on an unknown road known as Mopac.
8.10 Brittany gives up on her GPS and turns it off in lew of the fact that at this point we knew where we were
9.00 in which I recall my fondness for gas station bathrooms Where's my snarkmark?
9.30 hit fredericksburg-not literally- recieved call from Mother she asked for my license plate number in case we were hit by a tsunami so they could identify our bodies
10.05 stopped car and looked at mapt o figure out where 290 went.
10.10 we discover stars- ha! Beat that galileo
10.33 in which Brittany is excited to see street lights. I laughed mercilessly
10.35 I watch stars- Brittany is told to watch the road
10.38 Brittany and I discuss speed limits to which she commented that without them "I probably wouldn't go more than 90." I responded "pfft- I would!" At which point we realized why there were speed limits.
10.15 We discover dead zones for music. ZOMG!!!! We listened to Once More With Feeling literally five times that night!!!
10.44 in which we spot deer- noted to be still alive
12.45 see large animal cross the road- large animal- cat like animal- hungry looking animal- probably a mountain lion or a bobcat or something!- eep
After this point I started driving more and consequently was unable to keep my notes. Le sigh, however I did continue to write down the funnier comments made upon the trip. Unfortunately, most of them (okay all of them) that I remembered were from the return trip. Oh well. I tried. This is not the say that my time in California was boring- i.e. "Hey Mama, look, a train!", "There's something wrong with this cat," "We should've packed Sasha", "Now Brittany, can you reach into my eye and get it out?" and "Cause this is so much fun I want to do this all the time!" Oh and of course, Disneyland from 9am to 1am. You do the math. And now for more Brittany quotes.
"The mountains are so pointy!"
"It's like the mountains never go away." (Please note, this quote is from the return trip)
On the road back my grandfather asked if our car was full yet and I replied that we had plenty of room- famous last words. He laughed and said, "Wait till we get there." I don't even know half of the things that ended up in there but of the half that I know- we carted two cases of wine, about seven yards of fabric, a full sized kite, a full set of dishes and silverware, and half of my Mother's refrigerator- you know in case we got hungry- and three bags of books and toys for small peoples.
Along the way Brittany and I named our various electronci devices- her ipod, my GPS, and her GPS. Ftr I packed mine by accident (and a good thing too) because mine is way more accurate. Hers is named Jason and mine is named Veronica- because mine shows the truth. Hers is a power ranger who looks really cool but isn't so helpful except for Captain Obvious moments.
I realize this post is very... disorganized to say the least but I'm tired, and I refuse to start the next one until this one is posted and the way things are going I will NEVER finish it otherwise so bear with me. One more bit of random information, I can find no better way to summarize my parental dynamic than to simply regurgitate one conversation with my parents in which my Mother was trying to convince him to get into my car... which I was going to drive. "Come on, Gerardo, it will be an adventure!" she said, tugging on his arm with a brilliant smile. "That's why I don't want to go" he replied sardonically.
So as to my title- if you managed to get through this without laughing, please let me know... I need to "unfriend" you for your lack of humor because even I think this trip was funny. Kidding, y'all need to find a laughing place. :)
Friday after work (eight bloody, freaking, grueling hours of it) I cleaned, packed, and pushed my car in ways it has never seen before. After removing the last stowaway (there were five), I managed to close the last door, with considerable effort (remember the pushing?) and was underway. Half way out of the driveway I remembered that I needed to get my traveling companion. Curse you, you blasted carpool lane! So I drove the twenty minutes (in the wrong direction) and picked up Brittany and together we began our magical journey to that magical land for that magical season of what some hazzard to call vacation.
Once enroute the ever so brilliant gabbielady realized she had barely eaten all day and was now suitably famished. Thus aside from the first twenty minutes, Brittany did most of the driving the first night. This left my twitching hands free to take precise notes of our adventures and travels. I would like to apologize in advance to Brittany, my traveling companion, of whom I make most of my notes about. I mean I could've told you about my imaginary friend... but something tells me you wouldn't find that nearly as believable. Italicized comments are those which were made after the fact. Bold happened at the time. Again, try not to laugh.
6.55 get to brittany's
7.10 leave brittany's
7.20 stop at heb for 10 mins to buy everything in the store in order to keep Gabbie from passing out. (please note: never again will Gabbie go shopping when hungry)
8.05 Brittany scares her GPS by going on an unknown road known as Mopac.
8.10 Brittany gives up on her GPS and turns it off in lew of the fact that at this point we knew where we were
9.00 in which I recall my fondness for gas station bathrooms Where's my snarkmark?
