little happy

death warmed over

I'm thinking flu. That's the only kind of sick that makes me feel as if Craig took to me with a tire iron in the night. The only one that warns I've got frostbite on my toes and arms and thighs while steam rises around my head and has me convinced that dying would feel better. I'm on day two and just walking from the bed to the kitchen requires me to sit along the way.

Not that there's a lot of getting in the bed--Craig's a day behind me on the flu front, and once the men decide that they're ill, no one can possibly feel worse. Being the mommy sucks. So the man's in bed and the boy is at school (his bout of flu was Sunday night) and The Bee is catching up on his Curious George and Little Einsteins. They just took Gramma Rocket some rocket soup so she could feel better, and now I'm really craving rocket soup--but I'd have to go the kitchen to make some, and it's all the way over there.

I'm starting to wonder if I'm at the point where I might be able to get better by sheer force of will--if I act like I'm fine, I'll probably be fine. Especially considering that we've got a little four-year-old birthday tomorrow. I'd resolved to make it special, as we will be without any gramma's this year, but my head is all cloudy and I can barely make it to the kitchen, much less the balloon store.

So, I just need to get up and move. And some sleep might help. And some rocket soup. And some cookies. Maybe just the cookies. Just as soon as I get up. Which I am totally going to do. Really soon.

daily reminder (no.4)

I have to remind myself of this sentiment several times a day--trying to sift out what it is that I truly want or need from what I think is expected of me or what I have always done and what other's might think of what I will choose. What do I really want? What limits are standing in my way? And how many of those limits are self imposed?

Trying to change the way I look at my lovely little world takes thought and effort. But it can be so freeing--smells like spring cleaning in my head.

placing blame

I've wanted to blog. Oh, I have. I've had such good intentions. I was going to blog every day in December, so rich was the never-ending content of my life over the holidays. I had high hopes of getting celebration posts and charity posts and Christmas posts and resolution posts and cute-little-things-my-kids-are-saying posts all here before the new year rang in. And here were are, ten eleven days into twenty-twelve and I've got squat.

I'm blaming this guy.

My loverly grandfather, Hubert. He was a looker, yes? The tie kills me. I do wish, though, that he'd passed down to me a tad more of that height of his. And some of that blonde, curly hair. Unless the curl is what cause it not to last, as he was entirely without hair by the time I came along, in which case I'm fine with the straight brown.

In addition to his good looks, Grampa was also a chemist and all I remember about his work was going with him to the lab and playing with mercury (before it was determined poisonous) and huge sets of magnets. Which is maybe more than a little coincidental, as my grandfather also possessed a certain type of personal magnetism all his own--a literal magnetic charge in his body, that would mess up the inner-workings of gadgetry. Among other anecdotal stories, we understood that he had to wear a special watch, or a barrier between himself and a regular watch, so as not to send it haywire.

It was odd, to be sure. Maybe it was all that messing around in the lab, which could make sense except for the genetic component, in that he did not forget to pass along that magnetism to his progeny. My sister has long held the same charge; she could stop a watch dead by touching it and so wears any timepiece on a chain around her neck, outside her shirt.

From time to time, I've noticed similar issues. I've stopped a watch or two in my own time, not to mention the chemical erosion that happens to all metal (watchbands, bracelets, necklaces) that touches my skin. My current model is a Citizen Eco-Drive made of a titanium-adamantium alloy--an X-Men standard issue and, so far, holding up just fine. My iphone used to go give me grief--shutting down mid-phone call, sending driving maps swirling and such--until I invested in a Speck guard, originally to protect it from butterfinger-ed children, though it does double duty protecting it from magnetic-fingered me.

The real issue is this: I kill computers. I've always struggled with desktops, enjoying more than my fair share of shutdowns and re-formats and crashes. Then, a year ago, Craig bought me a laptop, and all hell broke lose. I routinely produce The Blue Screen of Death and my operating system remains about as stable as my 12-year-old Labrador on ice skates. That first laptop served wobbly for nearly six months. Number two was just holding on through the holidays and gave up the ghost just after Christmas. I'm on number three. (Two blue screens in the first two days, but we've made a pact--I'll not use it on my lap and it will try not to conduct that positive charge in my hands.)

So . . . I blame Grampa.

I have many pictures/stories/memories from the month of December to share and more on a daily basis that need to be recorded for my descendants (my granddaughter who will inevitably complain about how Gramma Kari's magnetism is ruining her implanted nano-probes or something . . . oh, wait--adoption! My magnetism dies with me!) I've got to upload and re-install and figure out why typepad* is being so twitchy and clean the house and make dinner and get some sleep and . . . I'll be back.

