Avoid, eschew, keep one's distance, ignore, run away from, escape. . .

Writer's Workshop with Mama Kat

Prompt of choice:  3.) What are you putting off right now?

Time for homework. . . but first

do the dishes

fold the laundry

call my sister

Now some Shakespeare. . .but wait

check my email

read a blog

visit ebay

Act 1 scene 1. . . boy I’m hungry

make some lunch

get the mail

take Sig to school

Focus! Medieval or Early Modern? . . . was I sleeping?

get a Dew

flip through Veranda

sketch out garden plans

Back to history. . .is that the bus?

get girls a snack

do some yard work

run to the store

Will? Who’s Will?

Make some dinner

do the dishes

who wants cookies?

Essay?  What essay?. . .

sweep my floor

admire my kitchen

watch a show

. . .

scrub some toilets

wash some windows

floss my teeth

. . . 

What are you avoiding?

Ever Seeking Motivation. . .

I am getting a bit of spring fever.  I started the semester with zip and zeal and didn't really mind the backside numbing hours spent in front of the computer.  But as the months drag on and daffodils pop up outside my window--taunting me and calling to me--I find I am having a hard time focusing on my homework. 

Take now for instance.  I should be finishing my Shakespeare assignment or working on my Anthropology essay, but here I sit typing away on this blog (the danger of doing classes online is that you are forever online--where an over abundance of distractions are a mere click away!). One professor even sent out a note about getting refocused and plugging through until the end.  She advised us to seek new forms of motivation.

This didn't really work that well on me, but it gave me ideas. . . for motivating my children.  I have mentioned the point system my girls work from before--they earn points for chores, homework, good behavior, that they can then convert to money. They used to just save up until they could buy something they wanted, but recently we opened savings accounts for them and they mostly deposit their money.   Hannah is saving up money to buy a Mac Book.  

The problem with putting most of your money into an account and not getting rewards right away?  The points l o o s e   s o m e   o f   t h e i r   a p p e a l .  Telling them they will earn points, or loose points does not motivate like it used to.  So yesterday while I was trying to get Hannah to do her chores and was met with grumpiness, I came up with a brilliant idea.  The girl loves music.  So I told her if she cleaned her room, the playroom, and her bathroom I would let her download a song from itunes to put on her ipod.  

The girl has never cleaned so fast.  Instant gratification certainly has appeal.

But of course I can't let her download a song every time she does her chores, she still needs to learn to save.  So I made a deal with her:  For every five points she earns for the bank she can put her sixth point towards a song (points are a buck so that works out well for the .99 songs). 

Voila!  Motivation.  

What do you do to motivate your children?

I'm Seeing Green!

For the first time ever my house was visited by a little green clad man.  It is his habit, we have learned, to steal into houses during the night before St. Patrick's Day and wreak havoc upon unsuspecting homeowners.  He never visited when we lived in Utah, but apparently a leprechaun lives in the area--I think he migrated from Canada (Since he left gold Canadian loonies--of the chocolate variety-- at Signe's preschool--after messing up her classroom and dying her toilet water green.)

The girls were nervous to see if he would hit our house this year.  We escaped his notice last year and the girls were tempted to put a note on the door saying we wouldn't mind if he chose to tease us this year.

He didn't disappoint!  The girls woke up covered in green confetti. . .their toilets filled with green water. . .and a breakfast fit for a leprechaun:

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Have you been seeing green?

My Year of Sweets

In my Women Writer's class we are reading a book this month called "My Year of Meats."  It is about a woman producing a TV series entitled "My American Wife!" which airs in Japan. It is funded by the beef industry and it's main goal is to promote meat eating in that country.  Each episode features an all American house wife who cooks a meat based meal.  It aires each week for a year.   Incidentally, American promotion of meat in Japan significantly raised their heart disease.  I am not saying anything bad about meat--I grew up on a beef farm and I eat meat regularly.  Just a little FYI.

But that's not what I am writing about.  While I was reading it I was struck by my own eating habits.  Meat is not my downfall. . . sweets are.  So I decided to outline my year of sweets.

