Reading and other things in the ditch

I used to read for pleasure.
Now reading helps me sleep.
I love books. When I was in high school I participated in a yearly trip to the BWCA with twelve students and two chaperones (teachers.) We portaged, canoed, ate gorp, caught fish on my snoopy rod and lost my favorite orange Rapala lure, George, in the rocks. I wonder if he's still there. We drank lake water and pooped in holes covered with buckets (that's called primative campsite) and we read books. I would pack a few books for the days we would lounge on the mammoth rocks in the sun to read. When there was time (remember those days?) I used to sit and read for hours. I would devour trashy Harlequin novels, crime fighting coroners and scandalous Babysitters club books. Now I'm lucky if I have time to do my required reading during daylight hours. Anything attempted after the sun sets and I'm done. Stick a fork in me, I'm sawing logs(Wow, what amixed metephor.) Now my book light wakes me hours after I've fallen asleep with my head tilted in just the wrong position. My neck screams as I try to right it. I close the book light and when I'm lucky, I fall back asleep. When I'm not, I reopen the book light and Voila' it's "Ground Hog Day." 
Instead of reading there's the garden, the windows, the garage, the lawn, the weeds, the sprinkler system, the dogs, the kids, the laundry, the dishes, the cleaning, the clutter and the bills. Always something that needs to be done. One day in the future, I will read for hours without feeling guilty that something else needs to be done. I won't put a time constraint on that but I will put it on my radar. Read for pleasure. Check.
I am excited to read "chapter books," as they are called in 2nd grade, to my kids. We have tackled "Little House in the Big Woods," "The Mouse and the Motorcycle," "Stuart Little," "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing," the Ramona books and some Choose Your Own Adventure books. 
My daughter loves to read and I want her and my boys to see me reading. This is very important to me. I know if they see me reading they will be more likely to read for themselves. I would be extremely proud if they would choose a book over the TV or a Leapster.
My oldest son is into the books he creates in kindergarten. He can "read" them and goes down to his grandma's to read to her most nights. He is so proud and so eager to learn to read. He has started retelling stories as well, his first was the gingerbread man. My hope is for him to read "real books" within two months. He knows 3 star words-I, see and my.
My youngest son is my "Llama Llama" boy. If you are not familiar with the "Llama Llama" books, they are wonderful. "Llama Llama Red Pajama,"  "Llama Llama Mad at Mama," "Llama Llama Misses Mama" and the newest "Llama Llama Holiday Drama" are about Llama Llama and his mama. Of course they rhyme and have the meter similar to a Dr. Seuss book. That's why I love them. 
My absolute favorite book in the world is "Fox in Sox" by Dr. Seuss. "Through three cheese trees three free fleas flew..." It doesn't get better than that. OK, when your daughter begs to read it to the boys "and then you can read it next, mommy" that's when it doesn't get any better. "Fox in Sox, our game is done sir, thank you for a lot of fun sir." 

