Recently we were discussing whether or not Michael should buy a sword for the sword drill he will be part of in Eric's upcoming wedding. Now I am all for swords and spit and polish and all that, but we wondered whether it was worthwhile to buy one. On the one hand, he needs a sword beforehand to practise with and he will definitely need a sword in the wedding. On the other hand, perhaps he could just borrow a sword, as this situation isn't likely to come up again any time soon. Since Michael's not in anymore, we probably won't be attending any Marine Corps balls in full regalia, and technically he wouldn't need the sword anyway since only officers wear them.
'Well,' Michael suggested, 'I could just re-enlist, and work my way up to becoming an officer, and that would justify the cost of the sword.'
'But then you might be sent overseas, and killed before you make officer!' I pointed out.
'Then you would have the life insurance money, in which case you certainly wouldn't begrudge the money for the sword!'
**********************************
My blueberry bushes are dying. I didn't think they had survived last year, but two of them seemed to have pulled through this spring; however, the drought is taking its toll on them and the severe watering restrictions are limiting my ability to mitigate the situation. I deplored the course of events to Michael, who suggested that we improve the soil, as red Georgia clay isn't much good for growing anything.
That's a splendid idea, but in the three years I've lived here I still haven't gotten around to taking careful little soil samples and sending them off to the extension office for analysis and buying and applying the appropriate soil balancer, and I'm not likely to do so now. What I need is a quick fix. Quick and cheap. Requiring absolutely no effort on my part.
Late one night it came to me. 'Michael! I know! We can have another baby and then we can plant the placenta under the blueberry bushes!'
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Links, at last
I finally discovered where all my formatting buttons were in this new computer. They were on the other browser! So everything I've learned about Safari this past week and a half is wasted and I'm back to square one in fiddling with tabs, scrolling, saving bookmarks, etc. But at least I can hyperlink now and use italics, which are so essential to an expressive post.
This is a website which everyone should have visited by now. I've been admiring the clothes for some time now, and appreciate something that can be appropriately modest without looking as if it's trying to be modest (aside from the swimwear collection, although that's not nearly as laughable as some of the deadweight sea anchors I've seen trying to pass themselves off as modest swimwear). Here is a picture of me in my, um, suit that I got for my birthday:
I do love this slick computer, with all its whiteness and nifty contemporary clear keyboard and camera feature, but I keep realising how cluttered it makes my kitchen look. I try not to let myself be photographed without lipstick; why can't I extend the same courtesy, or the equivalent, to my house? Here is the direct link to all the Mac ads, by the way.
This is the funniest birth story I have ever read. Perhaps it reads best late at night, but I was literally laughing out loud with tears in my eyes. The part about the trolls is priceless. (Note: as to be expected from a birth story, it's a bit graphic.)
Whew, I think that's everything for now. If I think of anything else I need to link to, at least now I know where to find it.
This is a website which everyone should have visited by now. I've been admiring the clothes for some time now, and appreciate something that can be appropriately modest without looking as if it's trying to be modest (aside from the swimwear collection, although that's not nearly as laughable as some of the deadweight sea anchors I've seen trying to pass themselves off as modest swimwear). Here is a picture of me in my, um, suit that I got for my birthday:
I do love this slick computer, with all its whiteness and nifty contemporary clear keyboard and camera feature, but I keep realising how cluttered it makes my kitchen look. I try not to let myself be photographed without lipstick; why can't I extend the same courtesy, or the equivalent, to my house? Here is the direct link to all the Mac ads, by the way.
This is the funniest birth story I have ever read. Perhaps it reads best late at night, but I was literally laughing out loud with tears in my eyes. The part about the trolls is priceless. (Note: as to be expected from a birth story, it's a bit graphic.)
Whew, I think that's everything for now. If I think of anything else I need to link to, at least now I know where to find it.
So much for that
We dashed out early this morning to accomplish errands and returned victorious but exhausted, with a longer-than-ever to-do list. So I put Jane down in order to proceed sans distraction, and realised that about half the things I need to do involved something in her room.
Monday, May 14, 2007
History repeats itself
So there we were, on our way home from an outing. We were stopped in a line of traffic when we heard a terrific crash and felt the impact as the car behind crashed into us. The girls were frightened but apparently unharmed, although I would love to get a recording of my 911 call to document their uninterrupted screaming for about five minutes until I could get off the phone and rescue them from their carseats.
I am grateful that:
- We always buckle them in and fasten their straps securely.
- We didn't hit anyone in front of us.
I am disappointed that:
- We are now going through this whole insurance hassle again. (We just settled from the last accident a few months ago.)
- Yet another car bites the dust.
Let's catalog the history of my cars and their mostly sad demises:
- Car #1 AKA The Motorcar: Hit by a deer, smashed in from the front, totaled.
- Car #2 AKA Fledge: Given away within two years, lucky for it.
- Car #3 AKA Black Rider: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, totaled.
- Car #4 AKA Black Magic: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, most likely totaled. (Still waiting for the appraiser.)
That's three out of four, a rather dismal track record. No car is going to want to come work for me now, despite my being SUCH a careful driver and NEVER having gotten a ticket.
I am grateful that:
- We always buckle them in and fasten their straps securely.
- We didn't hit anyone in front of us.
I am disappointed that:
- We are now going through this whole insurance hassle again. (We just settled from the last accident a few months ago.)
- Yet another car bites the dust.
Let's catalog the history of my cars and their mostly sad demises:
- Car #1 AKA The Motorcar: Hit by a deer, smashed in from the front, totaled.
- Car #2 AKA Fledge: Given away within two years, lucky for it.
- Car #3 AKA Black Rider: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, totaled.
- Car #4 AKA Black Magic: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, most likely totaled. (Still waiting for the appraiser.)
