February 01, 2009

Hands Down, the MVP HAS to be...

springsteensuperbowl.jpgBruce Springsteen.

Am I right, or am I right? (Rob thinks I'm really wrong.)

With deep love left for James Harrison, Ben Roethlisberger, Santonio Holmes, Kurt Warner, and Larry Fitzgerald.

Oh, oh, oh and the casts of Chuck, Medium, and Heroes (especially that last one) for the funniest commercials of the show.

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January 20, 2009

More on Inaugurations...

Am I the only one who keeps expecting that deep voice announcing everyone at everything to break out and say "Live! From New York! It's..." ??

Mamacita has a long, cool, post full of fun Inauguration Trivia at   Scheiss Weekly

Oh, and prayers for Ted Kennedy, who seems to have suffered a seizure during the Inaugural Luncheon.

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I've got a new crush

"Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around, when yellow will be mellow, when red can get ahead; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen. Say Amen!"

- The Rev. Joseph Lowery

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No, I'm pretty sure he's Black.

The strangest thing happened last night. I got an email for curriculum materials for Bear, that included this picture:

ObamaSchoolBook.jpg

You tell me, doesn't it look like they made Mr. Obama a little...well...what's the appropriate word here? It doesn't look like him, right? Right? Am I imagining this??

It just seems beyond bizarre.

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Happy Inauguration Day

preselectbarackobama.jpg

Bear leaped into bed with me this morning and said "Happy Inauguration Day!!" As though it was a special holiday. And, I guess, it is.

I was talking to a friend this morning and neither of us could remember being this excited about an incoming president in our lives. Like her, I tell myself I'm being a sentimental fool - and then decide, there's nothing wrong with that. Especially not today.

"Much has been given us, and much will rightfully be expected from us. We have duties to others and duties to ourselves; and we can shirk neither."

- Theodore Roosevelt, Saturday, March 4, 1905, second Inaugural Address.

The Mall has been full since 9AM, with children holding their little plastic periscopes for a glimpse of the new president. Bear and I have the recorder whirring and we're watching every moment.

It feels like the world is changing, right beneath our feet.

It feels good.

"We face the arduous days that lie before us in the warm courage of the national unity; with the clear consciousness of seeking old and precious moral values; with the clean satisfaction that comes from the stern performance of duty by old and young alike. We aim at the assurance of a rounded and permanent national life.


We do not distrust the future of essential democracy. The people of the United States have not failed. In their need they have registered a mandate that they want direct, vigorous action. They have asked for discipline and direction under leadership. They have made me the present instrument of their wishes. In the spirit of the gift I take it.

- Franklin D. Roosevelt, March 4, 1933, first Inaugural Address.

"The American people stand firm in the faith which has inspired this Nation from the beginning. We believe that all men have a right to equal justice under law and equal opportunity to share in the common good. We believe that all men have a right to freedom of thought and expression. We believe that all men are created equal because they are created in the image of God.

From this faith we will not be moved."

- Harry Truman, January 20, 1949, Inaugural Address.

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January 15, 2009

Hold me, Frank...

"Did you here about the plane?"

"Yeah! Everyone survived. It's amazing."

Little voice from the back of the van: What plane?

"The captain made a once-in-a-lifetime landing."

"I know - amazing, right?"

"And made sure everyone got off before he did..."

"There's a true gentleman for you..."

Voice from the back of the van: What captain?

"He was flying a plane that crashed."

"And he made a landing in the Hudson river, and everyone got saved."

"Then the ferry towed the plane and docked it."

"Are you kidding me?"

"True story."

Demanding voice from the back of the van: Why did it crash?

"I didn't hear."

"A bird hit it, I think. Uh, they said two birds."

"Seriously? Because here I am thinking, don't they make planes bird-proof? Hello! Hasn't anyone noticed? Birds live where planes go! How hard could this be? A screen in front of the engine... Maybe some barbed wire or something? This seems like a basic safety strategy."

"When I think of all the planes we've been on, never knowing that a seagull span us up and *poof* - it's all kinda flimsy, right?"

Demanding voice from the back of the van: A BIRD? What kind of bird? Are you telling me that you want me to go on a plane, BY MYSELF, to see Nana and a BIRD could make it crash from the sky?!? Just any old bird?!

"OK, not any old bird."

"It would probably have to be a big bird."

Outraged and loud voice from the back of the van: THEY KILLED BIG BIRD?!

"No, NO honey. A big bird - in size. Like a fat ol' duck."