Lutefisk and other Scandahoovian

Richard Rodriquez's essay "None of This" really opened my eyes to the other side of Affirmative Action. Being white and American (read egocentric) it never dawned on me that perhaps some of the beneficiaries of this antiquated program are not interested in handouts. That perhaps they felt self conscious and uncomfortable with it. I just assumed they all thought it was fabulous. Who doesn't like a free ride? I now know the answer to that. People just like me, people with integrity and self respect.
I firmly agree that employment applications, college applications and promotion opportunities should be blind to ethnicity and gender. What a concept-a person advances on ability and accomplishments! Who woulda thunk it? I really don't know why I had the idea that minorities would want anything different. I don't know why I thought anyone would feel entitled to something simply because of their cultural background. What does that do to a person's self? You only fill a quota. Your contributions are only accepted because your last name is Ortiz. But even then we understand you are only here because WE are obliged to have you here. You are here because WE now allow you to be here, not on your own merit. -Who really knows anymore? Merit or obligation?
What damage has our government done by implementing Affirmative Action programs? Yes, I'm sure there were positions filled with minorities who didn't have the same qualifications as a white candidate. Where there not enough qualified minority candidates? Why? I understand the whole oppressed people thing. I get it. I don't want to be insensitive but when is it time for an oppressed people to stand up, take hold of the reigns and charge forward. When is it time to stop wallowing in self pity and live up to the potential that is inside? Fulfil the destiny and wonder God has endowed? When will our society have the stones to have a real and true conersation about race and opportunity? I am white. My ancestors are Swedish and German. I do not expect to be stigmatized because of Prussian that took over Germany in the middle 1800s. Maybe I'm just too scandanvian, too white. Maybe I just don't get it. It's not my fault there were slave ships and such. I am sad that it happened but I can't change the past, only the future. A person's loss of advancement due to an ancestor's extreme misfortune cannot and should not be quantified. Others may have been motivated beyond what would have been. Then there's the hard cold fact that no one knows what "would have been." The past is the past. It is what it is, do not blame me or anyone else. Hanging on to the past does no good for anyone. Move on and move up.
I don't think I would want an opportunity extended to me simply out of obligation. That said, maybe the minorities that have "benefited" from affirmative action didn't either. Maybe it was the only way at the time to get from point A to point B.
Where do we go from here? How do we fix this? How do we make the hiring/advancement process blind? How do we have that powderkeg conversation? According to our Declaration of Independence, we are all endowed by our Creator with inalienable rights. How do we get there?

Logical fallacies and other childhood games...

MOM!
Everyone else gets to have dessert!
You always let him go first!
She always gets to go!
We are a household of hasty generalizations. This might have something to do with the fact that I am the only one in our household that is above the age of eight. I believe my children learned the art of speaking in absolutes from their father. He always does this and always does that and I never do this and never do that. Might be one of the many reasons why he lives somewhere else these days.
As children we are quick to say everybody, always, never and forever. I wonder if this comes from the limited life experience or if we really believe everybody, always, never and forever. I think I thought in everybody, always, never and forever when I was younger. When you are young it's easier to think that way. Less challenging and less scary. As we grow up, we learn to question what is fed to us. We learn to filter the information and hopefully weed through the generalizations.
I wonder what would happen if someone invented a collar that shocked the wearer whenever a hasty generalization or an absolute was uttered. This would be quite a site. People walking around convulsing almost constantly. Men are pigs. zap (or not.)
(Sorry I'm a bit snarky today.)
What if politicians had to wear these collars? Their nervous systems would be fried. Sweeping generalization? Hasty generalization? I think not.  I've been trying to decide which attack ad was my favorite of the election season. I think it was the one where one goobernatorial (yes goober) candidate told us all the things Tim Pawlenty did wrong. Never mind telling us why he was a better candidate than the other guy or what he was going to do right. He decides to highlight what the guy NOT RUNNING AGAIN did wrong. hmmm. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain." "What would you do with a brain if you had one?" Run for office?
That being said, my best friend in the entire world ran for and was elected to the office of mayor in a southern Minnesota smallish-medium size town. So I know the mayor. You want to hang out with me now don't you? She has a brain, and a heart and the nerve. So there is at least one example of truth and integrity in politics in the state of Minnesota.
Now I'll run along before a house falls on me too.

Give thanks

Things I am thankful for:
my God
my three kids
my mother
my close family
my father's pain is through
my health
my children's health
my warm home
a full pot of coffee
the prospect of better opportunities
I am a woman born in America
all my children go to school
good food
good wine
sleep-when it comes
sunshine
snow
online shopping
mashed potatoes and gravy
pie
music
furry socks
pomegranates
Some people get all crazy thankful for one day at this time of year. I choose to be thankful each day. It's easy to forget what we in America have. We take so much for granted. We have warm places to sleep, food in our bellies. Our children, our daughters, go to school daily.
The floor in my home is carpet and hardwood, not dirt. I have running water and indoor plumbing. My refrigerator is full of food. My closet is chock full of clothes. So many in the world do not have even a fraction of what I have, yet in America I am considered lower middle class. For this I am thankful. 
I am thankful that I have been given the opportunity to go through pain, as God never wastes a painful experience. Through pain comes growth. There is no way to appreciate the blessings in life without enduring the ache of grief. So, for my grief and trials, I am thankful.     
Psalm 118:1 reads "Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; his love endures forever."

