tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53317331637690599492024-02-08T07:48:32.524-08:00Sugar and Spice and Real Lifefabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-77795678665587478222011-02-01T13:20:00.000-08:002011-02-01T13:25:25.260-08:00Small Blog Big PondI decided to be cool. I decided to be hip and techno savvy. I decided to move my blog to a new website. A website which would allow my family and friends to get my blog emailed to them. A website with links, widgets and much more!<br /><br />When I first started to blog a year ago, I put my entries up on Blogger. My mission was to write for me. I wanted to vent, express, and find a creative way to stay in touch with my friends. My cute small blog worked well. I picked out my background and started writing.<br /><br />The problem is, I am still a small blogger, with a small blog. I still am blogging selfishly for me. I am a bit startled by the “Categories”, “links” and “tag words” all designed to get my blog bigger and better. I am intimidated by the possibility of people I don’t KNOW actually reading my blog. It is my blog but is also my journal and my mental health check. Well, honestly, it is my life that I try to reflect on and make funnier.<br /><br />I know I have several “stealth” readers of my blog. Friends and family who check in on my life but don’t leave comments. I felt like this blog site would give you a chance to have my wit and wisdom sent right to you via email. (It would also boost my ego by knowing how many of you actually WANT to read it.)<br /><br />So, here I am, Small Blogger in a Big Pond. Dear family and friends, I hope you find me here. I hope you get my blog via email. I hope you keep laughing with me as I move, transition, and live my life. To any others who stumble upon me. I hope you laugh a little. If you find me at all amusing, please go read “The Meat and Potatoes of Life” blog. Also available on this website. She is the blogger I want to be when I grow up. Now if I could just figure out that “Links” widget I could post the link to her site hmmm……<br /><br />MY BLOG HAS MOVED YOU MUST GO TO THIS LINK!<br /><br />http://sugarandspiceandreallife.wordpress.com/fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-19318697729901401832011-01-25T09:03:00.001-08:002011-01-25T09:34:02.230-08:00Wanted: An EntourageThe relocation process has started. I have been explaining to people that for awhile now we have been waiting for things to happen. The relocation is this huge boulder sitting at the top of a hill. You get the call from your "Relocation Coordinator" and the boulder starts to shake. You get the call from your "Relocation Counselor" and boulder starts to roll. You get calls from morgatge representatives, realtors, your counselor again, and paper work arrives that HAS to get back right NOW. The boulder is big and now it has picked up speed. It is barreling down toward you. <br /><br />This is where I feel like Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark. I need to get my hat, whip, and keep running. The problem with Indiana Jones is that he is often dirty, and I am sure he likes sleeping outside. He deals with bugs and snakes. I won't even camp unless I am in a building with a bathroom, attached. No walking through the woods for me, no way. I am also not a fan of bugs. They are fine, outside. I will stay inside and let them be. If they appear on my turf, they have to expect consequences. So I have devised another plan. <br /><br />I can move pretty fast. I will dodge the boulder and assemble an Entourage. A nice full staff to get me through this transition. I want a personal assistant to organize my lists and life. They can send the emails out, mail the paperwork, and take my messages from the Relocation Posse. I could hire an interior decorator/stager to help make the house perfect for selling. I don't need a personal chef because I can handle that. I will need someone to keep the house clean though. To round out the team a publicist would be great. Someone to let Chicago and Naperville know I am coming and how cool I am. Since I don't have an Entourage, and won't be getting one soon. I guess I better keep running, pick up my hat, my whip, and get this house sold. It is always nice to dream though.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-16947808894493049232011-01-22T10:35:00.000-08:002011-01-22T11:16:09.077-08:00Mrs. MomThe other day the movie Mr. Mom came on our television. In my life, this is a classic movie. There are many quotes from it that are wonderful. My husbands favorite is "Wow Dad, one punch!" ONE of mine is "Wow, what did you use (to kill him) a 38?" Response, "A 38, 39, whatever it took." I loved this movie when it came out in the early 1980's. I was only 14 or so but it was funny and creative. It was written by John Hughes after all. It has Michael Keaton, Teri Garr, Martin Mull, and supporting players, Christopher Lloyd, and Jeffrey Tambor. <br /><br />The premise is of course the husband loses his job and the wife goes back to work to support the family. The husband has many cliched, exaggerated troubles adjusting to being a stay at home parent. At one point he gets hooked watching soaps. They show scenes from an actual soap. Not only do I watch that soap, some of those characters are still on it! <br /><br />As a stay at home parent, I can identify with the problems this gentleman had. The drudgery the routine. In a particular scene the husband and wife argue over his lose of focus, his appearance and the wearing of his "flannel shirt". Now I am not sure why but yesterday, I looked down at myself and got scared. You see this winter my wardrobe has morphed into sweats and my favorite gray fleece Y campaign for kids pullover. It has become a type of uniform. The pullover is definitely in need of a cleaning and the fleece is no longer soft and full it is rough and worn. <br /><br />Last year when I was working I clearly put more effort into my look. This year I find myself getting dressed well to do errands etc. IF I am doing it after I have showered and exercised. If I do things before I exercise my dress is sweats and a UT shirt. So what to do? If I were in the movie the Rocky theme would play and I would be seen cleaning, turning off the TV, and burning my shirt. This I know will not happen. Instead, I will continue to exercise, clean the house, sell the house, and go on from there. (without the benefit of a soundtrack)<br /><br />One problem, Mr. Mom handled so well in this movie was getting his son to give up his security blanket. My youngest doesn't have a security blanket, she has a bin of them. I wish I could use his logic on her. <br /><br />"I understand that you little guys start out with your woobies and you think they're great... and they are, they are terrific. But pretty soon, a woobie isn't enough. You're out on the street trying to score an electric blanket, or maybe a quilt. And the next thing you know, you're strung out on bedspreads Ken. That's serious." <br /><br />What do you think? I just may give it a try. But then again, I think it may be to late.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-90276325015365189372011-01-19T09:16:00.000-08:002011-01-19T10:26:28.004-08:00Animal MagnetismI am a dog person. I like petting our dog. I like walking our dog. I like playing with our dog. Our current dog is a calm and loving creature. She stays close, listens well, and occasionally pees on my bed, but I still love her. <br /><br />Lately, other dogs seem to have discovered the love of my dog Sage. Sage is a yellow lab who quietly pads around inside and outside. She sometimes stops while outside and lifts her head to bark 3 or 4 times in a row. I am not sure who she is calling out to, but she will then stop and resume her other business. Now one day last week some other dog must have heard her call. <br /><br />It was a snow day and I was home with the children. The children came running to me with much excitement, "Mom, there is a dog outside in the yard!" Sure enough when I looked out, a large yellow retriever was happily sniffing around out back. I think it should be mentioned here that I often try to rescue loose dogs. If at all possible I attempt to attract them, look at their tags, call their owners, and host them in the house until the owner can come get them. I am a dog person. I hope someone would do the same for me with Sage. I go outside in the cold and snow. I kneel down and call this dog. He is big, he is hairy (and covered in snow),and he gleefully runs over to me. The girls are coming outside in their pajamas, they are taking pictures of this dog with their phone. I grab our new friend since I now know his name and I have a phone number to call. <br /><br />Since our new friend is a boy I allow him inside. Sage ALWAYS gets along with boy dogs, girls are a gamble since it is the one thing I have found that can makes her a Diva is another girl dog. Our new companion comes in and chaos ensues. The two new friends start running around the house quickly, playing as dogs will do. The problem was they were two BIG dogs. I was able to call the owner and as luck would have it our new friend belonged to a neighbor. He was returned and all was well.