9.30 hit fredericksburg-not literally- recieved call from Mother she asked for my license plate number in case we were hit by a tsunami so they could identify our bodies
10.05 stopped car and looked at mapt o figure out where 290 went.
10.10 we discover stars- ha! Beat that galileo
10.33 in which Brittany is excited to see street lights. I laughed mercilessly
10.35 I watch stars- Brittany is told to watch the road
10.38 Brittany and I discuss speed limits to which she commented that without them "I probably wouldn't go more than 90." I responded "pfft- I would!" At which point we realized why there were speed limits.
10.15 We discover dead zones for music. ZOMG!!!! We listened to Once More With Feeling literally five times that night!!!
10.44 in which we spot deer- noted to be still alive
12.45 see large animal cross the road- large animal- cat like animal- hungry looking animal- probably a mountain lion or a bobcat or something!- eep
After this point I started driving more and consequently was unable to keep my notes. Le sigh, however I did continue to write down the funnier comments made upon the trip. Unfortunately, most of them (okay all of them) that I remembered were from the return trip. Oh well. I tried. This is not the say that my time in California was boring- i.e. "Hey Mama, look, a train!", "There's something wrong with this cat," "We should've packed Sasha", "Now Brittany, can you reach into my eye and get it out?" and "Cause this is so much fun I want to do this all the time!" Oh and of course, Disneyland from 9am to 1am. You do the math. And now for more Brittany quotes.
"The mountains are so pointy!"
"It's like the mountains never go away." (Please note, this quote is from the return trip)
On the road back my grandfather asked if our car was full yet and I replied that we had plenty of room- famous last words. He laughed and said, "Wait till we get there." I don't even know half of the things that ended up in there but of the half that I know- we carted two cases of wine, about seven yards of fabric, a full sized kite, a full set of dishes and silverware, and half of my Mother's refrigerator- you know in case we got hungry- and three bags of books and toys for small peoples.
Along the way Brittany and I named our various electronci devices- her ipod, my GPS, and her GPS. Ftr I packed mine by accident (and a good thing too) because mine is way more accurate. Hers is named Jason and mine is named Veronica- because mine shows the truth. Hers is a power ranger who looks really cool but isn't so helpful except for Captain Obvious moments.
I realize this post is very... disorganized to say the least but I'm tired, and I refuse to start the next one until this one is posted and the way things are going I will NEVER finish it otherwise so bear with me. One more bit of random information, I can find no better way to summarize my parental dynamic than to simply regurgitate one conversation with my parents in which my Mother was trying to convince him to get into my car... which I was going to drive. "Come on, Gerardo, it will be an adventure!" she said, tugging on his arm with a brilliant smile. "That's why I don't want to go" he replied sardonically.
So as to my title- if you managed to get through this without laughing, please let me know... I need to "unfriend" you for your lack of humor because even I think this trip was funny. Kidding, y'all need to find a laughing place. :)
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
We are sorry but the world really just hates you
This is the message that played across my screen moments ago. Or at least that's what I read. I'm sure what it actually said was something along the lines of "We are sorry but your internet connection has stopped. Please check that it is connected and try again." Before I continue let me just remind you that I cannot write blogposts without internet access... so really it must be Hulu that hates me. Either that or I'm just extremely moody. Why I should EVER be moody I really don't know.
Perhaps it is because I'm packing. I hate packing. It is one of my least favorite things about a trip. Actually I love trips so it really isn't saying much when I say that something is my least favorite part. For instance, the countdown till I leave, the planning, the preparations, the anticipation, the excitement and imagining what I will do once I get there. Then the actual leaving. Le sigh. (Your guess is as good as mine whether that "sigh" is of relief or despair) Then the traveling and the traveling and the traveling. (Honestly, I think the traveling is one of my favorite parts... minus the hotels. I don't like hotels all that much right now) And then the arrival at the destination. Oh JOYOUS occasion!!! Unfortunately this is followed by the leaving and arriving at some predetermined point in the future. You understand now why I'm so mixed up. It seems that my heart will never be happy because no matter where I am, I am away from someone or something that I love.
