Where the Wild Things Are

It's almost 2 a.m. I have just finished grouting the new tile in the master bath. I've cleaned up my work space, thrown out the dirty water, shown my little munchkin who woke up 30 minutes ago some constellations. Now I myself am headed to the shower, my sheets won't allow this kind of filth. And then . . . sleep . . . ahhhhhhh

What I am thankful for tonight: An Aunt who I can call when I sit alone in the study, children asleep and husband traveling home, and unknowingly click a link on a friends blog and stumble across some music that calls to me of my Grandmother. Thankful that after I put down my box of tissues I can call Omi's phone number and Aunt Mary will answer and talk with me. Thankful that in her voice I can hear my Omi, that she will say the same things to me Omi would have, and I can listen to her and feel family around me again. Thanks Aunt Mary. Ich liebe Dich.

So, dear internets, which would you rather be seen as, ugly with no sense of put-togetherness, or rude and insensitive. Maybe this only happens to me but it seems all to often I find myself in a position having to choose the lesser of two evils. Ugly vs. rude, unobservant vs. incompetant. I'll explain. This happened a few weeks ago but the computer was on the fritz at the time so I am just blogging now. Cleveland was in the throws of trying to win a fourth game against the Red Sox (which we now know was to no avail) and Tribe fever was ripe here in our lovely land. It was Saturday morning and Chris was loading up the boys in the car for our traditional Saturday morning breakfast. I had scrambled out of bed, thrown on some clothes and was headed down the stairs to join him. Fortunately I passed a mirror on the way to the garage and realized my hair was in no condition to be seen outside the house. All the baby hairs that have grown in since Joseph's birth sent them running for the hills have reached their teen years. Adolensence has taken hold of them and they are rebelling against all conformity and reaching with all their might for a bit of individualism. This does not bode well for my hair as a whole. Individualism I'm sure has a positive side to it but not for hair. Hair, frankly, should be a communist society, each doing its small part for the greater good, each willing to bend here, accept a little product there, in an effort to produce a style greater than the sum of its parts. Unfortunately, capitalism is well and thriving upon my weary head. It's busier than the floor of the stock market up there with every folicle wavy itself crazy and clammering to be heard above the others. Can't you all just calm down?!

If your a mother of a boy or a pack of boys, hop on over to my friend Nikki's blog a watch this video.

Well, he's done it agian. The hubby has been hard at work installing new hardrives, recovering missing data, reinstalling programs, and searching though every shelf, box, and cuboard for all the operating disks to run this old computer. I think he finally has it fixed. [Unfortunately, don't tell him, I found a new love just as he finished his work.] Isn't it lovely. That's the whole thing. Speakers? Already in there. Hard drive/tower? Already in there. Video camera? Already in there. ITS ALL THERE. Maybe I love it because of my disdain for tangly cords. I swear, rats nest doesn't even begin to describe what's going on behind this little table I'm typing on. However, this here coputer has served me well and deserves another chance after is brush with death. My dad was a firm believer in the 'ol use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without. One woudn't be surprised then, to find out he wore the same suit he graduated high school in to his 20 year reunion. Come to think of it I think I Joseph was rattling around my old middle school retainer in it's purple case just the other day. Be happy Dad, I still have it! I'm fine to make it do but my doing without the past couple weeks coudn't have lasted much longer (so thanks honey!). Anyway, here's to my renewed blogging efforts and many more posts to come, with a little luck!

The computer is down again. I think for good this time. I am again over in Tara's kitchen typing while she feeds my greedy little children. Good thing I have friends so social services doesn't come calling. But, that is not what this blog is about. This blog is about being honest and it's accompanying blessings, or hardships. So, we are taught to be honest, to choose the right, and to look forward to our mansions in heaven (I tell you though, I don't want that mansion unless it comes with some poor soul doomed to a lesser kingdom to clean it). However, sometimes mansions in heaven seem a little too far off for me. I like the honesty I learned in little kid primary--the kind where you turn in the candy you stole and the manager is so pleased he gives you a king size bar, the kind where you confess to Mr. Mumford that he didn't grade your 7th grade math paper right and you actually got one more wrong than he thought and he to repay your honesty he gives you 100%. I like the getting your cake and eating it too honesty. Mansions in heaven are great but a little immediate gratification isn't bad either. I remember in college when I took an English paper in to the professor to show him a mistake he didn't catch. "Oh, thanks," he said. "I guess that brings you down to an 86%." What! Seriously. You're not going to give me extra credit for telling the truth? Ah, honesty, it's a crap chute. (Sorry, Mom, I'm channelling Laura.) As I get older I run into more and more of the blessings in heaven type of honesty and less of the ends well for everybody kind. More of the honesty where telling the truth actually gets you the consequence you deserve instead of absolving you of responsibility. Blessings in heaven are great but I miss the easy stuff. So, a couple days ago I took the kids down to trick or treat with the senior citizens. The kids and old folks had a great time but as we were loading up in the car Will fell out of the car slamming his door into the mini van next to us. Rats. I was trying to do a good deed and be nice to old people and this is what I get. I'm ashamed to say I was less concerned with William lying prone on the ground, his feet still in the car and more concerned with the very obvious dent he had put in the car next to us. I looked around, no moms where headed our way, the parking lot was otherwise empty, the angel and devil on my shoulders started negotiating. Nuts, I found a scrap of paper in my car, wrote a note explaining what had happened (I did make sure I mentioned the child falling), and left my phone number. I resisted the temptation to place the note in a place it might accidentally blow away or not be seen and stuck it under the wipers. Is it horrible to want the blessing of being honest and also hoping the lady never calls me? Well, I've been starring at cake a couple days now, nobody has called, and I'm feeling lucky enough that tonight I just might eat it.