<br /><br />Until a few days later....<br /><br />The girls are at school. I look out the window and there is my friendly dog again. Snowy, hairy, and happy in our yard. This time I go outside and call his same. He gallops over to me with a big goofy look. I pat his head and say, "Go Home!" I point to his yard which is behind ours. He looks at me and without missing a beat, runs past me to the back door of MY house. Well, I AM a dog person, so I let him in for more chaos while I call his owners. He gets sent home safely, again.<br /><br />Until a few days later......<br /><br />I am sitting in the kitchen working on my computer. Out of the corner of my eye I see a large dog in the yard. Not AGAIN I think. This time I decide to let Sage outside. I figure chaos can happen out there instead of around my dining room table. As I go out after Sage, I take a closer look. This is DIFFERENT dog. Upon closer inspection I see that she is darker colored, and the name tag shows me she is a GIRL. Uh oh, I think to myself. I grab Sage and run her inside before the fun stops and the fussing starts. I then get my calm, gray muzzled, female dog and call her owner. She apparently lives a little further away but not far. I wait outside with her while the owner walks over. Once returned everyone is happy again.<br /><br />I am not sure why dogs are so attracted to our yard all of a sudden. For the moment I will continue to work on my computer, and keep one eye out the window. You never know, maybe next time we will attract a pony!fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-46289387405845622632011-01-17T13:15:00.000-08:002011-01-17T13:46:47.870-08:00Snow DaysIt was snowing, again. It was snowing, again, in Tennessee. This is an unusual thing for the south (or so I am told). I am a northerner, a dam Yankee, the snow is not shocking, or surprising to me. I was assured it did not snow in Tennessee. Before we moved, I purged our boots, snow pants, and most snow shovels. I had saved my favorite snow shovel, the one which got me through the Delaware Blizzards last winter. It was like an old friend, I could not part with it just yet. Now I am glad I kept it. Apparently, I NEEDED it. <br /><br />Remember, it is NOT supposed to snow in Tennessee. Here it was snowing, again. The children had missed school, they continued to miss school, and when they did get back to school they had delayed starts. It was not even that much snow. I think the move to Chicago will stun my children. I keep trying to tell them, they will NEVER see another snow day again. Like good pre - teens they nod at me and pretend to hear me. They are in denial.<br /><br />One thing I missed during my snow days in Tennessee was my Delaware neighbors and friends. Here in Tennessee the snow stopped. I had watched the news and seen the storm move out. I must say the "Storm Coverage" was reasonable, not like in Delaware where the "Storm Coverage" would go on for hours and have reporters out in the snow talking to crazy people out driving in it. I missed the "Storm Coverage", I used to watch with gleeful guilt when I knew we had a storm big enough to keep us in the house. <br /><br />Here in Tennessee the snow had stopped. When the snow stops you go out to shovel. In Delaware you would be out shoveling and in short order you could be chatting with neighbors, catching up with them, helping each other dig out driveways. I went out to shovel. I saw not a single soul. I am not sure if it because they don't have snow shovels, they assumed it would melt quickly since we live in the south, or if they were all in their houses pointing and laughing at me. <br /><br />As my shovel and I plowed our way down the driveway, I began to think. Why am doing this? It is not like when I get to the end of the driveway a plow will come by on my street so I can get out? I decided to do it anyway, I figured the sun would melt everything away making my life easier for tomorrow. Later I learned that I was not alone in my shoveling. ALL the northerners get out there early and get it done. We are like a mutant animal that work in instinct and tradition. There was just not enough of us to be connected by sight in my neighborhood.<br /><br />I missed my old neighborhood in the snow, and I missed my old neighbors. The children would walk to each others houses to play. They would meet at the school and go sledding on the barely a hill. We would share hot chocolate and glasses of wine as we huddled together and survived the storms. It is not supposed to snow in Tennessee. I know it is supposed to snow in Chicago. I just hope my new neighbors are kind and along with a glass of wine might watch the "Storm Coverage" with me if there is any.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-83648024548901082252011-01-06T11:42:00.000-08:002011-01-06T12:51:19.137-08:00The Wisemen ComethThis is a story about accidents and wisdom. As a child I am sure all of us have a story of breaking something in our house by accident. People my age will nod their heads and laugh if you mention the immortal words from "The Brady Bunch", "Mom, always said,'Don't play ball in the house.'" <br /><br />When I was young my mom had a lamp. At the particular age I was I could never really understand why it was called a lamp. It looked more like a large vase. It was an antique and was very special to my mother. It sat by the fireplace in the living room. On one particular day my sister and I were playing in the living room. We were singing, dancing, and acting out lyrics to songs. If I recollect correctly it was Beatles music. We were having a grand time, and then it happened. I don't know how, I don't know who, but there was a crash. My sister and I froze and turned to see the lamp shattered on it's side. We then heard my mother's pained cry from the basement where she was doing laundry, "Was that my lamp?" Suddenly, my father materialized from no where. He looked at the lamp and he looked at us. "Go to your rooms." he told us. He did not say it in an angry way, more of a "I will take care of this and save your lives." kind of way. My sister and I dashed passed my mom and ran upstairs. I looked back to see my dad comforting my mother. <br /><br />I don't recall being punished for breaking my mother's precious item. I do know it hurt me that it had happened. I was upset that I had taken something from her. I knew there was nothing I could do to fix it. It was, an accident. I am much older now but I still remember how bad I felt back then. Over time my siblings and I have given my mom other antique lamps. She now has several. We tried to give her something back that we feel was wrongly taken.