My Mother once told me that you can never go home. Unfortunately she first told me this after my first year of college when I tried to move back in with my parents. ZOMG! Fail. Fail of epic proportions. Then I moved out. And in with my other family. You can imagine how terrified I was when I went to visit Bernie in Virginia. What if this was no longer home after I left? What if I could never find home again? Fortunately when I came back after my week away I still felt like Texas was my home but now I'm afraid of what California will be like. Will I miss Texas while I am away? Will I be overwhelmed with how much I missed California? What if something happens while I'm out of state? With all the spring changes I'm terrified that I'm going to miss something. Most of all, I'm afraid of what I am leaving behind. There are just some things that I can't describe- that I'm afraid to leave. What if once I'm gone they never come back? I suppose I should be grateful that I am so attached to Texas now, but the fear lingers on. Now you understand, the world hates me, and loves me too. I can't seem to escape it no matter what I do.
Nothing in California stayed the same after I left the first time, so Texas, be kind to me, on this my moodiest of days, and try not to change too much while I'm gone. Keep the flowers at bay a little longer, let not the children grow, let no one come to any harm, and try to keep my friends occupied... just not too occupied, because I want them to miss me and want me to come back.
Perhaps it is because I'm packing. I hate packing. It is one of my least favorite things about a trip. Actually I love trips so it really isn't saying much when I say that something is my least favorite part. For instance, the countdown till I leave, the planning, the preparations, the anticipation, the excitement and imagining what I will do once I get there. Then the actual leaving. Le sigh. (Your guess is as good as mine whether that "sigh" is of relief or despair) Then the traveling and the traveling and the traveling. (Honestly, I think the traveling is one of my favorite parts... minus the hotels. I don't like hotels all that much right now) And then the arrival at the destination. Oh JOYOUS occasion!!! Unfortunately this is followed by the leaving and arriving at some predetermined point in the future. You understand now why I'm so mixed up. It seems that my heart will never be happy because no matter where I am, I am away from someone or something that I love.
My Mother once told me that you can never go home. Unfortunately she first told me this after my first year of college when I tried to move back in with my parents. ZOMG! Fail. Fail of epic proportions. Then I moved out. And in with my other family. You can imagine how terrified I was when I went to visit Bernie in Virginia. What if this was no longer home after I left? What if I could never find home again? Fortunately when I came back after my week away I still felt like Texas was my home but now I'm afraid of what California will be like. Will I miss Texas while I am away? Will I be overwhelmed with how much I missed California? What if something happens while I'm out of state? With all the spring changes I'm terrified that I'm going to miss something. Most of all, I'm afraid of what I am leaving behind. There are just some things that I can't describe- that I'm afraid to leave. What if once I'm gone they never come back? I suppose I should be grateful that I am so attached to Texas now, but the fear lingers on. Now you understand, the world hates me, and loves me too. I can't seem to escape it no matter what I do.
Nothing in California stayed the same after I left the first time, so Texas, be kind to me, on this my moodiest of days, and try not to change too much while I'm gone. Keep the flowers at bay a little longer, let not the children grow, let no one come to any harm, and try to keep my friends occupied... just not too occupied, because I want them to miss me and want me to come back.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Penitential Rite
As Lent draws near, I am once again reminded just how much I hate it. I mean really, as a good Christian I suppose that I should embrace and appreciate that a penitential season is good for me and is beneficial to my eventual attainment of heaven. I know this, I recognize this, but the child I was still stands forth and speaks out about HOW MUCH I hate this.
So, once again, in an ever failing effort to be penitential I'm going to NOT be on facebook for Lent (okay, excepting Sundays) and the rest I won't tell you what I'm doing, other than I might have to take my Bible out of my car and dust it off. For the record, I leave my Bible in my car because it's more convenient to find it there when I go to Church and, lest you think me too holy, when I get mad at other cars (who conveniently have Darwin fishes on them), I look at my Bible and it helps me not to curse. Anyways, not being on facebook should give me plenty of time to do all those things that I hate. Bah, humbug, whoops- wrong holiday. See you in forty days... well at least on facebook.