That's three out of four, a rather dismal track record. No car is going to want to come work for me now, despite my being SUCH a careful driver and NEVER having gotten a ticket.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The substance of things hoped for
This was going to be a post moaning about the trials and tribulations we endure at the hand of our old computer, which has gotten increasingly impossible to deal with. At long last our new computer was ordered, and I waited impatiently for its arrival. It came, it saw, and it conquered. This it is on which I'm typing right now, and I absolutely love it! For one thing, it's a sleek white contraption, and for another, it's very compact (hence efficient): the whole thing fits on our kitchen desk. No more going upstairs for the hobbit! How, you ask? This is a Mac, and as such it comes with everything loaded onto its flat-screen monitor. That means that all we have of computer stuff sitting on the desk is the monitor, keyboard, and mouse. I wish I could post a picture of it. But our camera memory card is all filled up, and I need to transfer the pictures before I can take anymore. Meanwhile, we just sit in front of the computer and take pictures of ourselves, because the Mac comes with a lovely little camera mounted on the monitor.
If you want to know why we bought a Mac, you really must look at these hilarious ads from the Mac homepage. Well, I haven't figured out how to post hyperlinks yet, but go to the Apple home page, click on Get a Mac, and view the ads. Then do the same thing for the Mac UK site. The British ads are even funnier.
Actually, that's not the only reason we bought a Mac. Michael has been working with them for the past year or so at work and discovering that he really likes them. They run better, have fewer problems, have lots of really cool features, and are hardly susceptible to viruses. I never thought I would prefer one to a PC. But I certainly like this one. Especially the photo booth feature. As soon as I can figure out how to publish the photos I'll post some of us.
If you want to know why we bought a Mac, you really must look at these hilarious ads from the Mac homepage. Well, I haven't figured out how to post hyperlinks yet, but go to the Apple home page, click on Get a Mac, and view the ads. Then do the same thing for the Mac UK site. The British ads are even funnier.
Actually, that's not the only reason we bought a Mac. Michael has been working with them for the past year or so at work and discovering that he really likes them. They run better, have fewer problems, have lots of really cool features, and are hardly susceptible to viruses. I never thought I would prefer one to a PC. But I certainly like this one. Especially the photo booth feature. As soon as I can figure out how to publish the photos I'll post some of us.
Monday, May 07, 2007
What's watt, what?
In the interests of saving even more money (as if snatching cheap butter from the world's population of poor people weren't enough), I have decided to shift my energy consumption to the off-hours. I read recently that electric companies charge less for energy used in off-peak hours, so as of this week I am trying to run all major appliances (excluding things like fridge, A/C, etc.) after 8:00 (p.m.). It's proving to be a good discipline for me, as it forces me to plan my days better and schedule my time such that I'll be loading up the dishwasher or dryer at the stroke of 8:00. We shall see if it makes a noticeable dent in the electric bill next month.
Woman Blogger Opines About Frugality
Recently I read this article, and it interested me enough to ponder it, and consider writing a post about it. Not necessarily a rebuttal, because I agreed with a lot of what was said, but I felt it raised some interesting points which required answering. [For more discussion, see QOC's take on it here.] But the more I thought over it, the more annoyed I got at the tone, which caused the mental composition of this post to degenerate rather quickly such that by the time I got to typing it up in Word it became a full-fledged rant.
In the first place. (Deep breath.) Why on earth appears in the first paragraph the unnecessary and completely irrelevant clause: 'and women in particular'? What's wrong with blogging about frugality? Nothing, perhaps. But why on earth should it matter whether women or men are blogging about it? If the author of the article means to go on to suggest that most people so blogging are missing the boat on this topic (which he seems to imply), does it matter whether more frugal bloggers are women than men? Are women bloggers missing the boat more egregiously on this topic than men bloggers? Is that why we have to throw that distinction in there? Are women, from centuries of not balancing the checkbook, peculiarly ignorant in all matters financial and are therefore ripe for enlightenment ('Duh! The way I can save more money is not by using coupons but by not buying it at all? Boy, did I have it wrong! Thanks, Male Blogger, for cluing me in!') Or are women just so patently ignorant on all topics in general that it naturally follows that if women in particular are blogging about it, they are missing the boat and need this fine fellow to write an article to set them straight? I mean, that clause was kind of thrown in there at the beginning as if it were an explanation for the need to write this article: this article was in response to the proliferation of frugal bloggers out there, and as if that weren't bad enough, many of those bloggers are women. This is reminiscent of R.C. Sproul objecting to women posting advice or spiritual encouragement on their blogs, because men might read it, and that would violate the Scriptural imperative that women must not teach men.
Moving on...
I agree that frugality is a matter of the heart. But both extremes - spending and saving - are equally wrong: spending too much money evinces a love of stuff, while hoarding money evinces a love of money. Both involve making idols out of something.
Under the heading of Necessity, this author states that 'Many people who attempt to be frugal could probably get along just fine without being frugal.' He proffers the example of spending days finding the perfect cheap cake pan in order to invite people over to evangelize them, and suggests that it might be worthwhile to just spend the money on the cake and have people over all the sooner. This seems like a straw man argument to me. Where do any of you read a blog advocating, as one of their frugal tips, 'Spend days scouring thrift shops looking for cake pans'? I mean, hello! Most frugal people probably already bake their own cakes, using pots and pans they got as wedding or graduation presents! I can't imagine a frugal Christian blogger advocating ignoring the prompting of the Holy Spirit in order to save a few bucks. If you really don't have the money, then you will invite people over for coffee or tea and skip the cake.
But what if you do have the money? This is where the author should stop writing his opinions about how things should be done and simply reference Exhibit A, Check Your Heart. And that's about as far as you can go in giving people advice and telling them what the holy thing to do is. You can share what works for you, you can explain how to you it is worth it to buy a cake, in the whole money v. time continuum, but you should not opine about what the better or holier course to pursue is.
I personally could afford to spring $20 for a Publix cake (ouch!), in terms of actually having the money in my bank account, but I don't think it would be a wise allocation of funds. Let's remember that all this hypothetical money and stuff and time belong to God already. 'The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof, the world, and they that dwell therein.' I am a steward of God's resources, both the money and the time, and I will answer to Him for how I allocate those resources. Acknowledging that is the key.
Moving on...
We have next a rather laughable application of the Old Testament gleaning principle to the notion of bargains. For one thing, the author assumes that 'of course the wealthy landowners would have wanted to pick these up and increase their profits,' but I say of course not necessarily. As a former farmer and agrarian, I know that there is a certain unavoidable margin of waste, and when you're working a field or a garden or whatever it is, you just write a bit off. Nowadays machinery has made that margin far smaller than it used to be, but when you have crops to get in and another field to harvest, you're not going to waste your time mucking about with the odds and ends. You have bigger fish to fry. If you're a generous soul, you'd be delighted to know that the stray wheat stalks aren't going completely to waste.