<br /><br />It is at this point that I must flash forward to the present day. It is the holiday season. My family has returned from out travels but has not cleaned up our Christmas decorations. In the family room sits my Nativity Set. My Nativity set is a little different. It is mine, that I liked, and I have worked hard to build up over the years. It is fairly expensive so I have bought it or received pieces as gifts over time. It is nearly a complete set. I am in the kitchen cleaning up and I turn around. There before me stands my youngest child. Her eyes are wide and she holds in one hand, the head of a wiseman, and in the other his body. She looks at me and stammers," He, he just fell over." I return her gaze and echo back "He just fell over?" a question and probably some sternness in my voice. <br /><br />My daughter regroups and says,"I was bouncing on the ball(why is always balls)and I bumped it. You can glue it, right?" she asks me. I examine the wiseman, "I guess I could glue it." I say. I am thinking in my head, but then he would have this scar on his neck like some marauder had come up from behind and slit his throat and tried to rob him. I am clearly upset at the loss of my wiseman but I am doing my best not to show it. I have my vivid memories of how upset I was when I had broken something special to my mother. My daughter can see I am hurt, and she knows how important my Nativity is to me. She looks at me and her eyes fill with tears. "I am so sorry mom." she cries. "It was an accident." I comfort her and calm her down. "Don't worry," I say, "I can get another one." In fact when I seek out my husband and cry a little on his shoulder he suggests just that. "Just call them up, I am sure they will let you buy just one." I nod in agreement, but secretly know it does NOT work that way. <br /><br />I come back downstairs and at the sight of me my daughter starts crying again. I take her in my arms and comfort her again. This time I tell her not to worry. As I recall in the bible it never actually SAYS there are 3 wisemen. People just assign the number three because of the gifts that is listed they bring. In our Nativity one wisman can bring TWO gifts. I reassure her that I will buy some new wisemen. Next year, I say, we can have FIVE wisemen. What baby Jesus would not like a few extra gifts?, I ask. I also think in the back of my mind, a few extra wisemen for the next time this happens could be a good thing. Now that's what I call wisdom.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-11174326235556701662011-01-04T12:31:00.000-08:002011-01-04T13:10:09.886-08:00All Gods Creatures Have A Place in the Choir, and Apparently, a Room in the Holiday Inn ExpressWe traveled this Christmas. We planned, packed, loaded, unloaded, reloaded, and drove over much of the midatlantic region. I have not traveled this far for Christmas in many years. In college I loved being home for the holidays but always dreaded getting there. My sister Gayle got double the travel bug where as I got none. When the children were young we packed up toys, diapers, gifts, excersaucers, bottles, pack and plays and went to relatives but soon that stopped. We were blessed and able to be at home for Christmas and our farthest journey over the holidays was an hour and half long. In my mind that is not a journey, it is an excursion. <br /><br />This year we had a full fledged journey to make. My husband and children helped carry out all our items to load. Which included the gifts, snacks, sleeping bags, air mattresses, luggage, plus a dog, dog bed, and cookies. I packed the car with efficiently thanks to the Strommen packing gene and we set off. We drove part of the way and found our hotel. It was COLD that night and the hotel seemed fairly quiet. The check in clerk said it was busier the night before, mostly people traveling with their pets. After a bite to eat we all settled in to bed. <br /><br />My husband fell asleep almost instantly, he was very tired and done the driving. I snuggled in with the children to assist them in laying still and settling down. They do not enjoy sharing a bed, it often helps if I am a barrier until they fall asleep. After I was assured there was even relaxed breathing from both I crawled back to my bed. The dog who was on the floor mumbled at me. (something she has started doing lately) I don't often sleep well in hotels or places that are not my home. I wake often and sleep lightly. <br /><br />During the night I would wake and hear people walking by our room. I often heard other dogs barking so I knew we were not alone in our travels with animals. At some point I began to picture what it would have been like on Christmas Eve in the stable. It was cold that night in the hotel, was it cold in the stable? The rustling of animals and oders that accompanies them, what was that like? Surely worse than my dogs current "I need a bath bad" smell. Was the night sky clear? Out our window we had the view of an 84 Lumber. It just backed right up to us. All the outside sheds had reminded me again of a stable. I had not been able to see many stars when I had looked out. Eventually I fell asleep for the longest of my stretches of slumber. In the morning we all awoke and it was Christmas Eve. The dog jumped on the bed with Jack and I and we let her stay. She did her usual mumbling. I laughed and asked her what she was saying, maybe it was "Merry Christmas", but Jack said she was saying, "It was about time you let me up here." We ate our breakfast, loaded the car, and continued our journey. I was glad we had found a hotel that welcomed pets. I am also glad that we were on our way to family and friends and are able to welcome the coming of Jesus at Christmas together.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-47851581946251776622010-12-21T12:33:00.000-08:002010-12-21T13:28:10.705-08:00A Day of Tears, Cookies, and Spiky BallsToday started in a bad way. Everyone got out the door as intended and I then started to plan my day. At some point heading out to do my errands my mood darkened. As Judy Moody would put it, " I was in a mood, not a good mood but a BAD mood." Instead of thoughts of Christmas carols, gift giving, laughing with friends, my thoughts turned to moving. Moving involves phone calls, cleaning, mortgages, emails, coordination of events, inspections, and paper work. I could feel the happiness in my heart deflating. <br /><br />I returned home and tried to shake it off. After all I had things to do. I started to wrap presents. I also started to cry. I put on one of my favorite Christmas CD's to cheer myself up. I cried harder. Eventually I called a friend who was able to talk me through it. The conversation started in upset and ended in laughter. Now that I gotten over that hump I had other things to do. The girls had a half day and we had cookies to bake!<br /><br />I like to cook and I like to bake. At Christmas I have several types of cookies I try to make. One of these cookies are my Mother's Butter Cookies. Making these cookies are a tradition. When I was young I would help my mom make them. When I got older my sister and I would make them. I have many happy memories of rolling out dough and icing cookies with my sister. As time went on before I had kids, I would even make the cookies on my own. They quickly became a favorite of my husband. One year he even tricked me into doubling the recipe, I was rolling out cookies for hours! (He has not lived that down) <br /><br />Now I have children and they "help" with making the cookies. In past years I have sometimes planned to bake the cookies later in the afternoon, I often found a glass of wine for mom made the process of rolling out cookies with young children go smoother. Now my children are old enough and interested enough to roll the dough themselves. They can work together to choose cookies cutter and take turns. Ahhhhhh so nice. <br /><br />Of course they get tired of it about halfway through the dough, and the elder daughter was in a pre-teen mood at first and played with flour more than anything else. AND there is the small matter of giving the younger daughter advice about rolling the dough without making her cry and the older daughter choosing to ONLY or at least MOSTLY make the small snowman. She says it is because it is her favorite with his skinny neck. I say she likes him and his skinny neck because when we ice them his head will "fall" off and she gets to eat the cookie. (It is tradition and a family joke to eat the "broken" cookies as we ice them) I can guarantee my husband will walk in the door tonight, look at the cookies we made, point to one and say, "Oh to bad that one is broken." and pop it in his mouth. <br /><br />So, tears and wrapping. done, cookies. done, on to the last of the holiday shopping. The girls and I head out to get something for their father. They have their heart set on getting him earrings. After I convince them that "Claire's" would NOT be the best place to find earrings for their father we end up at Kohl's. I figure if we strike out on earrings they will have SOMETHING. It also keeps me AWAY from the mall and the other more harried shopping areas. <br /><br />In we go and look around at the jewelry and earrings. The girls get very excited when they see earrings they like. They are actually like ones that my younger daughter has already. "LOOK mom they have the spiky balls!" one says. Then the other, "Dad would LOVE these spiky balls!" "I think he would like these colors they agree." and then the older one says,"ohhh! dangly spiky balls - dad would like those!"