Give Me a Head with Hair

Secret (ok not so secret now) confession: I've always thought dreadlocks were dirty. In high school, one of my friends had them. He had such lovely thick curly hair. I on the other hand, have fine, stick straight hair. I always wondered why he would want dreads when his hair was so wonderful. Dreads look unkempt, dirty and unsanitary. I don't think I'll ever care for them.
I know quite a few women who tie their self worth to their hair. I really don't claim to understand that. I suppose in high school I allowed my hair to dictate my mood and worth. That was eons ago. EONS. I was so much different back then.
One of my favortie hair subjects is the Flammable Wall of Bangs. I perfected my FWB in high school. Oh there were the girls with super high bangs but theirs always had holes. Sometimes the bangs just stopped. My FWB continued with a carefully crafted reverse ski slope down toward the back of my skull. I used the only type of hair spray allowed in this competition; Aqua Net. My personal favorite was the pink can. Sometimes I used the white can.
Another favorite: the mullet. party in the back, business up front.
Need I say more?
Scary thought: Some people still have mullets and think they are fashionable.

There's no such thing

What are the attributes of a "functional" family? Kindness, caring, genuine concern for one another, teamwork, honesty, integrity? What about putting the toilet seat down and rinsing out the sink after you're done brushing your teeth? Does it only take one kooky member of the family to make the whole family dysfunctional? When the rest of the family revolves around one member is that dysfunction? Who makes the rules? Who writes the list of what function and dysfunction is? Does that person have a family and is it dysfunctional?
Every family is at least a little functional and a little dysfunctional. Some are more functional than others. But I believe that each family has it's own dysfunction. My family got a sprinkling of the dysfunction. My best girl friend got a truck load full of it. I can still smell the rot of her house. Her room was the only clean, bright, organized room in the house. When she shut the door the stench didn't come in as much. I see the holes in the floor of her living room. She was paper thin, controlling the only aspect of her life she thought she could. She let me come into her house, she trusted me. She tried to hide at my house one time but I didn't see it that way. Now that I'm older, I see it for what it really was.
I didn't see the constant sores on her knuckles, smell the acid on her breath or even get that she was sick. My world at 15 didn't see or even know about those things. Her world was those things. Which one of us lived in reality? Her mother, father, sisters and brother helped creater her reality, as did mine. I couldn't or maybe wouldn't see the bad things in life. My slightly dysfunctional family helped me be that way. Was it better? I got to play with dolls and kittens at the age of seven and my friend was busy worrying if she would have to worry about rodents in her bed. That's not fair or even right. But that's reality and you get what you get.
  

Things I've learned this week...

Here are some things I learned this week, some the hard way, some the not-so-hard way.

• I sound like a dork when I speak Spanish. I never imagined that Spanish with a "Fargo" accent would be so hilarious. Oh my goodness. "Si, you betcha."
• Learning to record things on my computer is not nearly as hard as I thought it would be.
• Expo markers are sometimes the right answer.
• One shouldn't leave the laundry room door open when peanut butter is used to remove the mystery stickiness from oldest child's clothing. Especially when the dog is about. On the bright side, she licked off the stickiness, too.
• Bandaids make imaginary boo boos all better, or at least they make the crying stop.
• Microscopic black biting "no-see-ums" can ruin a perfect 80 degree October afternoon. 
• So can homework.
• It is possible to have an evil lady beetle home invasion with all your doors and windows locked down tight.
• Even three-year-olds will talk baby-talk if given the chance.
• Boxelder bugs are creepy.
• Seven-year-old whine does not go good with cheese.
• Sometimes there are just too many rules.
• When I have a good idea for a paper, I need to write it down or it will run away and I will never find it again. What I will be left with is a sorry excuse for a paper.
• There's almost nothing that the smell of a new baby can't fix.
• Four-year-old little boys can sit through a two hour long musical production of Pippi Longstocking.
• When a four-year-old boy asks, "Mom, when is the movie gonna start?" 15 minutes into a two hour musical production of "Pippi Longstocking," it's going to be an interesting afternoon. 
• God sends me money when I need it. Not like Western Union or anything, but He sends me money-really. He rocks!
• Four-year-olds don't have volume control.
• Boys can make a fort out of nothing and some sticks.
• Seaweed salad from Byerly's is yummy.
• Being a seven-year-old girl is difficult.
• "Grilled Cheesus" made me cry.
• Each child has his own lever that controls behavior. Find it and you are GOLDEN!
• I have the best three kids in the world and I am so proud of them.