The notion that shopping at second-hand stores (or accepting hand-me-downs from friends, or whatever) deprives the genuine poor people of their source of clothing is ludicrous. Our society is so rich, so overflowing with bounty, that there's more than enough to go around. It's just as well that us rich people (as he seems to define anyone with the means) are willing to participate in the salvage operations, or even more decent stuff would go into the landfills than already does. (Have you seen what some snobs throw away??) By dressing my children in second-hand clothes, I am no more causing some poor child to go naked than I am starving some poor child in Africa by throwing out the leftover oatmeal (which, for the record, I don't actually do either).
There is a lot of stockpile-bashing and entrepreneurship-sneering going on in the comment thread, but since the author of the article wasn't responsible for that, I'll leave that be. Except to say that by what stretch of the imagination is it greedy, nasty, selfish, and cruel to the poor for me to snap up multiples of an item at a good price if it is something I will use for my family, give away to someone, or even sell? It is a matter of the heart, and I am pretty pipped that anyone would judge another for his motives in acquiring something. Joseph stockpiled grain for seven years, which was an incredibly wise decision that had the blessing of God on it and saved the whole known world. The rich fool stockpiled so much grain that he intended to tear down his barns and build bigger barns, but God saw his heart of greed and took it all from him. Let's not pretend that we can read minds and hearts.
Random economic observations:
'Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, because I am good?' ~Vineyard owner, Matthew 20:15
'No one would remember the Good Samaritan if he'd only had good intentions - he had money, too.' ~Margaret Thatcher
In the first place. (Deep breath.) Why on earth appears in the first paragraph the unnecessary and completely irrelevant clause: 'and women in particular'? What's wrong with blogging about frugality? Nothing, perhaps. But why on earth should it matter whether women or men are blogging about it? If the author of the article means to go on to suggest that most people so blogging are missing the boat on this topic (which he seems to imply), does it matter whether more frugal bloggers are women than men? Are women bloggers missing the boat more egregiously on this topic than men bloggers? Is that why we have to throw that distinction in there? Are women, from centuries of not balancing the checkbook, peculiarly ignorant in all matters financial and are therefore ripe for enlightenment ('Duh! The way I can save more money is not by using coupons but by not buying it at all? Boy, did I have it wrong! Thanks, Male Blogger, for cluing me in!') Or are women just so patently ignorant on all topics in general that it naturally follows that if women in particular are blogging about it, they are missing the boat and need this fine fellow to write an article to set them straight? I mean, that clause was kind of thrown in there at the beginning as if it were an explanation for the need to write this article: this article was in response to the proliferation of frugal bloggers out there, and as if that weren't bad enough, many of those bloggers are women. This is reminiscent of R.C. Sproul objecting to women posting advice or spiritual encouragement on their blogs, because men might read it, and that would violate the Scriptural imperative that women must not teach men.
Moving on...
I agree that frugality is a matter of the heart. But both extremes - spending and saving - are equally wrong: spending too much money evinces a love of stuff, while hoarding money evinces a love of money. Both involve making idols out of something.
Under the heading of Necessity, this author states that 'Many people who attempt to be frugal could probably get along just fine without being frugal.' He proffers the example of spending days finding the perfect cheap cake pan in order to invite people over to evangelize them, and suggests that it might be worthwhile to just spend the money on the cake and have people over all the sooner. This seems like a straw man argument to me. Where do any of you read a blog advocating, as one of their frugal tips, 'Spend days scouring thrift shops looking for cake pans'? I mean, hello! Most frugal people probably already bake their own cakes, using pots and pans they got as wedding or graduation presents! I can't imagine a frugal Christian blogger advocating ignoring the prompting of the Holy Spirit in order to save a few bucks. If you really don't have the money, then you will invite people over for coffee or tea and skip the cake.
But what if you do have the money? This is where the author should stop writing his opinions about how things should be done and simply reference Exhibit A, Check Your Heart. And that's about as far as you can go in giving people advice and telling them what the holy thing to do is. You can share what works for you, you can explain how to you it is worth it to buy a cake, in the whole money v. time continuum, but you should not opine about what the better or holier course to pursue is.
I personally could afford to spring $20 for a Publix cake (ouch!), in terms of actually having the money in my bank account, but I don't think it would be a wise allocation of funds. Let's remember that all this hypothetical money and stuff and time belong to God already. 'The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof, the world, and they that dwell therein.' I am a steward of God's resources, both the money and the time, and I will answer to Him for how I allocate those resources. Acknowledging that is the key.
Moving on...
We have next a rather laughable application of the Old Testament gleaning principle to the notion of bargains. For one thing, the author assumes that 'of course the wealthy landowners would have wanted to pick these up and increase their profits,' but I say of course not necessarily. As a former farmer and agrarian, I know that there is a certain unavoidable margin of waste, and when you're working a field or a garden or whatever it is, you just write a bit off. Nowadays machinery has made that margin far smaller than it used to be, but when you have crops to get in and another field to harvest, you're not going to waste your time mucking about with the odds and ends. You have bigger fish to fry. If you're a generous soul, you'd be delighted to know that the stray wheat stalks aren't going completely to waste.
The notion that shopping at second-hand stores (or accepting hand-me-downs from friends, or whatever) deprives the genuine poor people of their source of clothing is ludicrous. Our society is so rich, so overflowing with bounty, that there's more than enough to go around. It's just as well that us rich people (as he seems to define anyone with the means) are willing to participate in the salvage operations, or even more decent stuff would go into the landfills than already does. (Have you seen what some snobs throw away??) By dressing my children in second-hand clothes, I am no more causing some poor child to go naked than I am starving some poor child in Africa by throwing out the leftover oatmeal (which, for the record, I don't actually do either).