<br /><br />I am standing no more than a foot away. I am not sure how to respond. Their statements are full of innocence and sincerity, and I do not want to dampen their enthusiasm. BUT, I do gently steer them toward another rack. "Oh, look at these small starfish." I say, and "I like these small sparkly ones with birthstones." The younger was won over by my suggestions. They elder stuck to her guns. We made our purchase and went to the car. In the car the accolades about their choices goes on, "He will really like these dangly spiky balls." etc. It is that point that I start to laugh. I laugh so hard that tears come and I start to cry. And so that was my day, it started and ended with tears. At least it ended with the right kind of tears.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-83519643383959248932010-12-17T07:39:00.000-08:002010-12-19T07:39:20.407-08:00The More things Change, The More they stay the sameI have a 12 year old daughter. As many of you know, 12 year old girls can be wonderful, and sometimes, not so wonderful. The other night I was reminded about how no matter what her age, how she is still my same little girl. <br /><br />My little girl has asthma. She can cough a LOT when she is having a bad spell. It is often the worst at night. She is old enough now to take her own medicine. She is also old enough now to fight with me about taking her medicine. She is just the right age to "forget" to take her medicine, and still complain about how her cough is soooo bad. It is a constant battle. I did make one decision though. If Jack is traveling and she is having a asthma cough at night she can come into bed with me. I know, I know, this is not good, but she sleeps better when you are there. It has been that way since she was a baby. <br /><br />It is selfish of me but I remember when she was a baby. She would get a cold and when the cold turned into a cough, she could not sleep. I used to think if I could prop her up she would not cough so much. (not possible - pillows in the crib?, she might not cough but she could also suffocate herself) I also got her to sleep in her car carrier (that did not stop the coughing and just frustrated he when she got old enough to want to roll over). So I gave up and would hold her in the recliner. It was the ONLY way we would get sleep. She would snuggle up on my chest and we would sleep. Any attempt to place her in the crib would create coughing. <br /><br />As she got older I would snuggle up in bed with her to help her stop coughing. Before we knew it was asthma I spent many a sleepless night with her. We would lay quietly and I would tell her stories I made up, I would try to distract her, I would count quietly in between the coughs and tell myself if I got to 30 between them we would getting better. My presence often soothed her and she would fall asleep. As soon as I crawled back into my bed, the coughing would start again. I would say to my husband she had some sort of physical sense, if we were not touching her her mind and body would kick into cough mode.<br /><br />Once we figured out it was asthma, we had an asthma plan. If we followed the plan things would often be fine. To that end, if you do not follow the plan you end up in trouble. When Jack is away I do not have time to deal with it. She can come to bed with me. She falls asleep and stays asleep.(Thankfully she does not need to be on my chest) Just like when she was younger though she gets RIGHT next to me. If I move, she moves with me. If I shove her over (she can be a solid sleeper) she moves back. The other night I thought, what will happen when she is in college? should I get her a body pillow? I know she will figure it out for herself. One thing is for sure. Whoever she ends up with as a partner better be ready to stay close!fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-79240326772966105602010-12-13T09:56:00.000-08:002010-12-13T11:54:28.779-08:00Comfort FoodTonight I ate a big plate of french fries. I had gone out to lunch with a friend (company good, food so so), and I had not been hungry for dinner. My husband fed himself and the girls. Naturally around 9 PM I was hungry, so why not go for a large plate french fries! Typically I crave sweets but tonight I wanted salty and filling.<br /><br />French Fries hold a special place in my heart (and stomach) for comfort. There are several foods I hold dear. Chocolate of course, pizza (which I craved like crazy while pregnant), cake, ice cream, and of course french fries. <br /><br />My fondest memories of french fries come from college. I lived my years at the University of Delaware on "West Campus", and as such used Rodney Dining Hall for a food source. Alas, I cannot speak well of Rodney Dining Hall food overall. It was, after all a dining hall. I cannot say I ever loved it. The tale of my brief work experience in the bowels of this establishment will also have to wait for another day. <br /><br />BUT, at night, the lower level of Rodney Dining Hall (The Snack Bar) was open for service. It was not the swipe your card and get the typical swill. The food was made to order, fresh! There was a limited menu but everything was CHEAP. I was a freshman and stretching the dollar was important to me. My constant dilemma was spend 75 cents on french fries? or the $1.50 for the milkshake? or really splurge and get both? (it was college, I wasn't the most healthy eater) The plate of fries was always piled high, steaming, crispy on the outside and soft potato goodness on the inside. The milkshake was made right there and I often ordered mint chocolate chip. You got ice cream and at the end you could use a spoon to scoop out the flat, square, dark chocolate bits from the bottom of the cup. <br /><br />I enjoyed eating the food there. I enjoyed the walk in the cold to get there. I loved the warmth once you stepped inside, and the anticipation of my choice of order. I also looked forward to the conversation to be had with a friend while there. <br /><br />You see, that was the second part of the comfort in this comfort food. You did not go the snack bar alone, the fries gave me a reason to seek our friends to join me. I got food with a side of laughter. I seek this combination out even now in Knoxville. This week I went to lunch with a new friend. I also picked up the phone and called another woman I met here and we are going to lunch next week. This woman got to Knoxville (via Seattle) about the same time I did with the same circumstances as me. (new job) She has some added challenges of older children and her mother who had to move with her. (would you want to move when you were 80?) I like this woman. I don't know where we are going for lunch, but I do know that even though I will be leaving soon, I am hoping to give her a big plate of french fries with a side of laughter.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-417594981691311152010-12-06T14:10:00.000-08:002010-12-06T14:54:32.600-08:00Ode to a TurkeyI hosted my first Thanksgiving this year. I had avoided hosting Thanksgiving for many years. My husband commented, he thought it was odd, since I loved to cook so much that I would not want to be in charge of Thanksgiving. I find the coordination of Thanksgiving, intimidating I told him. There is something I find more intimidating (and annoying) than coordinating Thanksgiving dinner, and that is TRAVELING over Thanksgiving weekend. <br /><br />So for more selfish reasons than I like to admit, I hosted Thanksgiving here in Tennessee. I knew my kitchen would be big enough, I knew the house would be big enough to fit everyone, and I would not have to go anywhere. They only thing that still scared me was, the turkey. I know, why am I scared of a bird? I had cooked them before but I never felt they came out just right. I can handle side dishes, pies, appetizers, and drinks. That turkey continued to spook me, Would it take to long to cook?, Would it be brown and crispy outside?, Would it be moist and delicious inside? Who would carve it? (This duty was previously done by my old neighbor, who was a PRO) I gave up. I figured I had enough to worry about and I ordered a cooked turkey from a local grocery store. <br /><br />Now this is where the story gets a little crazy. I go to pick up the turkey with my mother in law. This does not bother me, for I love my mother in law, I am blessed to have someone kind, funny, and caring as a mother in law. She and I trundle off to the grocery store. I am not sure what I am expecting, I think my problem began with my image of the turkey. I expected this gorgeous bird in a pan, something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. I did not get that. <br /><br />We wait, my mother in law and I, while the nice young man goes to retrieve my turkey. We chat with the woman also waiting for her turkey. (she looked at me and smiled, you KNOW I was going to talk to her) The young man returns and hands me a cold, wrapped up turkey that looks like it is raw. "Your sure it's cooked?", I ask. "Yes," he assures me. "It even says so on the wrapper." I look at the turkey and think to myself, "WHAT HAVE I DONE!" I am a little scared, I have risked the Thanksgiving turkey and may have lost. I think of the small turkey breast I have cooking in my crock pot. (Yes, I made extra turkey, I am my mother's daughter) Although tasty to be sure, it will never feed everyone. I am not sure what my mother in law is thinking, but as I mentioned she is kind and caring so she smiles with support at me and suggests we go get the roasting pan we will need. <br /><br />We return home and all is well. The cousins are playing people are relaxing. I get my stuffing ready. When the time comes I place the "turkey" in the oven to reheat. In the end, I am rewarded, and VERY thankful. The turkey comes out moist and delicious, my mother in law is able to doctor the gravy so it is quite good, my stuffing is tasty, and we all eat ourselves fairly silly. <br /><br />I am Thankful for many things, my family, my married into family, my health, and one other thing. I am Thankful to have learned my lesson about turkey. It is better to cook your own with the love of family than have one handed to you. Working for it is part of the fun.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-30499507386207714772010-12-02T11:52:00.000-08:002010-12-02T13:27:22.363-08:00Face to FaceDo you know the saying, "You never know how much you loved something until it is gone?" That was my saying a few weekends ago. I was in Chicago visiting with my husband. We were supposed to get "familiar" with the area. We got to see neighborhoods and houses. We went out to eat. We saw many great things: parks, downtowns, libraries, and a river walk. After our driving tours, bus tours, and realtor tours, we discussed our opinions. Honestly my feelings were not all that positive. I was struggling with the sprawl, the cold, the dreariness, and the TINY houses. We talked. Jack went for run to clear his head and relieve some stress.<br /><br />I sat in the hotel room and cried a little. (I also has some wine, and texted people)<br />Since that time I tried to figure out why I was so upset. What was it? The change? The unknown? I mean seriously, we saw a lot of nice things. It will be a fine place to live. What I realized was, I really do like it here in Tennessee. I know I don't like everything but I do like it a lot. I like my hot tub, I like being so close to shopping, gymnastics, and karate. I like knowing how to get around, how easy it is to get around to places - Then it hit me. Tennessee for all it's differences is more ALIKE to Delaware then it is different. Moving here was a BIG thing but my adaptation overall turned out to be very small. I feel so comfortable here because it is so much like my "home" in Delaware. <br /><br />So there it was face to face, Chicago is NOT like Delaware, or Tennessee. It is it's own style, arrangement, and size. Moving there will mean more change and more adaptation. It scares me. It makes me not like it as much. That is why I sat in the hotel and teared up. I will have to say good bye to what I am comfortable with, for REAL this time. I will do it. I may even have some fun doing it. I know myself, and if I am honest I will admit, I will do with a smile, and just a few tears.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-62216718409367852562010-11-23T16:51:00.000-08:002010-11-29T11:56:29.515-08:00Survivor - Outwit, Outlast, OutplayOne cold weekend in November will forever be known as my "Survivor" weekend. My husband and I traveled to Chicago to visit. His company has sent us in an attempt to get "familiar" with the area they want to move the company headquarters. Chicago suburbs were as Chicago area is often this time of year, cold and dreary. My husband kept saying, "They want me to be delighted about this move. I am waiting to be delighted." The brief visit did not necessarily bring us joy but more questions and concerns. <br /><br />Along with us on this trip were fellow co - workers from Sun Coke Energy. They became our tribe on this trip. You see, at the end of the trip we were truly a Survivor tribe. We had been dropped into a crazy and wild area of Chicago known as "Chicago O'Hare Airport". Our goal was to make it home to Knoxville. <br /><br />Many challenges were placed in our way, but we were lucky. Our tribe remained unified and determined to win the prize. Unfortunately the prize was not a million dollars (probably the amount of money to keep me happy in Chicago), it was to get HOME. Our tribe was strong and varied. We had young, all the way down to 17 months, and more experienced travellers. Our wile, determination, and support of each other allowed us to overcome our obstacles. These obstacles included: no outlets to charge phones, airport food, exhaustion, cancelled flights, illness, and delayed flights. The tribe held together, it watched bags, talked, protected seats, and shared magazines. There was no back stabbing or secret deals. <br /><br />In the end our tribe was able to leave the most annoying member of the tribe and return home. That member being of course the "Chicago O'Hare Airport" itself. You see, as the day and night continued on, it seemed as though the airport was not only the lost area our tribe had been placed, but also a stealth competitor determined to do it's best to thwart our progress. Eventually though, we boarded our plane and flew away. The tribe was able to vote and snuff out the lantern of "Chicago O'Hare" airport and return to Knoxville. The tribe had spoken.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-6786593391604459762010-11-15T11:39:00.000-08:002010-11-15T12:46:22.756-08:00Cell Phone HugsRecently we got my eldest daughter a cell phone. It was not something we did lightly and it WAS something we had put off. "She wasn't old enough.", we said. "Who is she gonna call or text?, none of her friends have cell phones.", we said. "It is to much money.",we said. <br /><br />Then we moved. A cell phone allowed her to call and text her friends in Delaware that did have them, or would soon get them. The bill did not get THAT much bigger. (It went up mostly due to my new data package) She got the phone because I felt better knowing she had it on those days I would not be home when she arrived after school. It made me feel safer. <br /><br />Now I must say that I really like the cell phone. I laughed with my daughter when I got the bill this month. She and I had sent in the realm of 800 texts! Naturally we had only called people on the phone for about an hour. I am shocked at how little I talk on my phone. <br /><br />I think a great deal of my texting goes to and from my daughter. She texts me when she gets on the bus in the morning. She will tell me her friend is not on the bus. She will ask a question. She texts me when she gets on the bus in the afternoon. Practically everyday I get "Im on da bus". She also asks questions about what we have to do that evening or if I will be home or taking her sister somewhere. <br /><br /><br />I think the most important thing the cell phone did for my daughter this past weekend was give her a security blanket. My eldest daughter is not always the bravest away from home. She has been known to get homesick even when away with close friends. This weekend she went away for a Karate Camp. It was 4 hours away with kids she did not know THATwell. I kept my cell phone near by all weekend long. I even slept with it by my bed. (very unusual) She would text silly things to me. I knew things were hard when she would text, "I miss you :(" At those times I could try to distract her or steer her toward an activity. It was a lifeline for the both of us. She could miss me and talk to me without being embarrassed. It was not as good as a hug, but I was glad it was what we had.