"Or goose. Man, those things are evil."

"In this case, two of them, simultaneously."

"Two geese. Or two ducks. At the same time."

"Probably migrating."

"Or suicide pact. One of each, you know. And no one understands them"

"So they went out large, you know? Made a statement."

Hysterical voice from the back of the van: STOP TALKING ABOUT CRASHED PLANES, PLEASE!

"Sorry, honey. Of course we will."

"Sure."

(In a soft voice) "Interspecies dating, you know? It's still the hidden taboo of the avian world. And avion, for the matter."

"I know. Can you imagine? To down a jetliner into the Hudson, in winter, for love?"

"Kinda romantic."

"In a Romeo + Juliet kinda way. Only, you know, with beaks."

"And webbed feet."

Some random shouting kid in my car
: I MEAN IT!

*pause*

"It's just no good. They'll never let us be together...."

"Hold me, Frank..."

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September 16, 2007

The Passing of Those We Do Not Know

James Oliver Rigney, Jr, better known as Robert Jordan, died today.

I never met him.

He was a highly decorated war veteran, good ol' boy and graduate of the Citadel. He was a sailor, a nuclear engineer, a husband, and best known as a writer.

My husband got me into his books back in the day when we had time to read them. And this gentleman's books? Needed TIME.

They are, of course, known as the Wheel of Time series.

They are rollicking sagas - fiction and fantasy. Over the years, they have inspired me and made me laugh and think and exhale loudly as I turned the last page.

A man I'd never met. But I'm sad to find he's gone from the world. And my husband, a little more.

All I have is a sword, and a war I cannot win, but I can never stop fighting. - Lan, The Wheel Of Time

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July 12, 2007

You provide the caption...

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One Nation, Homeschooled, Under God

I grew up in a little New England town going to the church with the steeple, inside all the people, and afterwards coffee and danish.

I studied theology at college, served as a chaplain, and am pretty grounded in my faith.

And I usually think of my world as accepting, pluralist, tolerant.

Until I am reminded... it isn't.

Last year it became obvious that my son's public school wasn't going to work out, and I decided that Kindergarten was something we could do ourselves. I went online and began hunting for tools & curriculum.

What I discovered? Scared me.

Pages and pages of vitriol aimed at Public Schools and Public School teachers. I was sent back on my heels, gobsmacked.

I discovered that homeschooling is supported by a loud subset of people in the Christian far-right with a deeply felt and deeply intolerant agenda. (I'm going to emphasize the word 'subset' here because, having working in the religious world for a long time, I know all faiths to have abundance of good, generous, grounded members. So turn off the flamethrower, already.)

In talking with family and friends, I also discovered that many of them already knew this.

See above, I clearly I live with a bag over my head.

My next-door neighbors homeschooled their kids up to High School. For me, they represented the heart of homeschooling - a valid alternative (for whatever reasons) to the public school system. If not for them, I wouldn't have even thought of trying it myself because you have never met more grounded, cool, balanced kids in your life.

Conservative? Yes. Zealots? Emphatically, No.

Maybe that's why I assumed most people approached it in the same manner.

Well, you know what they say about 'assuming'.

Of course, that's the problem. When we tell people that we homeschool, this big assumption now lays on us - that we are somehow using our choice as a springboard to proselytize a far-right agenda.

Our soft (not crunchy) granola bar, fresh-fruit and tie-dyed life is one of seeking tolerance and balance and faith. My son was born Socratic questioning and throwing Karate kicks. We try so very hard to bound his endlessness with as few absolutes as possible.

So watching others toss them about like leaves off a tree with utter conviction sends us screaming in the other direction.

Non-homeschoolers are easiest. People often get to know us a few minutes at least before our homeschool status comes into conversation. So, really, the questions - although sopping with assumptions - are usually open-minded towards our answers.

From inside the Homsechooling world, it's been too often a different matter. I found this out at the first event we ever went to - a open-house thing. I was actually asked "Are you homeschooling as a way to indoctrinate your child into the bunker of Christ?"

I said 'Of course not!' and gave that silly little laugh. Except, from the expression on her face, I could see I'd given the wrong answer.

Oh. Uh. Heh heh. Um, is that artichoke dip? Gotta dash!

My son is proud to be homeschooled, I want him to stay that way. I want him to enjoy being around other homeschooled kids. But when it's clear that the driving force of an event is, well...