There is a lot of stockpile-bashing and entrepreneurship-sneering going on in the comment thread, but since the author of the article wasn't responsible for that, I'll leave that be. Except to say that by what stretch of the imagination is it greedy, nasty, selfish, and cruel to the poor for me to snap up multiples of an item at a good price if it is something I will use for my family, give away to someone, or even sell? It is a matter of the heart, and I am pretty pipped that anyone would judge another for his motives in acquiring something. Joseph stockpiled grain for seven years, which was an incredibly wise decision that had the blessing of God on it and saved the whole known world. The rich fool stockpiled so much grain that he intended to tear down his barns and build bigger barns, but God saw his heart of greed and took it all from him. Let's not pretend that we can read minds and hearts.
Random economic observations:
'Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, because I am good?' ~Vineyard owner, Matthew 20:15
'No one would remember the Good Samaritan if he'd only had good intentions - he had money, too.' ~Margaret Thatcher
Friday, May 04, 2007
Party shots
Recently Michael was talking with someone who mentioned that her daughter was graduating from high school this spring, and, though neither one really cared much about a party, she was going to throw one anyway because the girl really needed the money she expected people to bring in order to help her off to college in the fall. The daughter estimated that she could get as much as $800 out of her guests, which would help a lot with books and clothes.
I was aghast and appalled to hear of this cool and collected intention of, well, collecting. When I tried to express my sense of astonishment to Michael, he asked me how it differed in any way from a bridal or a baby shower. ‘You throw a party and expect people to bring gifts to you! How is that any different?’
Well. That one stumped me for a minute. I admit that I’ve gone through baby and bridal showers sans a blush of shame for the extraction of lovely presents from innocent party guests, but something about this scheme just affronted my sense of propriety. Naturally I could not rest until I had catalogued all the reasons why a graduation party, as a deliberate money-making venture, differed qualitatively from a baby or bridal shower.
First, showers are time-honoured, long-standing traditions with the stated purpose of blessing the guest of honour with the support of the community. A graduation is a big deal, too, but it stands for the completion of something, not the beginning of something. If our culture has changed to the extent that we now need to add college showers as a rite of passage and accept them into our way of thinking, then for heaven’s sake let’s be honest about that and admit that you’re throwing your daughter a going-off-to-college shower.
Which brings us to our second point, which is that immediate family members are not supposed to throw showers. Originally, I suppose, this came from the notion that families were so close and ended up supporting each other’s needs to the extent that a question of conflict of interest might arise. I don’t have a problem with a family member throwing another one a shower. I’ve participated in such showers. But it has to be handled tactfully so as not to give the impression of a money-grubbing domestic enterprise.
Those were the main objections I could think of right off. But there have to be a lot more. So I fell back on elaborating my original points more bashingly. A shower is a shower, with the stated intent of gifts. A party is a party, given in honour of someone, to celebrate with guests. In our greedy and mercenary culture, many people have come to associate parties with gifts. But it is wrong to do so. I am always torn between writing ‘No gifts please’ on invitations, because I truly don’t want loot, and not doing so, because, as Miss Manners admonishes, so doing will imply that one was actually thinking that someone might bring a gift.
(Just to clarify: I love presents! But I don’t really need anything, and I don’t expect them, so they’re always a pleasant surprise when they do happen. And I love being invited to parties, and always enjoy picking out a gift, and only very rarely feel under obligation, and that’s so uncomfortable that I never want to impose that on anyone else.)
I was aghast and appalled to hear of this cool and collected intention of, well, collecting. When I tried to express my sense of astonishment to Michael, he asked me how it differed in any way from a bridal or a baby shower. ‘You throw a party and expect people to bring gifts to you! How is that any different?’
Well. That one stumped me for a minute. I admit that I’ve gone through baby and bridal showers sans a blush of shame for the extraction of lovely presents from innocent party guests, but something about this scheme just affronted my sense of propriety. Naturally I could not rest until I had catalogued all the reasons why a graduation party, as a deliberate money-making venture, differed qualitatively from a baby or bridal shower.
First, showers are time-honoured, long-standing traditions with the stated purpose of blessing the guest of honour with the support of the community. A graduation is a big deal, too, but it stands for the completion of something, not the beginning of something. If our culture has changed to the extent that we now need to add college showers as a rite of passage and accept them into our way of thinking, then for heaven’s sake let’s be honest about that and admit that you’re throwing your daughter a going-off-to-college shower.
Which brings us to our second point, which is that immediate family members are not supposed to throw showers. Originally, I suppose, this came from the notion that families were so close and ended up supporting each other’s needs to the extent that a question of conflict of interest might arise. I don’t have a problem with a family member throwing another one a shower. I’ve participated in such showers. But it has to be handled tactfully so as not to give the impression of a money-grubbing domestic enterprise.
Those were the main objections I could think of right off. But there have to be a lot more. So I fell back on elaborating my original points more bashingly. A shower is a shower, with the stated intent of gifts. A party is a party, given in honour of someone, to celebrate with guests. In our greedy and mercenary culture, many people have come to associate parties with gifts. But it is wrong to do so. I am always torn between writing ‘No gifts please’ on invitations, because I truly don’t want loot, and not doing so, because, as Miss Manners admonishes, so doing will imply that one was actually thinking that someone might bring a gift.
(Just to clarify: I love presents! But I don’t really need anything, and I don’t expect them, so they’re always a pleasant surprise when they do happen. And I love being invited to parties, and always enjoy picking out a gift, and only very rarely feel under obligation, and that’s so uncomfortable that I never want to impose that on anyone else.)
So It’s All Downhill From Here?
Recently I was remembering the discussion on Queen of Carrots’ blog regarding the WorldView fiction contest finalist story on a miserable life and the virtue of not being fake. At the time I was pregnant with Jane and horrified at the grim prospect of a life of misery unfolding before me. I can handle a bad day or two now and then, but the idea of being kept forever down by perpetual runny noses and sleepless nights would be enough to frighten the most easy-going of personalities.
At the time, it was easy to explain away my general bonhomie by the fact that I didn’t have two small children underfoot (reportedly the most difficult stage) and therefore had no authority on the topic of inevitable unhappiness. Perhaps my tune would change when my life really became as difficult as the author’s clearly was, and I would lose all the moral high ground of being really, truly happy and fall into the impossible dilemma of fake optimism or honest drudgery.