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-68657968803976946622010-11-11T12:39:00.000-08:002010-11-11T14:16:16.620-08:00I am becoming my motherI love my mother. She has many wonderful qualities. I have noted before in my musings how I am sometimes known as "Little Joyce" or "Mini Joyce". When I turn to my husband and say, "I am becoming my mother." He always responds,"It's a good thing I love your mother."<br /><br />This particular story is not so much about the characteristics I may share with my mother. It is a story of how I am now a mom and how my daughters interact with me. I have some distinct memories of talking to my mom. (It always comes back to talking with me) My poor mother would come home from work and have to start dinner. When I was in middle school and high school, she would walk in the door and I would POUNCE!I would follow her about the kitchen as she prepped and prepared our food. (I never really helped) I would start telling her about my day, "well, in period one I did this and this," and "in period two we learned this and that". Of course there was also some personal drama I had to share. At times during this process, I would have to duke it out with my sister for "talk time". We would accuse the other of not being patient or say,"I was here first, I get to talk to her first." I am not sure how my mother survived.<br /><br />Now time has marched on and I am the mother. I picked up my elder daughter at school. She hopped in the van and it started "Mom, today in Focus Thirty I did this." She goes on to tell me what project she completed in each class. I get a blow by blow on who did or said something funny. She chatters on as we exit the car and enter the house. That is when it hits me, she does this EVERY day, whether we are in the car or the kitchen. She comes home and starts to go through her day, she processes through talking.(Just Like ME!)While I am pleased to see we have a characteristic in common, I also stop in my tracks and think - I have become my mother! Which is ok, because just like my husband, I love my mother.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-20483996495391631882010-11-05T08:12:00.000-07:002010-11-05T08:50:28.458-07:00My Pity PartyYou are all invited to my Pity Party. <br /><br />When: As soon as possible<br />Where: Knoxville, TN<br />Time: Did I not say- as soon as possible?<br />Dress Code: Dress for comfort and with the ability to get down and dirty to help clean <br />RSVP: Fab IggyZ <br /><br />There will be plenty of food. Pizza, chocolate, open cartons of ice cream, and of course beer and wine. The house will be a disaster and you must take a condiment from the fridge or can from the pantry as a parting gift. <br /><br />I have been feeling more stress this week than usual. Hence my nose dive into full scale pity party mode. It is finally getting colder here and I pulled out the pity and wrapped myself up in it like a warm coat. The waves of strength and resolve have pulled back out to sea and the nights of bad sleep pondering what I have to do and how to do it return. <br /><br />Now, I don't want anyone to worry, sometimes in writing a blog it helps to "enhance" things to make it more interesting, but it does seem November and December are getting busier and I am floundering to find my way in this new environment and situation. When it starts to get bad, I plan my pity party. I think about who I could invite. All my new friends here, my family, and all my friends back in Delaware. This often makes things worse, I get sad and miss them. Fortunately, I have a new photo in my kitchen that helps me. When I "declutter" and "stage", I will need to move it. Right now though, I just can't. You see, I am in the picture with my friends and we are all laughing. When I pull out the pity cloak and plan the pity party my friends look at me and laugh. They laugh with me, and cheer me up. Their laughter also gives me a reality check. It reminds me that I don't need a pity party. I just need them and all the other people who care about me to get through this.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-11484552897550934252010-11-01T07:57:00.000-07:002010-11-01T11:56:54.859-07:00The Trouble with Tai ChiOne thing I was looking forward to when I stopped working was getting back to my Tai Chi. I had purchased a DVD and done some at home and really found it helped with my stress. The children would sometimes ask, "Mom did you do your Tai Chi today?" if I got grumpy with them. I was ready when me moved here to relish all my free time in my new house and add Tai Chi back into my fitness routine. Of course that was before we found out we had to move, again. <br /><br />So the free time I had will now be used packing, cleaning, and purging. Up until this point however, I had gotten back into my Tai Chi. I must admit I love it. It is 20 minutes of time I HAVE to devote to me, or at least try. I do some morning exercises. You need to focus on moving slowly and breathing carefully. <br /><br />One time when I was doing my morning Tai Chi routine I had a truly blissful moment, a meditative moment, and then I thought to myself, "hey what's going on this is cool." and it was over. I pondered what had happened. I worked very hard to try to get it again. It did not seem to work. I got frustrated. I decided to call my sister. She is more knowledgeable about meditation techniques. I explained my situation to her. She just laughed and said, "Stop trying to get it, the more you try ensures it won't happen." I asked, "Can I get it to last longer?, this moment of out of body bliss?" My sister said, "Sure, if you meditate like 20 hours a day." Since I don't have that kind of time I am left trying the best I can on my own with my 20 minutes.<br /><br />This is where the trouble comes in to the story. I do my exercises, I breath, I try to relax, and the THOUGHTS come bursting in. Sometimes it is just questions like, what are we going to have for dinner?, or did I write bread on the shopping list? Now the questions are getting more intense, how to make that closet look bigger? Do I really NEED this or that to come to Chicago? How am I going to sell this house? What is Chicago like? and what does everyone want for Christmas? The thoughts and questions crash into my head. They burst my potential bubble of serenity and quiet. Some days I give up and let them come. Other days I try to push them out and FOCUS on my Tai Chi. It is a constant battle, just like the Yin and the Yang of the Chi AND everything in my life!fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-87545839250561471072010-10-26T12:19:00.000-07:002010-10-26T13:37:25.572-07:00A Little Bit Country and a Little Bit OrangeThe color orange can make you think of many things. Perhaps you think of fruit, ING Bank, or basketball. Currently during the fall season, you may think of pumpkins or orange leaves. Here in Knoxville the color orange means one thing, FOOTBALL, University of Tennessee football. <br /><br />We were warned when we moved here to be prepared for UT football. Everyone is a fan, they all wear orange, they all go the games (in the 100,000,00 seat stadium)and if you want to go out to eat, going while a home game is being played is recommended.<br /><br />For the most part, they were right. You see Tennessee shirts, Tennessee flags (on houses and on cars), T license plate, T magnet stickers, and orange clothes everywhere! We even when out to eat during a game for my daughter's birthday during a home game. The restaurant parking lot was the emptiest we had ever scene it. Unless your a sports bar, you are dead during the game. Even my farmers market is quiet on game day at 9 AM due to early tailgating!<br /><br />I myself made sure the family had at least some Vol(Tennessee Volunteer) wear. Fridays at school are a big day to wear your orange and show your support. I tend to wear my stuff on Saturdays (game day)at least part of the day. You see probably 1 in 3 people wearing football gear on Saturdays. I am telling you this town is serious about it's football.