I never thought I would ever parse my religion so often to so many strangers. But since we embarked on homeschooling, it has become a constant barrage of assumption battles.

To steal a bit from Marc Cohn's song; "And they asked me if I would | Do a little number | And I sang with all my might | And she said | Tell me are you a Christian child?..."

And we say, Ma'am, I am, but maybe not the way you think..

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June 25, 2007

Who Doesn't Want to Be Quoted in the Chicago Tribune? Raise your hands...

trib.jpgAt the risk of sounding like an ungratfeul wretch...

Which I suppose I am.

Who wouldn't be thrilled, being reviewed by the Chicago Tribune?

Is there something in this green tea making me surly and wiseass?

And if so.... should I drink more?

So. Steve Johnson writes a blog, Hypertext, for the Chicago Tribune.

In addition to sharing the name of a semi-famous Soap Opera character, he's a graduate of Brown and grew up in New Hampshire ['Live Free (or Cheap)']

He was a TV critic until 2005, and his writing still shows that flavor - reaching for a Gilmoresque snark and sometimes landing at game-show precious.

This morning, Steve did a review of a blog community I've recently joined - the Chicago Moms Blog. And, of course, he used my post as his example.

Shocked? Yes. Even with the pink hair*, I'm still a little shocked whenever it's my name being called over the intercom.

So the good news? I am now a mentioned blogger over at the Chicago Tribune.

The bad news? Well first of all, he intimates that Chicago Moms will someday be a commercial enterprise as though that possible eventuality were a BAD thing.

Ah, oh... wouldn't it be lovely if pigs fly, doves cry, and mom-blogs paid a living wage? Because there is some beautiful writing out there, tons of it, freely offered to the universe and created with time carved out of lives balanced on a pin.

It made me want to slap the back of Steve's head and say 'What? Afraid OTHER writers will come along and steal your salary and benefits?'

But, no.

He jumps then straight into being taken aback by my post and the blog in general. Why?

Uh...

"There's certainly a detailed examination of the experience of motherhood..." he wrote.

Um, yeah.

Which is kind of the point.

I mean, it's the Chicago MOMS Blog. Shouldn't the review have started on the assumption that it was gonna go pretty deep into the subject matter of its own title?

Here's what I think.

Blogs are an interesting combination of information and creative expression. Some have the entertainment value of a free real estate magazine at the grocery store where others are proven to be as honest (if not more) and valid as a sculpture in the MOMA or my 10 O'Clock news.

And with so many out there, and thousands more be started every day, blogs have become a ubiquitous expression of self and brand.

There SHOULD be reviews of them. To help sort the offerings for those of us already overwhelmed by our surfing choices. Negative reviews, positive reviews, reviews with lots of evil laughter and helpful categorizations and analogies and stuff like that.

And these reviews? Should be interesting, informative, opinionated, researched, and constructive.

So, while it was really kind of spike in the day to say - 'Wow, me? The Trib?' Once I read the piece, well....

Or maybe I should shut up and be grateful now, huh? Because all eyeballs on the Chicago Moms' site are GOOD eyeballs - even the furry doubtful ewwwww... kinda ones.

I mean, seriously? My post! Our site! Is in the Trib!

!Confetti!

(* Yes, I'm addicted to it now. Plus streaks of midnight blue. Pictures below the jump.) more...

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June 20, 2007

First Chicago Moms Post is Up

A different take on being.... me?

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May 03, 2007

Love of the Puppy, and Gilmore Girls

There is not much going on here because of all the ruckus. Puppy Sara has turned our world upside-down... I mean that in the best of ways.

And just 2 episodes left and they announce that Gilmore Girls is cancelled?

Dammit.

Oh, and Everyday Stranger's Helen is expecting! (And you'll never guess what....)

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April 27, 2007

Thank You, Herbie Bug

HerbieBug nominated this blog for....
My site was nominated for Best Parenting Blog!

Aw. Thanks.

I've been on the jury of some web awards the past few years, but lost all track of them since.

When I saw that HerbieBug had done this, I was flattered as all hell. Did my little Snoopy dance, I admit it.

But. The thing is... I feel like I've a really bad blogging year. Few posts worthy of notice. Cetrainly few of the 'speaking French at the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru' or 'On a Bus' kind.

Maybe it's the rain, but I just don't feel like I deserve recognition these days.

Damn, that sounds ungrateful. Sorry.

On the other hand, Busy Mom and the amazing Beth have been rightfully nominated too. And they? Rock!