MY YEAR OF SWEETS:

January - January is the month of resolutions.  Time to stop eating junk food and get in shape. . . ironically, we start all that off with a big party where we eat crap.  If that is not enough, in my house the Christmas candies are still hanging around (no not my waist--at least not only my waist, the cupboards and counters too).  What. am. I. to. do. . . I have to eat them to get them out of the house--right?!

February - Resolutions die quickly mid month.  Valentine's Day must be accompanied by loads of chocolate--preferably Dark Dove Chocolate. . . and Sees raspberry truffles (I am salivating just typing this). Plus since I bought a chocolate mold I had to try that out in various flavors and fillings.

March - I know what you are saying--"No one eats candy on St. Patrick's Day."  I don't--really.  I don't need to because my birthday is in March.  So I eat cake. . . lots of cake. . . and ice cream.  There is no break in sugar consumption this month.  And even if it wasn't my birthday it is girl scout cookie season.   You know what that means?  I ordered 18 boxes of girls scout cookies--you do the math (what?! it only comes around once a year and I accidentally promised two girls I would buy from them.  I couldn't disappoint). If you want to laugh a few of those calories off that were consumed due to over indulgence of the GS cookies, go here and have a listen--it's worth it.

April - It is only March but I am sure you know what is coming--the stores are stocked up and prepared for April. . . and the upcoming visit from the Easter Bunny.  Who can resist those cadbury eggs?  (Actually I can, but the Dove Truffle eggs do me in!)  The starburst jelly beans tempt me too. . . not the peeps though, never the peeps.

May - By May I am trying to reinstate the whole get fit routine (swimsuit season is looming)  but I have kids. . . and those darn kids like to buy me chocolates for Mother's Day.  You cannot refuse chocolates from your children on Mother's Day--it would be wrong.  So I suffer through and. I. eat. them. I know, it's tough, but that's what mothers do for their children.

June - June should be a sweet free month.  But of course those same darn kids can't leave dad out.  More chocolates -- luckily they tend to be cherry chocolates (which I am not fond of ) or peanut butter cups (which though they are not fond of me, they somehow manage to get into my mouth).  They aren't my chocolates. . . there should be no problem.  I don't know what to tell you.  Except--just because they aren't mine doesn't keep them from sticking to my thighs. . . darn chocolates.  

July - July takes a turn (for the better, really).  Fresh fruit is in season. June/July = strawberries, raspberries, blue berries.  But do we eat them straight and healthy?  Sure. . . and baked in pies and made into jam and added to homemade-straight-cream ice cream. . .  Delicious, sure.  Swim suit friendly?  Hardly.  

August - August keeps up the fresh fruit trends of the summer.  Plus we add more homemade ice cream and Popsicles and blackberries (which turn into jam and cobbler and milk shakes).  Plus all summer the Ice Cream Truck passes by our house every Friday--and we must purchase ice cream.  It is a compulsion I have.  To understand why go here.

September - Whew.  Sweet Free!  (unless you count apples season, and therefore apple pie and cobbler and crisp and applesauce and apple jam. . . but who counts that anyway?).

October - Halloween candy.  Carmel apples. Halloween candy. Bat and pumpkin shaped sugar cookies. Halloween candy.  Pumpkin bread, muffins and cupcakes.  Halloween candy. Rob's birthday cake Halloween candy. . . It is all going down hill from here.  Prepare yourself (But really it's all winter from here on out and what's an extra layer of fat?!  Insulation right?  And who can tell under all those sweaters and coats? No one I tell  you.

November - More sugar cookies (shaped like turkeys and pilgrims) Pumpkin Pie with whipped cream.  Apple pie with ice cream. Berry pie. . .with both!  Pecan pie (it's largely sugar, it doesn't need ice cream or whipped cream, but you will add it!).  Birthday cake for two birthdays. . .

December - The grand climax of the year of sweets.  Candy canes. Penuche.  Carmel. Cookies. White Fudge. Chocolate fudge. English toffee. Peppermint bark. Gingerbread houses. Candy garland. Chocolate oranges. Hot chocolate. Homemade marshmallows. . . .I think I am gaining weight as I type!  I better stop, though the list in far from complete.  There really is something to be said for going out with a bang (or a pop!).  