<br /><br />I have taken to making sure I know when games are and watching at least part of them. It helps me keep up with conversations the next day (and Facebook Posts). I have to admit, I have been won over. I am liking the Orange. The enthusiasm is catching. I have made a decision that part of what I will take with me from Tennessee is becoming a Volunteer Football fan. I know that even in Chicago I will look for the scores and wear my Vol wear on Saturdays. I think it will be fun to have taken that with me from down south. There is only one problem, no can tell my Aunt Nelda. She is a huge PITT football fan. So shhhhhh, it will be out little secret.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-86451488789383986592010-10-21T12:04:00.000-07:002010-10-22T03:48:23.693-07:00Changes in Latitudes, Changes in AttitudesWhen I came to Tennessee I had all kinds of expectations about people. One thing that friends and others had told me was how southern women are much more "put together" or "dress nice". I had enough people say this that I actually became curious and even a little concerned. <br /><br />You see, I am not the most fashionable of people. I dress pretty well, but mostly my attitude is I want comfort that doesn't make me look fat out of my clothes. I was just worried enough about this when we first moved here I actually was watching/noticing people as I shopped or walked in and out of stores. Did everyone look dressier than me? Would I fit in? Of course the true question was, Would I be still make friends or be liked if I was different? <br /><br />I quickly came to conclusion that Tennessee was just like Delaware. Some people dress well, some people dress REALLY well, some people dress like me, and some people walk around in sweats. PHEW! I felt better. I don't like noticing what people wear anyway, unless it is a cute necklace, or maybe shoes. I love my shoes.<br /><br />The other thing I noticed about many people here in Tennessee is their comfort with who they are in their own skin. It doesn't matter what they are wearing, if you don't like it, it is your problem, not theirs. They laugh at themselves and others if they think they deserve it. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I do appreciate the REAL I feel. It makes me wonder about the Midwest. What is their REAL like. I guess it doesn't matter, it will surprise me anyway. Sometimes I like surprises, but not as much as I like new shoes.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-2578571037535029162010-10-17T15:34:00.000-07:002010-10-18T12:06:18.102-07:00My job as Domestic GoddessI am a Domestic Goddess. I did not research where this term originated, but I believe my first time hearing it was uttered by the comedian Rosanne Barr. There she stood on the stage of her HBO special with her sarcastic attitude talking about being a stay at home mom.<br /><br />I have been a stay at home mom for many years now. I have been known to put "Domestic Goddess" down as my job on official forms. Not every time, but sometimes. If I am lucky the person who collects the forms chuckles if they notice it. <br /><br />The reason I am talking about this right now is, I am a dying breed. Not that stay at home moms are dying out. There are many people who want to, and thankfully are able to stay at home. The reason I am getting more lonely is because when kids get to be the age mine are, there are many less stay at home moms out there. <br /><br />My children are 10 and 12 years old, my choice to be at home is for the most part that, my choice. Children this age are more independent, your family needs more money, and they are in school most of the day, and year. It makes sense that it would be a good time to dust myself off and get back on the work horse. The peers I was with when my children were young are moving on to work and other endeavors. If I am able to stay at home, it is because my spouse/partner makes enough money to enable it and/or I still want to do it.<br /><br />For many of us it is not the right choice to continue to be at home. We are bored, need the challenge of work, need the social interaction, need the money and/or need more of, of, something. It doesn't matter what. For all of us, that something is different, and the pull of it, is strong or not so strong. <br /><br />I feel that pull and challenge sometimes. Like so many things in my life, it ebbs and flows. Last year it became so strong and the circumstances so good that I went back to work. It was a wonderful choice. It was the right choice for me at the time. Now I am at home again and I know it is the right choice for me now. <br /><br />The other thing I know is that the days you are not so busy and the "To Do" list starts with, clean the house. My choice can get murky. A job looks good on those days. Then someone gets sick and I am glad I don't have to scramble to get coverage or stress and just take care of them. You really can't win.<br /><br />This brings me to my venting part of my story. I do sense that any of us as parents, man or woman, want a job that allows us to be with our kids when they need us. We all want that job that allows us to be creative, supported, do something worthwhile, see all our kids shows/events, AND make tons of money.<br /><br />My job, right now, is still, the Domestic Goddess. Some days, I feel my pay is lousy for doing laundry, dishes, and dusting. My husband makes plenty of money to support us, some days he feels his pay is lousy for the baloney he puts up with co - workers and NOT being there for a conference or event for his children. No matter what we do, or what choice we make for what is best for us and our family we have bad days. The other thing I have realized as Domestic Goddess in the age of the stay at home dinosaur, is that I still have friends who are at home and those who work. We all still have the Internet and check facebook from home OR the office. Making us all, no matter where we are, still connected.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-9613178899374160312010-10-13T11:39:00.000-07:002010-10-13T14:31:03.830-07:00I miss Patrick Stoner, Who would have guessed?Hello. My name is Ingrid Ziegler and I am an NPR addict. Ok, so maybe not an addict, but I am definitely an NPR listener. When we moved to Tennessee a friend gave me an NPR map. It is a map of the united states with all the NPR stations on it. It was a small gift and it has been well loved and well used. I have previously noted that I seem drawn to the comfort of NPR voices when I am stressed. <br /><br />Guess what? I think I have been feeling a bit more stress lately. One of the first things I did when I found out about our relocation was check out NPR stations in Chicago. I already knew "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me - The NPR quiz show" was recorded there. I even told this to the children as a perk. (I have one who wants to meet Mo Rocca and another who wants to meet Paula Poundstone who are frequent panelists) My research revealed a full NPR schedule on a Chicago station. I saw shows from my previous station and others I had heard of but never been able to listen to. I was happy. Here in Tennessee NPR shows are few and in between they play classical music. (I am not a classical music gal)<br /><br />I continued to poke around on the WBEZ's (Chicago NPR station) website, and then I found it. The magic button that allows you to stream the station. All those shows and voices I need in my time of stress just a mouse click away. In the blink of an eye it was done. This week my little Net Book has been playing WBEZ all day long. Some people like the TV as background noise, but not me. I have been in heaven.<br /><br />Of course, in my life with the good news there is often some bad news. I excitedly listened to the radio AND...... it's a pledge drive.(or as my daughters call them, a beg-a-thon) The girls used to hate them in Delaware. They would say things like, "Do we HAVE to listen this week?" and "Did you give your money to make it stop?" I wrote down the phone number for WBEZ so I could pledge (I was being greedy and holding out for an attractive incentive) My older daughter saw it and said,"Mom, that's the wrong number." and recited our old NPR station's pledge phone number. I must say, I think I teared up a little with pride at that. <br /><br />I am sure I will pledge to the my soon to be new NPR home, but just like I miss things from my old house (like my porch), I also miss College Challenge day for pledge drives and I even miss that dog gone WHYY film critic Partick Stoner, pushing and poking everyone to give right up until the end. Who knew?fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-45045241369164786822010-10-11T11:34:00.000-07:002010-10-12T10:10:23.216-07:00The Songs in my HeadI understand that the title of this blog may give you concern about my mental health. I apologize for that. I will attest that I am not hearing voices in my head telling me to do horrible things. I struggled with the title. I guess it could also have been, The Soundtrack to my Life.