PLEASE let me know if you've been nominated or want to cheer for someone who has - I'm mucking about with the layout again (time for a summery look) and will be happy to put links in the sidebar and vote myself.

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March 08, 2007

Quick! Send Boston Condoms!

According to reports on popular Brazilian celebrity website Glamurama.com.br, Gisele Bundchen could be as much as 2 month's pregnant with boyfriend Tom Brady's baby. The catwalk beauty has been dating the Patriot's football star since before Christmas. Tom's actress ex-girlfriend Bridget Moynahan recently revealed she is also pregnant with his baby.

I have Tom Brady's autograph.

Although he was born and raised in California and majored in "organizational studies" in Michigan, this guy is New England Royalty.

One day, my brother saw him - OUT IN PUBLIC and everything - and, naturally, stalked him up and down some aisles before finding the chance to ask Tom for it (for my son, who isn't sure if Football is the game with the oval ball or the orange one. But still, an excellent gift with warm-hearted intentions).

But my point here, and I do have one, is that scene of that adventure was - yes indeed! - a drugstore. Proof - in my very own house - that Tom Brady knows how to find one. More importantly, he knows how to ENTER one and make an actual purchase (even with the 4-point difficulty factor of being stalked by my oh-so-not stealthy brother in his Grumpy the Dwarf hat).

Thinking about how that man walked past the infamous glass case has forced me to the sad conclusion that Tom Brady must not grasp the concept of condoms.

Considering his abilities with the ball on the field, I just can't imagine he'd have, um, you know, manipulative dificulties *cough*.

So it just has to be the concept itself. Maybe no one has explained to him what they are FOR.

A multimillion dollar NFL quarterback like him, poor thing, probably never had anyone there to sit him down with the birds and the bees and the Trojan and the banana and explain the whole 'Let's only knock up one woman at a time' scheme that seems so popular with the rest of us.

Or, hell, maybe I'm wrong.

Could be that the man has some kind of super-secret double-pinkie-swear Scientology quiet-alien-birth-invasion plan to repopulate the Earth with really, really, pretty footballers.

Um, in which case....

Carry on.

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December 27, 2006

At Last

President Ford has died. Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban have reunited in Australia. The Dow broke records, closing above 12,500 for the first time.

It's the day after the day after Christmas.

I'm taking the advice of the people I respect (you know, people who read my blog) and I'm going to push through my writer's block by writing every weekday.

The spirit of my 100 days and all that.

I'm hoping for constructive criticism. And the return of inspiration.

DaleyPlaza.jpg

So.

Last week, I took Bear downtown to look at all the holiday displays and to do some shopping at the open-air Christmas market. Headed for the parking garage, Bear saw the Christmas in Daley Plaza for the first time.

He got a little upset. "Mommy! They killed a really, really old tree! Just for decoration!"

He was relieved to get up close and see it is really a bunch of smaller trees stacked together.

Once upon a time...

My dad did that.

Although, not as much on purpose.

He bought a bargain basement tree so pathetic that when he got home, he realized it wasn't going to work out. So he went out an bought another one, tied them together, and sort of hung the whole thing from the ceiling with fishing line.

"Don't worry," he told my brother and me. "No one will ever be able to tell once its decorated."

We looked at him, looked at those trees, looked at each other. And wondered, in a loud whisper, if Christmas trees were, you know, supposed to be triangle-shaped.

Dad's creation was a strange kind of..uh... polygon.

My mother stood in the doorway, watching the whole thing happen, and I knew from the look on her face that one day she would either kill or divorce my dad.

My father could have used the decorating and creative skills of the Daley Plaza tree people. Or, you know, a bucket of the sense God gave goats.

SantaChooChoo.jpg
The next day, Bear was telling CD about the "stack of trees" over hamburgers our favorite diner when a tropical Santa popped out from behind the bar.

Bear looked at me and shook his head.

"Strange," he whispered in my ear.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's a strange time a year."

Tropical Santa gave Bear a plastic blue lei.

He rolled his eyes.

"Mommy," Bear said. "I gotta tell you. It really is."

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December 02, 2006

Phooey

Jay Leno made a joke about holiday newsletters the other day. Something to the effect “Little Katie is a cheerleader and Little Billie made honor roll and…. Who cares?!” And I remembered why I don’t watch Jay Leno very often (besides the obvious fact that I’m usually in bed by then) – I care.