I'm not half bad either. My week was interesting again. There were wins and losses. I made it through another one and will wake up tomorrow and do it all over again. Another day, another list. I wouldn't have it any other way.

My love-hate relationship with Facebook

Welcome to another tirade. I hate Facebook. I love Facebook. Currently I have been on a Facebook fast for about three weeks. I don't miss it. I used to allow hours upon hours of my life become sucked into the vortex known as Facebook. Now I don't. Facebook doesn't need me. It never did. I needed it. Or so I thought. My children and I often talk about want versus need. I know logically I didn't need Facebook, I wanted Facebook. I wanted to accumulate "friends" and see (stalk) what others were doing. I have a Facebook friend that posts concerning her morning goings-on everyday. "I walked five miles, did seven loads of laundry, washed two sinks full of dishes, found a cure for cancer and ended world hunger, now it's 8:00am and I need to get my four kids to school so I can get back home to strip and refinish all the furniture in our home by dinner tonight. We're having co co van." REALLY? Does someone need external validation or what? Don't get me wrong, she's a great woman but let's be honest. Are you tooting your own horn a little too much or are you trying to make everyone else feel inferior? It's not working here. I can feel inferior all on my own. (Not really.) Eleanor Roosevelt once said "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." It makes me sad that so many people need to be validated by others to feel worthy. Regardless of my number of Facebook friends, I am a good person. I don't need 300 people I haven't seen in years to tell me I am. I have three excellent most cherished girlfriends and they know I am worthy because I show them I am everyday. 
Facebook is contributing to the downfall of today's society. It perpetuates the impersonal nature of communication that is texting and emailing. No need to have a real grown-up relationship with inimate talks when I can text you. OMG! One sentence emailed or texted can be read any number of ways. Hearing the intonation in my voice as it leaves my lips is the sure way of understanding my intent for the words I choose.
I haven't the time today to expound on my feelings concerning Facebook and marriage. Let's just say I have many feelings and they aren't nice ones. Is Facebook necessary? No. Is it fun? Sometimes. Is it dangerous? Yes it can be. Is it going to go away? The Magic Eight Ball says: signs point to "no." It's scary to think of how one digital venue has changed our society in such a profound manner.   

Wiener dog, right, mom, like wiener?

My four-year-old has the knack of busting out with the funniest yet quirkiest comments. Today he was talking about wiener dogs. "Like my wiener, right mom?" As he was walking into the other room I heard him talking to himself "Penis dog, like wiener dog hee hee" I didn't know whether to laugh out loud or scold him. So I thought about it for a second and just smiled.  Don't call attention to it and it'll most likely just go away.
Last Wednesday night, I was sitting on the floor in the living room as Matt came in from playing at his Grandma's house. He sat down on my lap, threw his arms around me and said "I love spending time with you and Grandma." Just like that. Eloquent and enunciated. And then he giggled. He has this almost evil giggle that melts your heart. He also has this mischevious smile that makes you a tich scared. He can smile his way out of most things. 
Over Labor Day, I rented a cabin for our family's first vacation ever.  We got to the cabin late Friday evening, too late to see the lake properly. When we woke up the next morning, we opened the curtains, looked out over the lake and Matt was the first to speak. "That's beautiful!" he said. Bear in mind he is just four years old and is using words that most twenty-something men don't use. 
He has also been heard using appropriate, delicate and organize, as in "I'm going to organize my peas, mom." This was when he was three. I don't want you to think he is a pocket-protector nerd running through the house spouting dissertations on string theory and quantum physics. The bulk of his words are "hee hee I farted, scuse me," "hee hee I burped, scuse me" and "Can I have some gum?" Occasionally I get a two or three syllable word and I love it. "Be nice to God's creatures!" I glow and my heart is warmed. "I love spending time with you and Grandma." That's the BEST! Wouldn't trade it for anything. 
Tonight I got a "Mom, I love you soooo much." (Yes, that is the correct spelling of "so" at least for Matty) I am so blessed.  