So you see, avoiding sweets is nigh on impossible.  Would it be wrong to resist?  Please tell me, what kind of year would it be if there was no sugar?  I know I would loose some recently acquired "body texture" if I turned a cold shoulder on sugar.  But I am addicted to a real bad thing and I know the parting will be painful.  

Have you said so long to sugar?  Do you even want to?  

The Possibilities Are Endless. . .

Writer's Workshop with Mama Kat (I can't believe another week has flown by already!)

Prompt of Choice: 4.) What inspired you?  Write about a time when you were impassioned to write.

This is funny for me.  Everything and nothing sparks stories in my head.  I have apparently passed this on to my daughter--both of them, actually.  The older one brings home half written stories and songs daily and the younger one, well, her entire world is make believe. 

But when I read this prompt I thought of Sits (the Secret is in the Sauce)--the site I joined last year that is a network of blogs.  I can't remember the last time I visited due to lack of time these days.  But after I joined I eagerly awaited my day in the spotlight.  Each member gets featured for a day with a little intro written by Heather and Tiffany (the hosts).  They always had such nice things to say, like "So and So is so witty and clever."  or "Such and such is a fabulous photographer."  or "This person should be published she is such a talented writer."  Or "That person is so funny I read her blog regularly."

I particularly looked forward to seeing what Heather had to say because I read her blog regularly and found her funny and witty--and a talented writer.  

The day finally came--sometime last September.  I got up early and logged on to read my intro and prepare for the onslaught of comments.  What would Heather have to say? It went something like this:

"Not only does she look like a super model, she's a fantastic mom with some super adorable kiddos." 

 What?!

 My response? 

"Who cares about that, what about my writing?"  Call me a snob, but my next reaction was "I don't want to be noted for being pretty, pretty people are less interesting!"  (Don't get me wrong I'm all about being pretty in person, but it's sort of like going on American Idol and being told you look good!)

I realize that statement is largely untrue, or at least very sweeping, (I know a lot of pretty and interesting people) but that line alone struck ideas in me.  I started writing a story based on that idea--and perhaps proving it false.  I haven't finished it yet, but it just proves inspiration can come from anywhere! 

(To give Tiffany credit, she did say, "She is a talented writer and a pleasure to read."--Thanks Tiffany!)

I'm "In my thirties"

Thanks to my lovely sister for the flowers.

Monday was my birthday.  I turned 31.  I remember last year when I had a small amount of angst about turning 30.  30 seemed old and mature.  30 said, "I know who I am and I have accomplished. . .things."--and have papers to validate that claim!  30 said, "I'm too old to care what other people think of me."

Except the only thing I had at 30 was less muscle tone, more wrinkles, and the ability to gain weight just by looking at food--and no papers of validation.  I also had no party.  I took it hard.

This year I realized turning 31 is harder, and easier.  I am no longer on the cusp of thirty--bridging the gap between twenties and thirties.  I am just "in my thirties." This point has been driven home by my return to college.  While I don't look like anyone's mother--and I have gotten more attention than I guessed I would (though I must admit, much of that "college girl" attention has come from my husband!)--I am nearly the oldest in the class. I am hanging on to that nearly.

The first few months of thirty were spent stressing over the fact that I had no solid plans for my future--beyond wife and mother (and a detailed idea of how I wanted to remodel my house!).  This stressed me out less when I remember that my husband had the same "What am going to do with my life?" crisis when he was thirty.  He clearly figured it all out. I figured I could too.

So I made a plan.

And here I am today. 

1. In school, on my way to finishing my degree--with career goals in mind.  

2. Living with a gutted kitchen--the new an improved kitchen will be installed starting this Friday.

3. Not published, (though I have to admit I have done little on that front for several months, I did have a publisher reading one of my manuscripts within the last year) but I am writing regularly--if only for school and on this blog, which I started a month after I turned 30.  That may not be paper validation, but people are reading things I have written and I love it when you all comment.