So, once again, in an ever failing effort to be penitential I'm going to NOT be on facebook for Lent (okay, excepting Sundays) and the rest I won't tell you what I'm doing, other than I might have to take my Bible out of my car and dust it off. For the record, I leave my Bible in my car because it's more convenient to find it there when I go to Church and, lest you think me too holy, when I get mad at other cars (who conveniently have Darwin fishes on them), I look at my Bible and it helps me not to curse. Anyways, not being on facebook should give me plenty of time to do all those things that I hate. Bah, humbug, whoops- wrong holiday. See you in forty days... well at least on facebook.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Phases of Love for Children
So in my life... I easily see lots of cute kids... every single day. Don't get me wrong, I still love that sometimes I turn around and realize that I have a shadow or that half the kids at my school seem to think my name is "Gaffy" "Gatti" or "Daddy". I wouldn't trade one tearstain on my shoulder or one handprint on my car... or on my pants. Every snot covered shirt I've had to wash and every exhausted night I have crashed into bed, as much as I may gripe about it later, it's all worth it to be loved by them. And besides, how else am I going to convince children that washing my socks can be equated with love?
At the Early Learning Center I have worked in every classroom from six months to twelve years. I don't know if I am actually that cool to smalls or that I'm just there, but I have discovered that all of them want to love and they all love me.
From six months to a year anyone who is not Mama or Daddy is... well, not anyone of importance... except for the minor detail of... "WHERE'S MAMA!!!!!" Naps are... evil... if Mama isn't there.
From a year to eighteen months kids are in the high energy stage. They want to be constantly entertained with constant change in topic every three minutes. Naps are regulated to whenever they feel like it and God hath no fury like a wakened toddler.
Eighteen months to two years is even more high energy. They want flashy hands and noisy toys. It's frightening. Yet they love you no matter what.
From two years to two and a half years they want song, noise, constant attention, and constant hugs. Being held is awesome, flashy toys are paradise, and nothing is quite right if naptime is delayed.
At three years they develop a change- they still love you and want your time, energy, and patience... but now they've discovered that if they are bad they achieve the same goal. ZOMG!!! Naptime is an evil which must be avoided at all costs and destruction is the best way to learn. They still love you but they haven't grasped the idea that torture does not equate to affection being rendered.
At four years some sanity returns with the recognition of punishment which result from bad behavior. However, attitude comes in, followed shortly by bad attitudes and dragging of heels just long enough to drive everyone else nuts but quick enough to avoid punishment. Their love is constant, even when their halos are not.
Five year olds are much the same except we add in the desire to actually TEACH THEM in school. (It may be argued that "school" isn't a good word for this- I think "Circus" would be more accurate.) They may pretend to hate you, but they are genuinely offended if you forget to love them.
At six they discover either a) they like to learn and will do so willingly, like a flower hungry for the sun's rays, and/or b) they don't like school and will be the torturers of the modern age. At this age they return to infancy and claim to love no one but Mama and Papa but still want your undying attention, affection, and energy.
Seven-year-olds require constant attention, not because they require it but because they desire it. "Did you know that..." "Can you guess why..." "Who do you think will..." Every sentence begins with something that they know that they question if you know. Word to the wise, if they don't do this to you, they don't like you and they certainly don't love you.
Eight-year-olds begin the stage of believing they are little adults. Up until this point they identify themselves soley as "big kids" but now they want duties and enjoy being entrusted with them. However, *doing* the job is another thing.
At nine they begin to actually be helpful. They understand that your time is not their time and in some cases seem to appreciate any time you spend with them. Continuing on this wavelength, they are easily flustered when they are unable to complete tasks on their own through some complication beyond their control (i.e. height, strength, weather, etc.). They are capable of working independently but this is the beginning of the change in which they want all your love but aren't quite sure how to show it anymore. This the beginning of that wretched word: "tween".
Ten-year-olds continue much of the nine-year-old phase as their bodies begin to grow at a more rapid pace. They still desire attention and affection constantly but they attain a growing level of independence. They sometimes want the attention of adults outside of their parents and make relationships with other role models.
Eleven-year-olds will frequently lose their minds. At this point and for the next few years, physical affection is very important to them as they progress. Bodily growth is increasing, followed shortly by puberty. They are moody and unpredictable in every respect except for one- they want to be loved.
Twelve-year-olds don't have a clue what they want- all they know for sure is that you are not providing it. They lose their minds.
Thirteen-year-olds lose
your minds.
Fourteen-year-olds have no minds.
At fifteen they begin to temper down a little as a lull before the storm.
At sixteen they think they know everything.
At seventeen they think you know nothing.
At eighteen it occurs to them that maybe you aren't as dumb as they thought- not that they'd tell you. They also begin to wish they were small again. This brings about a reversion to kindergarden maturity. I'd like to add they still want to be loved.