So it was with a degree of tentative anxiety that I anticipated the arrival of Baby #2 and embarked upon this next stage of parenting, evidently the motherhood crucible intended to show up my mothering skills and character for what they really were and bringing a screeching halt to the era of blissful ignorance. No more coasting on my good fortune to have simply been dealt flow’ry beds of ease as my lot in life.
Well, here we are, three months in (by the time I ever manage to get this posted it will probably be at far past that. O for a new computer that will support something better than Windows 98!), and I really think that things are going to be all right. It’s long enough out to stop saying things like, ‘Well, maybe reality hasn’t sunk in yet,’ or ‘We’ll see how it goes when the meals stop coming,’ because the meals have stopped, the family doesn’t live nearby, and the baby is getting over her initial newborn sleepiness (surely the saving grace of every nap-needy new mother). This is apparently Real Life With Two Kids, and I absolutely love it.
Of course there are moments, and perhaps even days, when I feel worn out with the monotony and feel as if I must just stagger along on through until Michael comes home and rescues me from the incessant drudgery. But I had a few such days with Jane, and apparently survived just fine. It appears that these moments are short enough to be fairly easily bounced back from.
Before I formed a conclusive opinion – thinking that perhaps this easiness is just first-stage, and once Ella ceases to be so immobile, portable, and relatively undemanding, things will fall apart – I asked a friend, who has an almost-two-year-old and an eleven-month-old, how she finds her life. ‘Oh, it gets easier every day,’ she told me.
Now, unlike the sad stressed woman in the story, I’d like to think that I’d have the honesty to admit it if things really deteriorated. I’m all for not airing dirty laundry and all that, but the purpose of true friendships is to build one another up, and if I had a valid desperate need, I’d jolly well like to have my true friends come rally round.
I’m part of a wonderful group of friends who meet every week for lunch and playtime and talking, and I was half wondering whether this issue would ever come up. But so far I really, truly have nothing to complain about, and I don’t want to sound like I’m just faking it when I keep insisting that everything is perfectly all right. I’d be quite happy to dish out sympathy and compliments to any obliging soul, in my turn (‘You poor thing! Would you like some butter? Here, take 5 lbs.’), and sometimes wonder whether I should work up a little woe-is-me repertoire just to blend in a bit better (not that anyone in play group ever complains! But sometimes, in the nursing room at church, mothers get a little carried away in one-upping each other with lack-of-sleep, multiple spit-up, or exceeded diaper tragedies, and I cringe down in silence because the one really bad day I had has long since receded into distant memory).
Part of this might be a personality issue, as I tend to have a very high stress threshold. I can enjoy the pressure of adrenaline, and as long as I’m not physically hurting, drastically starving, or dreadfully sleepy, I can pretty much laugh anything off.
So we shall see. But for now, I shall persist in thinking that the cry-worthy vexations of raising lots of little children are rather overrated. (And yes, feel free to check back with me any time in the next few years on that. I may have a second opinion for you.)
At the time, it was easy to explain away my general bonhomie by the fact that I didn’t have two small children underfoot (reportedly the most difficult stage) and therefore had no authority on the topic of inevitable unhappiness. Perhaps my tune would change when my life really became as difficult as the author’s clearly was, and I would lose all the moral high ground of being really, truly happy and fall into the impossible dilemma of fake optimism or honest drudgery.
So it was with a degree of tentative anxiety that I anticipated the arrival of Baby #2 and embarked upon this next stage of parenting, evidently the motherhood crucible intended to show up my mothering skills and character for what they really were and bringing a screeching halt to the era of blissful ignorance. No more coasting on my good fortune to have simply been dealt flow’ry beds of ease as my lot in life.
Well, here we are, three months in (by the time I ever manage to get this posted it will probably be at far past that. O for a new computer that will support something better than Windows 98!), and I really think that things are going to be all right. It’s long enough out to stop saying things like, ‘Well, maybe reality hasn’t sunk in yet,’ or ‘We’ll see how it goes when the meals stop coming,’ because the meals have stopped, the family doesn’t live nearby, and the baby is getting over her initial newborn sleepiness (surely the saving grace of every nap-needy new mother). This is apparently Real Life With Two Kids, and I absolutely love it.
Of course there are moments, and perhaps even days, when I feel worn out with the monotony and feel as if I must just stagger along on through until Michael comes home and rescues me from the incessant drudgery. But I had a few such days with Jane, and apparently survived just fine. It appears that these moments are short enough to be fairly easily bounced back from.
Before I formed a conclusive opinion – thinking that perhaps this easiness is just first-stage, and once Ella ceases to be so immobile, portable, and relatively undemanding, things will fall apart – I asked a friend, who has an almost-two-year-old and an eleven-month-old, how she finds her life. ‘Oh, it gets easier every day,’ she told me.
Now, unlike the sad stressed woman in the story, I’d like to think that I’d have the honesty to admit it if things really deteriorated. I’m all for not airing dirty laundry and all that, but the purpose of true friendships is to build one another up, and if I had a valid desperate need, I’d jolly well like to have my true friends come rally round.
I’m part of a wonderful group of friends who meet every week for lunch and playtime and talking, and I was half wondering whether this issue would ever come up. But so far I really, truly have nothing to complain about, and I don’t want to sound like I’m just faking it when I keep insisting that everything is perfectly all right. I’d be quite happy to dish out sympathy and compliments to any obliging soul, in my turn (‘You poor thing! Would you like some butter? Here, take 5 lbs.’), and sometimes wonder whether I should work up a little woe-is-me repertoire just to blend in a bit better (not that anyone in play group ever complains! But sometimes, in the nursing room at church, mothers get a little carried away in one-upping each other with lack-of-sleep, multiple spit-up, or exceeded diaper tragedies, and I cringe down in silence because the one really bad day I had has long since receded into distant memory).
Part of this might be a personality issue, as I tend to have a very high stress threshold. I can enjoy the pressure of adrenaline, and as long as I’m not physically hurting, drastically starving, or dreadfully sleepy, I can pretty much laugh anything off.
So we shall see. But for now, I shall persist in thinking that the cry-worthy vexations of raising lots of little children are rather overrated. (And yes, feel free to check back with me any time in the next few years on that. I may have a second opinion for you.)