Grandma Grace

• Grandma and the skunk
• Lilac perfume
• Depression glass
• Fresh bread
• Malt o meal
• 1951 Singer sewing machine
• Billy Graham
• Warp
• Rag rugs
• "Grandma blue"
• Coffee in a stovetop percolator-no basket
• Beet pickles
• Korv
• The brooder house and her chickens
• The orange truck
• Corn pudding

My gandma Grace was a quiet, unassuming little woman. "Oh, for goodness sakes." was her favorite saying. One day my Grandma Grace killed a skunk with her garden hoe.
She baked bread from scratch and would let me eat all I wanted. She wondered outloud why I never wanted butter or peanut butter on it. Grandma's bread was too good to defile with peanut butter or even butter.
She drank piping hot coffee made on her stove in an aluminum percolator. She prepared it by filling the pot with water and dumping the grounds right in, no basket. When it had perked she would let it rest so the grounds would settle to the bottom. She would take her coffee in depression glass coffee cups with milk. The family didn't understand why she used her "antique" coffee cups for everyday. She would poo-poo us ("Oh for goodness sakes") and tell how the cups came free in flour sacks.
When I stayed overnight she would make Malt-o-Meal for breakfast and it always had lumps. The lumps were my favorite. I don't know if they were on purpose, but now my kids HAVE to have lumps in their Malt-o-Meal.
She always made and ate beet pickles. She grew the beets in her garden.
Korv is Swedish potato sausage which she made every year, stuffing the casings herself. She would serve it on Christmas Eve along with corn pudding and Stove Top stuffing.
Her radio was always tuned to 'CCO.  She loved to watch Billy Graham on the TV. She pronounced his name "Gray-am."
She drove her old orange truck to Cokato, two towns away where she worked in a canning factory. The tail gate of the truck had pins that held it closed.
She would collect ripped jeans from those who would give them to her. Each pair was deconstructed and cut into strips. The strips were sewn together end to end on her 1951 Singer Sewing machine. With the sewn together strips of jeans, she made rag rugs on her rug loom. Sometimes she would let us kids help weave the rags through the warp. Then she would let us bang the big handle if we behaved.
She always dressed in blue. Her hair was silver. Her face was soft and kind.
She hated to be in pictures and if she was, she never smiled.
She smelled lightly of lilac and Jean N'ate.
My grandma died on her birthday in 1989. I miss her very much.  

Perfection is my Enemy

For this week's blog, I didn't have to think long to settle on a song that really speaks to me.  Free to Be Me by Francesca Battistelli is a wonderful song that I wish my daughter could live.   
‘Cause I got a couple dents in my fender Beautiful, Beautiful

Got a couple rips in my jeans
Try to fit the pieces together
But perfection is my enemy
On my own I'm so clumsy
But on Your shoulders I can see
I'm free to be me"

"Sometimes I believe that I can do anything

Yet other times I think I've got nothing good to bring
But You look at my heart and You tell me
That I've got all You seek" 
I want her to know that she already has everything she'll ever need to be herself, even being only 7 years old. She is wonderfully and fearfully made. I want her to understand what the media is doing to our children, our little girls in particular. But she's only 7. I never want for her to desire the unrealistic images that she is bombarded with on a daily basis. Airbrushed, Photoshopped, nipped, tucked, botchilized, binged, purged and starved. This does not promote contentedness. This is not happiness. I abhor the way our children are desensitized by violence and mysogeny. I detest the sexualiziation of our young girls through revealing clothing. I cannot tolerate this sense of entitlement that surrounds our youth today. I think PG-13 is really R. I am passionate about these subjects. More of that a different day. I don't want to work myself into a lather. :)

