A new view

Cutie Pie: Can I move my reading nook, Mrs. Richert? 

Me: Um, noooo, you're in the rocker today. Why don't you want to sit on the rocker?

Cutie Pie: No, I mean, can I mooooove the rocker?

Me: Oh, sure. Go ahead.

Cutie Pie: Cool, thanks.

Later, the rocker, which has no rockers because they broke off, is still in its new spot on the other side of the rug.  It's read-aloud time - we're half-way through Avi's Poppy and Rye. I ease myself into the rocker, drape my right leg over the arm, and reverently open the book. I chance a glance down at my friends. Oh, what a fresh perspective this is. These kids I've known for 122 days look up at me all new-eyed and eager, somehow different. There was an expectant calm in the room, in spite of the open windows and spring fever, and today's chapters carried with them a brand new urgency.  Poppy and Rye never sounded this good.

Who knew that moving a book nook could completely alter the way we perceive this thing we do every single day. Thank you, Cutie Pie. Thank you for making me see things from your perspective.

Delayed Gratification

"I was an accomplished practitioner of delayed gratification. ... I learned it eating Tootsie Roll Pops as a child." ~ Jessie, The Mermaid's Chair

When I read this today, I wondered what I was willing to stall happiness for. Here is the very short list.

* Reading a favorite magazine, especially Southern Living. I am willing to wait till the sunlight is at its best angle, the porch is clean, and all my worries are hidden under a rug before I crack the cover.

* Finding out what's in a Christmas present. No hints, please.

* Getting a new pair of shoes. They have to be perfect. They have to be on sale. I'll happily wait till I find the right pair.

* Eating dessert - except a Tootsie Roll Pop. I crunch into it by the 3rd lick.

I am ashamed to say I cannot think of another thing I'm willing to delay gratification for. I'm not sure if that says I'm a selfish louse or just too tired to think. I'm going with the latter after I grab some ice cream.

Holy Moly Guacamole!

My husband asked the other day (after whipping up a rather sensational bowl of guacamole), "Who do you think the first person was to mash up avocado and eat it and say, 'Oh, that's good!'" Well, I'd never really thought about it. I just know I like mashed up avocados in my guacamole. But that did get me wondering about other firsts from the perspective of the firstee.

I wonder what these folks thought when they first:

* slapped a contact lens on their eyeball

* tossed a rock from 20 feet back into a basket

* slid down a snowy hill without crashing

* parachuted out of a plane

* mixed chocolate with peanut butter

* sliced open a thumb and watched it heal

* made fire

* snapped a leash on a wolfdog

* received an email

* mixed chocolate with milk

* dipped a fresh corn tortilla into a bowl of guacamole

Look Mean

Karate is fun.  I actually like the tough feeling I have when I kick and punch and yell. I love memorizing a form and doing it well. I feel strong when I break a board and smart when I use my favorite weapon, the bo staff. 

What I don't feel when I do karate is mean. Mean doesn't come naturally to me. Take sparring, for example. Sparring is play fighting with no contact. You strap on your boots, gloves, and helmet, cram your mouth guard in, and go at it. You get points when your opponent doesn't block your punch or kick. The meaner you look when you spar, the more power you can channel into your strikes. "You need to look meaner, Wendi," the karate master told me tonight.

Wonder why she'd say that....

What do I look like when I spar?  

A Smiling Pollyanna.

Reverse Blessing

Every year our church spends a Sunday out in the community instead of meeting together. We sign up for various service projects and commit to doing those on that day. I signed us up to visit a senior living center. Now, for some people, this is a pleasant way to spend a Sunday morning. For me, I pretty much steer clear of humanity that I do not know. I'm a comfort-zone kinda girl. I knew when we chose this activity that it would stretch me, make me uncomfortable. I sort of even dreaded going till I prayed, asking God to change my heart. 

I can't say it was an easy morning, but it sure was a blessed one. We met this 87-year old man who is a veteran of World War II. He invited us into his apartment and showed us picture after picture after picture. He told us about the war, famous commanders he met, wonderful places he got to visit, peppering the entire conversation with 2 parts history, 1 part informed opinion. He was sharp as a tack. We listened, he told. And to think we were trying to serve others, but God had something different in mind when he allowed this man to bless me.