4. In the worse shape ever!  (With all that sitting for reading and writing, what did you expect?)

Three out of four is not bad! Well, two and a half really.  But my birthday went by very quietly.  I had dinner and cake with my parents the Saturday before since I share my birthday with my dad.  On my actual birthday I did homework and planked my kitchen ceiling.

The day after my birthday my five year old looked at me and said, "Mom, your birthday wasn't very birthday-ish.  I thought you were supposed to have cake and lots of presents. You didn't get any presents."

"The kitchen is my birthday present." I told her.

"Oh."  She looked confused. "Are we going to wrap it and stand in front of it and make you open it?" She asked, hopefully.

"That would be nice, except I have to help build it."  

She scrunched up her face. "Well that's not a very good present if you have to build it yourself!"  she exclaimed.

I just laughed.  Even if I have to help build it I am going to love my kitchen.

So here is to accomplishing something while "in my thirties".  I am feeling less stressed and more motivated this year.  I will accomplish things. . . just try and stop me!  And I will have fun doing it.

A Rose Among Thorns

Writer's Workshop with Mama Kat

Prompt of Choice:  Did you have a childhood hideout? Where was it? Describe it. 

Running alongside my yard is a large overgrown rose bush. It's not your typical rose bush, however.  I can't remember what it is called, but it resembles the wild rose bushes that dotted our property growing up.  A couple weeks ago as my husband and I attempted to tame the overgrown thorny beast with hedging shears, ladders and thick gloves, I couldn't help but remember those equally thorny bushes from my youth.

I was the sixth child of eight--with five brothers.  Sort of a rose among thorns, you might say.  Not that my siblings thought so.  As  you can imagine in a family of that size, attention was a sought after commodity, and sometimes extreme measure were taken to grasp some.  

I admit, as a young girl I was a drama queen--at home at least.  Every where else I was timid as a mouse, but at home a mouse would have been squashed, or ignored.  I did not like to be ignored.   Ask my mother.  She was fond of telling me I would some day win an Emmy--usually accompanied by an eye roll or a hand thrown up for emphasis.

Occasionally the usual theatrics did not get the attention I felt I deserves, or I believed I had been unfairly punished for crimes I did not commit.  On those occasions I was determined to make my mother regret her shoddy treatment of me.  And what would make a mother more regretful than to discover her child was missing?

Yes.  I ran away.  

But where does one "run away" to at seven or eight years of age, living on a farm in the country?   

Why, some nether region of the farm, of course.  Except that there weren't any forests or particularly obvious places to run to on our twenty acres, or our neighbors acres, which were largely inhabited by cows. . . or hay--which only hides one if actually lying amidst the rows.  And while that might have given me a better view, and more comfortable perch than the place I chose, there was always the danger of encountering an actual mouse--or a whole family, as they often made their nests among the alfalfa.  

So, my second option--the wild roses.  This might not seem the most obvious hideout--but isn't that sort of the point?  I wanted them to miss me and wonder where I had gone, and come searching for me.

There was a particularly large ring of bushes in the back field that surrounded an outcropping of lava rock that made a relatively comfortable perch--for a while--once one managed to navigate the thorny branches and actually emerge within the confines of the "Briar Castle".  And the flowers were pink and sweet smelling.  And the buzzing of the bees was soothing--if one held still and didn't think of being stung.  

But the worst was not the hardness of the rock, or the potential sting, but the waiting.  Waiting for someone to miss me.  Waiting for the sound of someone searching for me--or at least calling from the house, even if only for dinner.  

But no one ever came looking.  And no one ever called my name.

Eventually I would give up.  I would return home a little dejected, but considerably less angry.  It is hard to hold onto anger while feeling the sun on one's face, smelling the roses and listening to the bees buzz.  

My mother never asked where I had gone.  She probably knew.  She also probably thought that the time alone would do me good.  She was probably right.

The funny thing is, I don't remember ever getting thorns stuck in my skin--which is more than I can say for the battle I fought a few weeks ago.  THAT encounter left it's stingy red mark on me for days. . . not nearly as long as those long ago wild roses in the pasture, and not nearly so pleasantly.  

I really could have used that hideout this week--if only for the peace and quiet it had to offer.

Do/did you have a secret hideout?