Nineteen-year-olds begin to understand what it's like to fear- what if something happened to you? They express their love more frequently.
At twenty they begin to plan what will happen next and wonder how you will play a role in this.
At twenty-one most children are out of "the nest" and planning for making their own little nests and though they may leave they now start to wish they were smaller again.
At the Early Learning Center I have worked in every classroom from six months to twelve years. I don't know if I am actually that cool to smalls or that I'm just there, but I have discovered that all of them want to love and they all love me.
From six months to a year anyone who is not Mama or Daddy is... well, not anyone of importance... except for the minor detail of... "WHERE'S MAMA!!!!!" Naps are... evil... if Mama isn't there.
From a year to eighteen months kids are in the high energy stage. They want to be constantly entertained with constant change in topic every three minutes. Naps are regulated to whenever they feel like it and God hath no fury like a wakened toddler.
Eighteen months to two years is even more high energy. They want flashy hands and noisy toys. It's frightening. Yet they love you no matter what.
From two years to two and a half years they want song, noise, constant attention, and constant hugs. Being held is awesome, flashy toys are paradise, and nothing is quite right if naptime is delayed.
At three years they develop a change- they still love you and want your time, energy, and patience... but now they've discovered that if they are bad they achieve the same goal. ZOMG!!! Naptime is an evil which must be avoided at all costs and destruction is the best way to learn. They still love you but they haven't grasped the idea that torture does not equate to affection being rendered.
At four years some sanity returns with the recognition of punishment which result from bad behavior. However, attitude comes in, followed shortly by bad attitudes and dragging of heels just long enough to drive everyone else nuts but quick enough to avoid punishment. Their love is constant, even when their halos are not.
Five year olds are much the same except we add in the desire to actually TEACH THEM in school. (It may be argued that "school" isn't a good word for this- I think "Circus" would be more accurate.) They may pretend to hate you, but they are genuinely offended if you forget to love them.
At six they discover either a) they like to learn and will do so willingly, like a flower hungry for the sun's rays, and/or b) they don't like school and will be the torturers of the modern age. At this age they return to infancy and claim to love no one but Mama and Papa but still want your undying attention, affection, and energy.
Seven-year-olds require constant attention, not because they require it but because they desire it. "Did you know that..." "Can you guess why..." "Who do you think will..." Every sentence begins with something that they know that they question if you know. Word to the wise, if they don't do this to you, they don't like you and they certainly don't love you.
Eight-year-olds begin the stage of believing they are little adults. Up until this point they identify themselves soley as "big kids" but now they want duties and enjoy being entrusted with them. However, *doing* the job is another thing.
At nine they begin to actually be helpful. They understand that your time is not their time and in some cases seem to appreciate any time you spend with them. Continuing on this wavelength, they are easily flustered when they are unable to complete tasks on their own through some complication beyond their control (i.e. height, strength, weather, etc.). They are capable of working independently but this is the beginning of the change in which they want all your love but aren't quite sure how to show it anymore. This the beginning of that wretched word: "tween".
Ten-year-olds continue much of the nine-year-old phase as their bodies begin to grow at a more rapid pace. They still desire attention and affection constantly but they attain a growing level of independence. They sometimes want the attention of adults outside of their parents and make relationships with other role models.
Eleven-year-olds will frequently lose their minds. At this point and for the next few years, physical affection is very important to them as they progress. Bodily growth is increasing, followed shortly by puberty. They are moody and unpredictable in every respect except for one- they want to be loved.
Twelve-year-olds don't have a clue what they want- all they know for sure is that you are not providing it. They lose their minds.
Thirteen-year-olds lose
your minds.
Fourteen-year-olds have no minds.
At fifteen they begin to temper down a little as a lull before the storm.
At sixteen they think they know everything.
At seventeen they think you know nothing.
At eighteen it occurs to them that maybe you aren't as dumb as they thought- not that they'd tell you. They also begin to wish they were small again. This brings about a reversion to kindergarden maturity. I'd like to add they still want to be loved.
Nineteen-year-olds begin to understand what it's like to fear- what if something happened to you? They express their love more frequently.
At twenty they begin to plan what will happen next and wonder how you will play a role in this.
At twenty-one most children are out of "the nest" and planning for making their own little nests and though they may leave they now start to wish they were smaller again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)