Happy National Corn Dog Day!!!

I don't know if you are aware, but today was National Corn Dog Day. And so we celebrated at Sonic even though we blew the eating out budget by going to the local Hibachi grill two weeks ago.

Further, we celebrated all things deep-fried and golden by going to Savers Where Good Books Are Cheap.Buy four, get the fifth free! I love the random selection I found today. 

David Sedaris for snarky humor. 

Anne Rivers Siddons for a long slow dip in the South. 

Anna Quindlen for beauty. 

Kim Edwards for something new.
 And Yann Martel's Life of Pi? Well, The blurb on the back sounded exciting. And the check-out girl said it was disturbing. That's promising. I should read it first and then head South from there.

Tent Friday

Fridays are days when one must throw caution to the wind and shake things up and use many cliches just to keep things exciting. That's why, on Fridays, we make tents in 2nd grade. Here's the recipe:

Combine king size sheets

  and binder clips.

C o l o r f u l ones are best.
 Connect to shelves,

 desks,     coat rack,
          and easel,           pocket chart stand      

chairs               and stools.

Gr                          ab

pil                         lows
 Belly-crawl in.

 Read.
 Write.

 Even talk.

 Till Monday.

Dog Lessons

Around 10:15 last night, I read these lines: "Here's why I will be a good person. Because I listen. I cannot speak, so I listen very well. I never interrupt, I never deflect the course of the conversation with a comment of my own. People, if you pay attention to them, change the direction of one another's conversations constantly. It's like having a passenger in your car who suddenly grabs the steering wheel and turns you down a side street." ~ Enzo, The Art of Racing in the Rain

Isn't that the truth? And I know I'm guilty of it. I love to talk, even if I am an introvert and I love to be alone, paradoxically. How many times do I jerk the wheel onto a side street? Steer to a whole new town? Hijack a conversation?

Enzo is wise. Last night he told me something I needed to hear.

"Learn to listen! I beg of you. Pretend you are a dog like me and listen to other people rather than steal their stories."

You can learn a lot from a dog. If you just listen.

Looking back - for just a moment

I got all the way to red belt in our taekwondo school in Pennsylvania. One belt from black. Then we moved to Connecticut where our school was no where nearby. (And there's not a single Chick Fil A in the entire state!!!)

I'm glad we're back in karate here, but I miss the school where we kicked and screamed and carried on. I miss breaking boards and teaching the Tiny Tigers and paying less to do it all. 

I'm glad we're here though. I only let myself look back a little bit. Then I turn myself around and remember that God put us here for a purpose. His tapestry of a plan is far greater than whatever threads I can see of it from underneath. And I know that one day I'll never have to look back again. On that day I'll see that tapestry stretched out before me and it will be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Clean Slate

Inspired by Pinterest:

18 Things I Should Get Rid of, But Don't

plastic lids that don't match plastic bowls

dead batteries in the junk drawer

Michelle's cheerleader sweater

college textbooks from the 1980s

cassette tapes (except the bootlegged Grateful Dead tape; I should keep that one)

those shoes that are too small for my left foot

those pants that are too small for my entire butt

at least part of my entire butt

two bottles of Beautiful perfume I can't wear since my 2nd son was born

fear of elevators

the mortgage

the light over the dining room table

documents I never use on my hard drive

the laundry pile in my room

empty paint cans

husband's stockpile of cheap toilet paper

every single Lego on the floor

guilt for not getting rid of all this stuff

Emma Louise Dawn

What do you do when your dog,

who is more than 16 years old,

who you've had since before your first child,

who you rescued from the pound after only one look,

who annoyed you with her incessant hound-dog howl

and her never-ending shedding of German Shepherd fur,

who earned a middle name for being naughty

enough to eat a feather pillow

and a favorite book

and a hand-knit baby blanket,

and the first birthday cake of your second child,

who smiles with her pink tongue slightly hanging out,

bad breath aside,

who loves you with her cloudy brown eyes and hangydown ears and soft velvet nose and would never expect anything but true love and utter loyalty for all the love and loyalty she gave you,

has cancer?