<br /><br />Music plays an important role in my life. Admittedly, I mostly listen to ZUMBA music, but other songs sneak in and many times I listen to the songs or CD that fit my mood. Recently one song has reemerged onto my playlist. The song is, "The Russian Dance" from the "Nutcracker Suite" I am sure you know the song, it goes faster and faster, and gets louder and louder until it crashes into an end. It is the song that kept creeping into my mind when we last had to move. Events with moving and transition start coming and they don't stop. The tasks get bigger and come at you more quickly, and end with a big crash when you land in your new house and life. <br /><br />I would like to be able to say that my song choices have been happy as of late. My emotions about our move and the changes coming into our lives move in waves. I am happy then sad. The feelings are more intense then ebb away. The current playlist can move from "Jump" by Van Halen to "This is as bad as it gets" by Christine Lavin. Another amusing ditty is "I Hate Everyone" by Get Set Go. A song about being unhappy but with such an up tempo beat!(Note: My version is from the Grey's Anatomy Soundtrack and is cleaner than ones I found online) I am sure my playlist will keep growing as time goes on. Another song I am glad that I recently added to my collection is "I Can Help" by Billy Swan, because I know no matter what I have lots of people willing to do that for me.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-42373186964081261162010-10-07T12:26:00.000-07:002010-10-07T12:51:58.333-07:00The Suburban UniverseI live in the "burbs". For most of my life I have lived in the suburbs in some way or another. I was born in Philadelphia but only lived there until I was 7 years old. I grew up in New Jersey,in what was a suburb of New York City. The town I grew up in, Westfield, was actually a town. I realize that times are very different now but it amazes me how much I did on my own in "town". I could walk places, like school, shops, restaurants, library and even my church. Even if I lived there today I am not sure I would let my kids walk so far on their own anymore, but I remember doing it. I was able to not depend on the car for EVERYTHING.<br /><br />When I went to college, I lived in a college town. I also did not need a car until I was completing my student teaching. At that time my sister bought me a car, all I had to do was visit her once a month in Philadelphia. (I have a REALLY cool sister) In college I walked to restaurants, grocery stores, classes, work, and to see friends. <br /><br />Once I graduated and left campus, that was when I got to really experience Suburbia as an adult. Strip malls, driving for everything, and living in a "Development" not a town. In Suburbia you get Malls, chain stores, and big box places to shop at. People will complain and say, every mall looks the same, every strip mall or big box mall has the same things.<br /><br />At this moment in my life I have found those places comforting. When we moved here, I searched out a Target and other places. More importantly, finding the same places for my kids gave them comfort. I was picking them up and moving them away from everything they know, but hey, they could still have a Claire's and a Justice!<br /><br />I was on the phone with a friend and we were laughing about this idea. I live in my own little Suburban world. Now I find myself searching online to see if my favorite chain store exist in Chicago. I tell my children, we are losing the Chocolate Factory but we get back a Trader's Joes! These location and stores offer scraps of normalcy and predictability in this time full of transition and change. So raise a glass and toast to Trader Joes, Target and all those other predictable chains. Which reminds me, I want to get online and see if there is a Total Wine in Illinois hmmmmmmmm.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-45769287198145842862010-10-04T05:34:00.000-07:002010-10-04T06:02:45.928-07:00I Want A PonyThis is a blog about guilt. We all have guilt about some things I suppose. I feel guilty about poor decisions I have made or how I may have treated people poorly. At the moment I have guilt about the change coming in my children's lives, again. <br /><br />I find it challenging and heartbreaking that all the things I made them do here in Tennessee I must make them do all over again in a year. I know it will be fine (or at least I hope it will), I know I did not plan it, I know I love them and they love me and that is the most important thing. I still have guilt. <br /><br />As a parent I sometimes use guilt to get my children to do something. I know all parents do this at times. I know there is guilt in religion sometimes. There is also a joke in my house that involves my mom. She always wanted to take care of us and be sure we were alright. In the past she would often apologize for things that even she could not control. One day it was raining and as my mom gave my dad the umbrella she said,"I'm sorry." My dad replied, "why?, you did not make the rain." He was teasing her of course. I am like my mother and Jack teases me now when I say stuff like that. <br /><br />Right now though, I still look at my children and say, "I'm sorry". I think of the movie "Sixteen Candles". The parents forget their daughters 16th birthday and her friend says,"You should tell them. There is some major guilt gifts to come out of it." I think if my kids said, "I want a pony." It would be hard for me to say no. <br /><br />A friend was texting back and forth with me and suggesting distractions, "how about a puppy?" she said.(like I want to sell a house with a puppy in it) Then she texted me,"oooh I just had the best idea! Why not distract everyone with a baby! you have 9 months......that would be so much fun! now I'm really giggling..." So, a big NO to that one. The pony is looking better and better.<br /><br />In the end it is not about ponies, dogs, or guilt. It is about change and how we handle it. I guess the best I can do is handle it well and instead of saying I'm sorry to my children, keep saying I love you.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331733163769059949.post-74191074746043515912010-09-27T12:29:00.000-07:002010-09-27T12:54:55.860-07:00And the Walls Came Tumbling DownThere is a commercial I see on TV that has a line, "While I was busy building my life, plaque was building in my arteries." It is an advertisement for some cholesterol lowering drug I believe. These past few months, I can't attest to the plaque in my arteries but I do sometimes worry about my blood pressure.<br /><br />You see I have been building, and in a way, rebuilding my life. I purge a house (one brick), pack a house (another brick), get new doctors, (yet another brick) and so on. I have been placing my bricks in order and make my new life sturdy here in Tennessee. The fates however have decided to come along and knock my house down.<br /><br />They are moving my husband's headquarters and we have to move to Chicago. And now I sit amongst a pile of rubble. My bricks lay scattered around me. Sometimes I sit and stare at them. Sometimes I pull my knees into my chest and cry a little. Mostly I sift through the pile. I know that there are many bricks that are not broken or even damaged. You see, when I was in highschool I went on a workcamp with my church. One of our tasks was to search the remains of a "moved" house for salvageable brick. Brick is strong, and so am I. I will find my bricks and take them to Chicago. I can place them in a new spot. I can repair the ones which are damaged and gather/build new ones (like friends, Karate, Gymnastics) once again. I know I can, I know how, because, I just did it not to long ago.fabiggyzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00679763040951112990noreply@blogger.com0