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
What Time Has Wrought
Note: This post was mentally composed and intended for publication several days ago, but the home computer is proving consistently recalcitrant and Michael's laptop distressingly unavailable during the day. We must buy that Mac this month.
Five years ago, at the end of April:
-I had a picture on my wall of the Canadians holding their gold medal from the Winter Olympics
-I was planning a trip to England for the summer
-I was helping several friends plan their weddings
-I looked forward to a full summer of conferences and horseback riding
-Marriage was not even on the distant horizon
Four years ago, at the end of April:
-I was freshly engaged and planning an August wedding
-Baghdad had been taken, the statue had fallen, and the war was going well
-I was getting pretty much no sleep, what with all the IM chats and phone conversations
Three years ago, at the end of April:
-I was settling into life in a new house
-I was looking for a job
-I went to the Blue Willow Inn for my birthday dinner (thanks to Janice for the cookbook!)
Two years ago, at the end of April:
-I was about to deliver my first child
-For the first time in seven years, I didn't wear my silk party dress on my birthday
-I quit my job
One year ago, at the end of April:
-I went to a Blue Angels airshow
-We were contemplating trying out for the summer musical Hello Dolly!
-I planted a garden (which promptly died)
And now:
-I have another precious daughter
-I own more butter than anyone else I know
-I'm going to make brownies, ice cream, and chocolate fudge sauce for dessert tonight
Five years ago, at the end of April:
-I had a picture on my wall of the Canadians holding their gold medal from the Winter Olympics
-I was planning a trip to England for the summer
-I was helping several friends plan their weddings
-I looked forward to a full summer of conferences and horseback riding
-Marriage was not even on the distant horizon
Four years ago, at the end of April:
-I was freshly engaged and planning an August wedding
-Baghdad had been taken, the statue had fallen, and the war was going well
-I was getting pretty much no sleep, what with all the IM chats and phone conversations
Three years ago, at the end of April:
-I was settling into life in a new house
-I was looking for a job
-I went to the Blue Willow Inn for my birthday dinner (thanks to Janice for the cookbook!)
Two years ago, at the end of April:
-I was about to deliver my first child
-For the first time in seven years, I didn't wear my silk party dress on my birthday
-I quit my job
One year ago, at the end of April:
-I went to a Blue Angels airshow
-We were contemplating trying out for the summer musical Hello Dolly!
-I planted a garden (which promptly died)
And now:
-I have another precious daughter
-I own more butter than anyone else I know
-I'm going to make brownies, ice cream, and chocolate fudge sauce for dessert tonight
We all scream
Baskin-Robbins is hosting a $0.31/scoop night this Wednesday, May 2nd, from 5 to 10 p.m. Even if we all buy three scoops each (and I think Jane would need a little help with hers, at that rate) it would cost less than $3 total. Okay, so I know a half gallon of ice cream from the store could cost less than that, but you wouldn't get the variety of nine different flavours. Plus it's the experience.
Friday, April 27, 2007
I Was Mistaken
A few days ago I took the following pictures, intending to post them along with the caption ‘A Really Full Freezer’ or something to that effect. I thought I had really and truly maxed out the capacity of our little fridge-top freezer. I knew I was pushing it when I took out the ice cube trays to make room!
Right before our trip I had purchased eight gallons of organic milk for $0.99 each. Ninety-nine cents! I didn’t think I had room but I knew I would regret not snapping up such a bargain, so I bought all eight, pushed things around, made a bunch of yogurt, and somehow made it work.
Then, within the last week, I found bargains on 6 lbs. of strawberries and 10 lbs. of ground beef. Of course we didn’t have any room. But I would never get over it if I didn’t seize the day, so I pushed things around even more and somehow we found the room. I was so impressed that I took the pictures to prove what a totally-full-absolutely-no-room-left freezer looks like. Look ye and marvel:
Then. I was rushing past the butter aisle in Kroger, and happened to spot a sign: 2 lbs./$1. That can’t be right, I thought. But sure enough, REAL butter. One WHOLE pound. For FIFTY CENTS!!! You can’t buy margarine this cheap! I have NEVER seen such a price and I probably never will again. It would be the death of me to pass this one up, so I made several trips and eventually ended up with 102 lbs. of butter. Now, this is what a really, truly, absolutely stuffed-to-the-gills positively-NO-room-left freezer looks like:
Right before our trip I had purchased eight gallons of organic milk for $0.99 each. Ninety-nine cents! I didn’t think I had room but I knew I would regret not snapping up such a bargain, so I bought all eight, pushed things around, made a bunch of yogurt, and somehow made it work.
Then, within the last week, I found bargains on 6 lbs. of strawberries and 10 lbs. of ground beef. Of course we didn’t have any room. But I would never get over it if I didn’t seize the day, so I pushed things around even more and somehow we found the room. I was so impressed that I took the pictures to prove what a totally-full-absolutely-no-room-left freezer looks like. Look ye and marvel:
Then. I was rushing past the butter aisle in Kroger, and happened to spot a sign: 2 lbs./$1. That can’t be right, I thought. But sure enough, REAL butter. One WHOLE pound. For FIFTY CENTS!!! You can’t buy margarine this cheap! I have NEVER seen such a price and I probably never will again. It would be the death of me to pass this one up, so I made several trips and eventually ended up with 102 lbs. of butter. Now, this is what a really, truly, absolutely stuffed-to-the-gills positively-NO-room-left freezer looks like:
Monday, April 23, 2007
Worthless movie log
On the flight to DR they showed us The Holiday. Owing to regulations on oxygen masks, there was a limit as to how many lap infants (non-ticket-holding passengers) could sit in one row, so Michael - with Jane on his lap - had to sit behind me the entire flight. This made for a complicated carry-on situation, what with passing snacks and diapers back and forth over the seats, but the real nuisance was that I couldn't nudge him and make sarcastic comments as the movie progressed.
When they first handed out the headphones, he declined a set. 'You'd better watch this movie!' I told him. 'If I'm going to watch this miserable, rotten, wretched flick, then I'd jolly well better have someone to talk it over with afterwards. But he resisted. So I am going to have to blog about it.