Baptism Sunday

I decided to follow Jesus when I was still in elementary school. I  was baptized then, too.  The baptismal pool was right there in the church, filled with warm water a handful of times a year. I wore a white choir-looking robe; the minister wore one, too, but I don't recall the color.  I was dipped, brought back up, and the church watched quietly, politely. I remember being careful not to let the water splash too much. I didn't want to be noisy. But I was happy. I remember feeling real joy.

Benjy and Camden were baptized today. But their baptism was more like a party, a celebration of their public declaration to follow Jesus. As each was lifted from the water, our church family clapped and cheered. We did this for 13 people today, a few children, many adults. We borrowed the local aquatic center where life guards were posted to observe. The 13 dressed in tee shirts and shorts, walked down a ramp into the water, and then did what Jesus did two thousand years ago. It was a truly joyous day. I know my boys felt it. I know I did, too.

Here Comes The Sun

I hate

        abhor

                          despise

                                  detest

            loathe

         hold in abomination

this thing called daylight savings time.

It's not that I don't appreciate a sunny evening on the back deck or beautiful sunset at night. No, what I cannot abide by is losing an entire hour of sleep! 

I know, I know, it's only for one night. But, do you know how the other 23 hours put me into a psychological tail spin? I lose sleep just thinking about it! Which compounds the problem, you no doubt have figured. And so I am not only denied an hour of sleep, but I also squander the precious few I have left. It's a vicious cycle, I tell you. I just need the whole thing to hurry up and get over with so I can just take a nap and wake up with plenty of sunshine left in my day to cheer me up.

dinner

w   h   e   a   t   b   r   e   a   d

    b     a     c     o     n

  l   e   t   t   u   c   e

t  o  m  a  t  o 

              t  o  m  a  t  o

m  i  r  a  c  l  e w  h  i  p

w   h   e   a   t   b   r   e   a   d

Talkin' about the Reading Zone

I love to talk about books. Well, truth be told, I just really love to talk. But talking about books ranks right up near the top of my things-to-talk-about list. So, knowing how my 2nd graders felt about books, I figured they'd love a chance to hang out together and dish about their reads, too. I was right.

Today I gathered my friends around me on the carpet and told them I wanted to hear how clubs were going this week. What's working? What's not? What do you like about your book clubs?

One girl wondered what to do if you don't like a book. "Do you have to finish it?"  I was so glad she asked. "No," I assured her. "I don't finish every single book I start. If I can't get into the zone after trying it for a couple of days, then I'm likely not going to want to waste my time with it. You own your reading time. You have the power to choose what works for you. It's OK to quit a book."

So much for the hard questions.

Then I asked what they liked best about their club meetings.

"Well, I get to hang out with my friends."

"I really like everybody in this class, but I really, really like the people in my book club."

"It's just fun to hang out with each other."

Whoa, that's not what I expected. What about the books? But I kept quiet for a change.

"Yeah, getting to talk with my friends is fun."

And you know what? I really started to hear them. Yes, getting to talk to my friends is exactly what I look forward in a book club. That special night out, away from laundry and dishes and bedtimes. My friends and I gather to bond over books. The book matters, but it's the friendships we are building.

Now I get it. And I'm glad my kids have discovered one of the many wonders of the Reading Zone.

Backburners

Wednesdays are our long days in 2nd grade. That means no specials. Just me and my babes from 8:00 till 3:00. Which isn't a bad deal, but when the blue skies are bright with sunshine and the temps are hovering near 60,  just a few hours can become quite unendurable.

Today was especially hard. The kids were weary of me by 2:00.  I was tired of myself by one. Even the class hamster was annoyed as she bumped against the side of her sleeping hut at noon. Can you dingdang people get out of here so I can get some sleep??? Poor nocturnal Sophie. By afternoon, there was just too much breath, too many jitters, too much humanity in that space to learn one more blasted thing. 

As we neared the end of a writing minilesson on the elements of good book reviews, I could see I had them still. Hanging by a thread, but I had them. Then not a half a second later, I could sense a change. 2:20, and a thick dread hung in the air like a San Francisco fog. Please don't make us do something. Please don't make us work. I swear, I could hear them thinking.

"I believe what we'll do now, guys, is put this on the back burner till tomorrow so we can go outside," I announced. 