I read the AP wire, I watch BBC news, I catch up via blogs and email. IÂ’m interested in what goes on in our world, our country, and the lives of the people in our virtual and local community.

I'm interested in you.

I believe that knowledge is valuable in of itself. I believe in the power of directed prayer, and empathy. I believe that evolution comes from understanding. I believe that love in the form of compassion can save humanity - and the planet.

And if that makes me bourgeois, well thereÂ’s something I actually donÂ’t care about.

Rock on, with the holiday newsletters. Rock on with the silly doodles and happy news and the personal notes written in the margins. It's the season of sharing, and don't let dumbass hosts tell you different.

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October 30, 2006

Chuck E's in Love

Walk across the lawn in tight designer jeans. Young butt wiggling, thin hips swaying. Smiling with my eyes, and no idea how much trouble my lips could get me in.

It's dangerous to be 15.

He was my first boyfriend. Curly hair and long hands. Luckily for me, he'd been brung up right. All those hours, alone in his house - his bedroom - and he never let it get very far.

Though, oh, he could kiss.

It was just that his honor roll meant just as much.

I'd try to steal a few, but Guy would wave me back to my books. Tell me to finish my chapter and let him finish his.

I'd steal his highlighter. He'd laugh, and indulge me. I was a wild girlfriend, needy and unsure. He was grounded, and kind.

You look back and realize that there were those intense, lovely moments.

First boyfriends that win stuffed animals at the fair. Hold hands for hours and run out for ice cream on warm autumn nights.

Put away the breaking up. The heartache and the sad songs on the radio.

Remember the carnations bought at high school fundraisers, borrowing his sweater, and counting stars.

"Mommy," Bear asked me last night, stuffy with last of a cold and sick of television and Vick's Vaporub.

"Yeah, Bear?"

"Daddy was your first boyfriend, right?"

"No, but he was my boyfriend, first."

He looks at me as though I am teasing him. Freckles scrunched in thought.

"Was he nice?"

"Who?"

"Your first boyfriend."

"Very nice."

"But not as nice as Daddy," he informs me firmly.

"Well, Bear, he was only 16 or 17 years old."

"Oh," my son nods. "That's REALLY old."

"Well, not a good age to get married," I tell him. "But it was fun."

"Ew," he says.

Our eyes meet, blue to green. We will agree to disagree.

Soon enough, he will know.

Soon enough, it will be gone.

And soon enough, it will be his memories on a warm autumn evening. Old songs on the radio. And a smile in his eyes, that no one else will understand.

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September 11, 2006

DOING MY DUTY

Today is CD's Birthday. It is also our wedding anniversary. And it is, of course, another anniversary. We've struggled in the past couple of years to reconcile all this on one day - with complications resting atop like a thin Al Fredo, seeping in.

But this year, it's been made easy for me.

For the first time in my life, I've been called to Jury Duty. Interestingly, in criminal court.

Somewhat fitting, I think.

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May 25, 2006

Dude, I really don't think it helped your case...

Murder defendant tries to strangle lawyer in court.

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January 19, 2006

Baby Drunk

I am normally asleep hours ago, but the ghostly insomnia that haunts me in times of stress is back again. As I wait for the half an Ambien to kick in, my mind drifts and the television mumbles.

There is a show on Discovery about the Duggar family. I believe this former State Representative and his wife now have 16 children. On the internet, you can find their website - and as many articles as you care to read either condemning this conservative family for having so many children - and bad hairstyles. Or praising them for their neoconservative values and surrender to what they consider to be God's will.

It is clearly demonstrated that the Duggars can afford to take care of their children and parent them closely. The controversy, then, is not can these parents afford or manage all their children. It is simply the number of children themselves that seems to insult so many sensibilities.

But they inflamed mine.

While I don't play the "grass is greener" game, I did watch the Duggar family in a sort of thirsty awe. Such healthy, glowing babies.

What would it be like, to be pregnant so effortlessly? To walk out into the sunshine, large with child? What would it be like, to so simply conceive children?

Mrs. Duggar, holding the newest child in the crook of her arm, looked radiant. Say what you will of her girl-mullet, the joy in her face was louder.

And I wanted to reach out my hand to the screen, so baby drunk in that moment. Wishing I could touch, feel the lightness of the baby in my hands. Feel the new skin, listen to the soft rooting sounds, grin into the curious eyes.

Baby drunk. Baby drunk. And then the tiredness finally sets in.

I push the button. The screen fades to black. Now I will stumble to bed, and pray for happier dreams.

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