Well, you know the premise is that a rich LA movie producer and a British typesetter, both trying to get over broken hearts, swap houses for the Christmas holiday. The problem is that nothing in this movie is believable. There are so many cheesy sub-plots but you don't even care if they get wrapped up. One character is apparently unable to cry, and then realises she has just left the love of her life when she starts crying after bidding good-bye to him. Yeah right. One character is engaged to another character and then flies across country to persuade an old girlfriend to - what? He's still engaged, she knows he's engaged, and what sort of future does he envision for them? Another character, whom you just know is destined for someone, is inconveniently already with someone else, but because he's so patently a good guy who would never dump anyone, the movie conveniently has her go off and cheat with someone else so we can drop her from the storyline sans guilt or regret.
One of the most telling lines from the whole movie occurs early on, when a main character is breaking up with her live-in boyfriend because she suspects him of cheating. As she empties his drawers, occasionally pausing to hurl objects at him, she says something along the lines of, 'You know, this is exactly why I didn't want us to get married! I knew something like this would happen!' Oh. And so why did you let him move in with you in the first place, under such auspices? This is someone you will fall in love with, live with, etc., but not someone you will actually trust?
That's pretty much all there is to this movie. It's not about love, honour, decency, commitment, trust. It's all about self-gratification, personal happiness and self-discovery, the whim of the moment, and a fair dose of good luck. Just another shallow, forgettable piece of tripe. And now that I've sufficiently vented about it, I can forget it too.
Miss Potter (on the return flight) promised much better. I loved the styles and fashions, both of clothing and interior decorating, and I wish that I'd figured out the glitch in my earpiece a whole lot sooner so I could have listened more intently. At first, from the bits and snatches I was able to pick out, I was afraid it was going to be another tiresome feminist piece on the universal oppression of women in all circumstance prior to 1970s America, with the repeated harping by her parents on the importance of getting herself married suitably off. And the classic heroine rejoinder of self-assertion: 'I'm a published author. I have ample means, and I shall do as I please.' (clapclapclap.)
However, there came shortly after this speech of defiance a charming chat with her father and mother, in which the father says something to the effect that 'Whatever you may think, we have only your welfare at heart. We do not wish you to rush into an improper and ill-considered match. Let me therefore propose a compromise. Keep your engagement secret for now, and at the end of the summer, if you still wish to marry him, we will give you our blessing. If you truly love him, one summer will not cool your ardour. If, however, your mind has changed, we will give that our blessing as well, and there will be no scandal.' What a clever, wise, gracious path to take! I wanted to cheer. My earpiece gave out around here, though, so I have no idea how this story ended. She got on a train and went somewhere. Anyway, it's a fine movie.
When they first handed out the headphones, he declined a set. 'You'd better watch this movie!' I told him. 'If I'm going to watch this miserable, rotten, wretched flick, then I'd jolly well better have someone to talk it over with afterwards. But he resisted. So I am going to have to blog about it.
Well, you know the premise is that a rich LA movie producer and a British typesetter, both trying to get over broken hearts, swap houses for the Christmas holiday. The problem is that nothing in this movie is believable. There are so many cheesy sub-plots but you don't even care if they get wrapped up. One character is apparently unable to cry, and then realises she has just left the love of her life when she starts crying after bidding good-bye to him. Yeah right. One character is engaged to another character and then flies across country to persuade an old girlfriend to - what? He's still engaged, she knows he's engaged, and what sort of future does he envision for them? Another character, whom you just know is destined for someone, is inconveniently already with someone else, but because he's so patently a good guy who would never dump anyone, the movie conveniently has her go off and cheat with someone else so we can drop her from the storyline sans guilt or regret.
One of the most telling lines from the whole movie occurs early on, when a main character is breaking up with her live-in boyfriend because she suspects him of cheating. As she empties his drawers, occasionally pausing to hurl objects at him, she says something along the lines of, 'You know, this is exactly why I didn't want us to get married! I knew something like this would happen!' Oh. And so why did you let him move in with you in the first place, under such auspices? This is someone you will fall in love with, live with, etc., but not someone you will actually trust?
That's pretty much all there is to this movie. It's not about love, honour, decency, commitment, trust. It's all about self-gratification, personal happiness and self-discovery, the whim of the moment, and a fair dose of good luck. Just another shallow, forgettable piece of tripe. And now that I've sufficiently vented about it, I can forget it too.
Miss Potter (on the return flight) promised much better. I loved the styles and fashions, both of clothing and interior decorating, and I wish that I'd figured out the glitch in my earpiece a whole lot sooner so I could have listened more intently. At first, from the bits and snatches I was able to pick out, I was afraid it was going to be another tiresome feminist piece on the universal oppression of women in all circumstance prior to 1970s America, with the repeated harping by her parents on the importance of getting herself married suitably off. And the classic heroine rejoinder of self-assertion: 'I'm a published author. I have ample means, and I shall do as I please.' (clapclapclap.)
However, there came shortly after this speech of defiance a charming chat with her father and mother, in which the father says something to the effect that 'Whatever you may think, we have only your welfare at heart. We do not wish you to rush into an improper and ill-considered match. Let me therefore propose a compromise. Keep your engagement secret for now, and at the end of the summer, if you still wish to marry him, we will give you our blessing. If you truly love him, one summer will not cool your ardour. If, however, your mind has changed, we will give that our blessing as well, and there will be no scandal.' What a clever, wise, gracious path to take! I wanted to cheer. My earpiece gave out around here, though, so I have no idea how this story ended. She got on a train and went somewhere. Anyway, it's a fine movie.
Sometimes it pays to be behind the times
The advantage of waiting almost a full year to watch Pirates II is that you have only a couple of months more to wait for the finale.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Random political thoughts
-I find it hard to get enraged at Alec Baldwin over the angry message he left for his daughter, and think all the media attention the situation is getting is very annoying. Sure, it was a nasty message and involved a few nasty words, but we all know that these Hollywood types are pretty lacking in self-control in real life, anyway. Was anyone surprised when Russell Crowe threw that phone? It doesn't matter how nice/decent/genuine the characters they play on screen may be; these people are actors. They smoke and drink and sleep around and have bad marriages and poor parenting skills. (This is a sweeping generalisation, but it's true more often than not.) Aside from not leaving the country like he promised he would do, Mr. Baldwin hasn't really done anything that out of character.