 

"Oh, she did not just say that!"

"Whooooooo, yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"What's a backburner?"

 

And just like that, the fog lifted, the dread gone.

Sometimes it just pays to take a break.

 

On My Rocker

There is one part of our school day that I hold absolutely sacred. Nobody gets up. Nobody rips the Velcro on their shoes. Nobody burps, farts, sneezes, or crinkles their water bottles. This is our time in the Zone. Every day after recess, without fail, we settle ourselves on the pillows and carpet and comfy chairs around it for whatever installment awaits in our chapter book read aloud. I perch on the rocker that's missing its rockers. Actually, it's cozier this way. My short legs dangle easily over the arms as I read in 99 voices. This is our time. I guard it fiercely, and if anybody interrupts it, the kids and I will squash them like a bug. Don't mess with read-aloud. Today's post is brought to you by Avi's Ragweed, which is the first in a series in which we've already read the second.

A 43-Year-Old Prank

Today is Dad's birthday. He would have been 71. I don't spend much time thinking on his final years. They were plagued with the suffering that comes with cancer, losing a 38-year-old daughter, and a retirement that didn't live up to the dream. Instead I like to remember Dad's smile, his Andy Griffith voice and the corny jokes he told, his humble nature and pride for his family, and that good ole country wisdom. Dad used to write a column for the hometown paper. This blog borrows its name, At Random. I have a pile of yellowed newspaper clippings dating from January 1968 to the summer of 1971.

I was missing Dad when I got home today, so I settled myself on the sofa, tuned out Phineas and Ferb and Benjy's singing, and began to read from the stack of columns, one after another. I stopped when I got to this one. I giggled picturing cousin Charlene pulling his leg, and Daddy hemming and hawing around just what he was supposed to say to her. I loved that humility, that realness. Genuine, that's what my dad was.

A cowboy walked into a bar...

On a Sunday, I can make it to church in about 25 minutes. Clearly, my church isn't right next door. But the drive is worth it, especially on the way home when we get to hear the end of NPR's Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me and the beginning of A Prairie Home Companion.

Camden, who is full-on into being a tween at 12, sits beside me. Today we are later than usual, so we've missed the Lightning Fill in the Blank on Wait, Wait. (drat!) We're right on time, though, for a joke segment on Garrison Keillor's show where Cowboy Garrison and a buddy are having a dinner of beans by the fire when they are approached by Big Messer and Spike. Spike, it seems, has been told that the cowboys have been saying terrible things about him. Horrible, nasty stuff.

Here are a few of our faves that they allegedly said:

You said I was so ugly I look like I've been bobbin' for french fries.

I heard tell you were tellin' people that when I sit on the beach, cats try to bury me.

You told them I was so dumb it took me an hour to cook Minute Rice.

They said you said that whenever I walk past the bathroom the toilet flushes.

The two pairs wind up being friends because the newbies bring new jokes and news that the internet is available near the telegraph lines: 

The only thing attracted to you is the force of gravity.

When you go to an all-you-can-eat buffet, they have to install a speed bump.

Nothing like hearing a few insulting jokes on your way home from church to round out the day, huh?

Passive-aggressively saving the indie book sellers

We are big fans of Dave live like no one else so later you can live like no one else Ramsey around here. That means we don't go out to eat whenever we want. We don't have cable TV. (But we do splurge for Netflix streaming and an occasional iTunes season pass.) We buy groceries at Aldi, which is just plain cheapismart anyway. And we try, oh, we so try, to pay cash because it hurts to say goodbye to a face more than to a PIN. 

But sometimes, even Dave has his limit. I don't know what his personal Kryptonite is, but mine is books. And maybe vintage silver, or even fake vintage-looking silver. And since Barnes and Noble, Amazon, or even my favorite indie book seller on Hatteras Island are not in my budget, I head out to the thrift stores to get my fix. The bonus of course is that Thrift stores don't just sell books. They also sell silvery things!

Here's my latest haul. That silver-plated dish polished up nicely but still shows a respectable amount of tarnish. 

And those books! $1.99 a piece and one was free. I like to think that I'm saving indie book sellers by not buying at the box stores. And I'm saving my budget, too. Hey, Dave's probably all about a two-fer.