Now that I am older and comfortable in my skin, I own the fact that my body looks as it does because the choices I have made. I do not intend to tell God he's made a mistake by undergoing plastic surgery. I look the way I do because it's the way I'm supposed to look. I want to place in her head all the things I already know. I completely understand that I won't be able to do that. I will have to settle for being a model for her. Perhaps settle isn't the right word. I hope surrounding myself with other strong, smart (read not fake or shallow) women I will encourage her to be one also. I've said before we all make our own choices. The choices we make dictate the life we lead. (I think that line was in a Danny Devito movie.) I am where I am because of my choices. I wouldn't change the way I got here. I wouldn't change where I am. Enough about that.
Another song that I love is Beautiful, Beautiful  also by Francesca Battistelli. I think this girl is phenominal for only being twenty-ish. This song reminds me that God's grace is sufficient for me. "Mercy reaching to save me All that I need." Even though some days are rough, I can get through them. Everyday is another chance to have a fabulous day. It could be worse...I often use that test. If my day is really crap, I try to think of at least 3 ways it could be worse. Then it's not so hard to be thankful for the things I have. Being barfed on and cryed at all day isn't so bad when one considers some people will never get to (or want to) hold a baby. The best music is a baby's coo.  Wow, I'm kind of all over the place in my head tonight.


Don’t know how it is You looked at me

And saw the person that I could be
Awakening my heart
Breaking through the dark
Suddenly Your grace
Like sunlight burning at midnight
Making my life something so Beautiful, beautiful
Mercy reaching to save me
All that I need
You are so Beautiful, beautiful

Now there’s a joy inside I can’t contain
But even perfect days can end in rain
And though it’s pouring down
I see You through the clouds
Shining on my face
I have come undone
But I have just begun
Changing by Your grace
Lyrics by Francesca Battistelli, Ian Eskelin, and Andrew Fromm

Free to Be MeAt twenty years of age I'm still looking for a dream
A war's already waged for my destiny
But You've already won the battle
And You've got great plans for me
Though I can’t always see
(Chorus)
‘Cause I got a couple dents in my fender
Got a couple rips in my jeans
Try to fit the pieces together
But perfection is my enemy
On my own I'm so clumsy
But on Your shoulders I can see
I'm free to be me
When I was just a girl I thought I had it figured out
My life would turn out right, and I'd make it here somehow
But things don't always come that easy
And sometimes I would doubt
(Chorus)
And you’re free to be you
Sometimes I believe that I can do anything
Yet other times I think I've got nothing good to bring
But You look at my heart and You tell me
That I've got all You seek
And it’s easy to believe
Even though
Lyrics by Francesca Battistelli

Greetings from the bottom of the heap.

Wow, I am almost through week two of fall semester and my head has yet to explode. Bear in mind that I did say almost...
One of my other classes has a required research paper that is to be submitted by 5pm today, Friday September 3rd. Naturally I am frightened. My employment in child care has not, as of yet, required that I complete research papers. Having been out of school for 20 plus years means I am woefully inept when it comes to writing research papers. Hence my enrollment in ENGL1117. The kicker is-in ENGL1117, the research paper is at the end of the semester. Now you might understand my fear. MLA format is required and I don't recall Mrs. Krause ever expounding on that subject back in High School AP English. Ok, she may have, but was I listening? Signs point to no. To me MLA is Maple Lake/Annandale. I feel like a deer in the headlights. This is not the end of the world. I need to calm myself and look up samples of the different writing formats, after all, I am going to be doing this quite often. 
I have also decided that I dislike, no, loathe reading articles on my computer. Alas, poor forests, I will put a large dent in your numbers. And people say digital is better, my eyes say nay! Paper is the way to go, besides, I enjoy a little highltighter action, too.
Add to the list church duties, child care-yesterday there were nine children in my house, six classes, a garden, chickens and a Labor Day weekend trip "up Nort" with my 3 kids and I am buried. Everyone makes their own choices and these are mine. I can't say I've made the best choices but they're mine and I am ok with them. 
One can only hope the work load gets lighter or perhaps I will learn to budget my time more effectively. Or, I could just learn to say NO when I have the chance. Regardless, I choose to be content.