-I still don't get the hoopla over Don Imus' firing. I never listened to him or liked him before, so it's no skin off my nose, but according to several articles, he's made nasty remarks and sarcastic, cutting comments about other people before. In fact, that's pretty much his shtick. Why this particular comment crossed the line is as puzzling to me as I'm sure it was to him. I'm not condoning his remarks, by the way, simply pointing out that it's rather hypocritical of whoever was listening to him before (I mean, for him to be on the air, there must have been a substantial market for whatever he was peddling) to decide that this kind of nastiness is suddenly not acceptable anymore. Kind of like if Howard Stern suddenly got canned for public indecency: one would have to wonder just which straw it was that broke the camel's back. And why no one warned him that they were suddenly changing the rules.
-I'm sure this VA Tech shooting is going to bring on another tiresome round of gun-control legislation, possibly banning whatever type of weapon it was that the shooter used, possibly banning a whole range of weapons. What such reactionary proceedings fail to take into account is that there were already laws against what this guy did, on several levels: there are obviously laws against murdering people, and there are already laws against having handguns on school property. Why do they think that another layer of legislation is going to stop someone from doing something wrong? If someone wasn't intimidated enough by the law against carrying a gun onto school property, is he suddenly going to be quelled by another, higher law stating that he must not carry even this type of gun onto school property?
-While I'm pleased at the decision of the Supreme Court to uphold the ban on partial-birth abortion (and frothing with rage at the spin the major media are putting on it: ''"so-called" partial-birth abortion'; oh, yeah, what else would you call it when a baby is partially birthed and then aborted?), it's a bit hard to muster the spirit for even a minor Hurrah when you consider the reasoning which allowed this decision to slip by: they got away with finding the ban constitutional - sans a health-of-the-mother clause - only because they pointed out that there are alternatives which do have that clause. It's a bit sad that the decision had to include the reasoning that, if all else failed, at least the fetus could still be dismembered in utero.
-I still don't get the hoopla over Don Imus' firing. I never listened to him or liked him before, so it's no skin off my nose, but according to several articles, he's made nasty remarks and sarcastic, cutting comments about other people before. In fact, that's pretty much his shtick. Why this particular comment crossed the line is as puzzling to me as I'm sure it was to him. I'm not condoning his remarks, by the way, simply pointing out that it's rather hypocritical of whoever was listening to him before (I mean, for him to be on the air, there must have been a substantial market for whatever he was peddling) to decide that this kind of nastiness is suddenly not acceptable anymore. Kind of like if Howard Stern suddenly got canned for public indecency: one would have to wonder just which straw it was that broke the camel's back. And why no one warned him that they were suddenly changing the rules.
-I'm sure this VA Tech shooting is going to bring on another tiresome round of gun-control legislation, possibly banning whatever type of weapon it was that the shooter used, possibly banning a whole range of weapons. What such reactionary proceedings fail to take into account is that there were already laws against what this guy did, on several levels: there are obviously laws against murdering people, and there are already laws against having handguns on school property. Why do they think that another layer of legislation is going to stop someone from doing something wrong? If someone wasn't intimidated enough by the law against carrying a gun onto school property, is he suddenly going to be quelled by another, higher law stating that he must not carry even this type of gun onto school property?
-While I'm pleased at the decision of the Supreme Court to uphold the ban on partial-birth abortion (and frothing with rage at the spin the major media are putting on it: ''"so-called" partial-birth abortion'; oh, yeah, what else would you call it when a baby is partially birthed and then aborted?), it's a bit hard to muster the spirit for even a minor Hurrah when you consider the reasoning which allowed this decision to slip by: they got away with finding the ban constitutional - sans a health-of-the-mother clause - only because they pointed out that there are alternatives which do have that clause. It's a bit sad that the decision had to include the reasoning that, if all else failed, at least the fetus could still be dismembered in utero.
Words/phrases I love to say
But of course!
Yes, but still.
I think not. (Poof!)
Aha. So [delighted, perplexed] was I that I said it again, only backwards: Aha!
Ah.
Alas and alack.
We are not amused.
Yes, but still.
I think not. (Poof!)
Aha. So [delighted, perplexed] was I that I said it again, only backwards: Aha!
Ah.
Alas and alack.
We are not amused.
One of the Deadlies
It’s been my ponderation, on and off, whether we - as fallen sinners - are all susceptible to the same degree of accountability when it comes to the seven deadly sins. Obviously we are all subject to varying degrees of temptations, depending on what our weak spots are, but are we all equally culpable when it comes to any given action involving any given sin?
The case in point is gluttony. Now, this is not something I feel as if I’ve struggled with at all in my life, because I really don’t think I have any kind of eating/food/addiction problem. I eat a lot, I enjoy eating, and I don’t have any health problems resulting from my diet. I am very fortunate to have been blessed with a very high metabolism, which insulates me from the apparent consequences of my actions, in that I can eat pretty much as much as I want, of pretty much anything, without any adverse physical side effects.
So here’s the question. Am I or am I not subject to the sin of gluttony? If I didn’t have such a high metabolism, and I ate as much as I do, and didn’t exercise to compensate, then my weight would be a visible testament to my lack of self-control. So just because of my genes, do I get a free pass on this one? That doesn’t seem right. (I know, I know, life is not fair.)
The case in point is gluttony. Now, this is not something I feel as if I’ve struggled with at all in my life, because I really don’t think I have any kind of eating/food/addiction problem. I eat a lot, I enjoy eating, and I don’t have any health problems resulting from my diet. I am very fortunate to have been blessed with a very high metabolism, which insulates me from the apparent consequences of my actions, in that I can eat pretty much as much as I want, of pretty much anything, without any adverse physical side effects.
So here’s the question. Am I or am I not subject to the sin of gluttony? If I didn’t have such a high metabolism, and I ate as much as I do, and didn’t exercise to compensate, then my weight would be a visible testament to my lack of self-control. So just because of my genes, do I get a free pass on this one? That doesn’t seem right. (I know, I know, life is not fair.)
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