*Edited: Apparently Typepad and Explorer don't get along. Typepad says it's Explorer's fault. I know there are two sides to every story, but Typepad holds mine in it's servers so I'm willing to go along with their finger-pointing. Either way, Firefox and Typepad are buddies. The three of us make a good team. Separated by a magnetic fluke**, reunited again by one quicky quick download.

**Post Edit Edit: Ha! Did I mention that Gramma called Grampa "Fluke," because she totally did. As in, "Hey, Fluke--bring me some tomatoes in from the garden." Adorable. It was a short of their last name--I shant get into that long Swiss spelling/translation just now--but look at that . . . "separated by a magnetic fluke?" My Grandfather, Magnetic Fluke. A working title for his bio perhaps? And I wasn't even trying--the clever just exudes from me. I may have been away too long.

thanksgiving 2011, as seen through the iphone

Thanks for the great holiday, AZ people--you always know how to get this holiday party season started off right.

daily reminder (no.3)

Still relishing in our newly re-kindled fires. Arizona and the college roommates who call it home are always exactly what my sputtering spirit needs to slow down and get my holiday on. Ever so grateful for them.

stupid running. oh, how i wish i could quit you.

When my eyes batted open this morning and saw light, I knew that I had to go running. It has been a while--longer than it should have been. But I knew I needed it. Wanted it. To clear the brain. To boost the energy. And to justify the cookies on the kitchen counter. So I laced up and headed out the door, with biker Jack trailing behind (and ahead and behind and ahead and in circles around me) for a morning adventure.

About a mile in, my legs turned to jello. And I said, questioning, "hey, legs--wass up?" And they groaned. And I said, genuinely, "you both remember how we used to do this. we're runners." And they rolled their eyes and said they thought it was a phase. And I said confidently, looking to the sky, "not a phase. the break you've experienced due to excessive excuses based on trips and snow and laziness--that was a phase. this running thing is what we do." And they said, "meh." And I said, earnestly, "no really, i'd like to stop--i would. but we all know it's for the best. we're going to feel so much better today. and look at that sky--nothing beats morning sky." And they ignored me, turning instead to petition my pulmonary system to join the revolt--not a hard sell, as the lungs were already preparing their own violent protest.

And then I ran a few more miles on jello legs and gasps and wild heart palpitations--all the while holding out Pepperidge Farm cracker sandwiches for Jack to race by and grab from my hands--before finally wobbling home and crawling onto the floor.

And then I died.

thankful

This is our Thankful Tree.

Some branches from the hollow + dozens and dozens of punched circles just waiting for a written blessing and spot on the tree.

We spent an evening writing up a bunch, but I've found that Jack adds to it almost every day.

"The sky"

"My dad"

"doctors in the Philippines" Craig's been over there working with a charity.

"Love!" Exclamation!

"and God" as in all those other things AND God, he explained.

"My good days"

That's my favorite. I'm grateful for those, too. And, as luck would have it, there's even more of them when you're grateful for the ones you have.

halloweening

The Stealthy Ninja. This was supposed to be a mummy, but after many, many attempts to get that work and failing (stretchier fabric, next time) he happily suggested pulling from the old costume bin.

Love that he is so easy going and willing to roll with the punches.

The Super Monkey. This one decided on an old favorite, too--a Old Navy version of Curious George. And then heading to pre-school that morning switched to the old cape he found in the costume bin, instead. He was a superhero and that was that. He didn't want a mask or a crest--just the super cape. But when the evening turned cold, he opted for the puffy-warmth of monkey. AND the cape. A whole new option, indeed.

Love (sometimes) how this one is entirely certain of exactly what he wants--even if he can change his mind faster than a speeding bullet and be entirely certain of that, too.

Love watching The Bee follow the big kids and declare "Trick-O-Treat" with such gusto. He SO had it figured out this year.

Love how Jack took off for a while with the big kids and hit a few more streets, while moms stayed behind with the slower kidlets. Love that iphones and this neighborhood make that an okay option.

Love that Ian and his big brownie eyes pulled in more treats than Jack, in fewer houses.

Love hauling a just-for-me hot chocolate along for the ride.

Love giving in to the holiday, for maybe the first time in my adult life. Enjoying the crafts, the treats, and me in a costume involving ten yards of tulle.

Love that our neighborhood gets totally into the holidays--so many fun houses, so few lights-off grinchy ones, so many kids out and about.

Love that this neck of the woods is finally starting to feel like home.

slowing down

October has been a blur. It started off fast and then picked up speed. A trip here, a road trip there, one more in the back. A new calling, a new project, a new commitment at the school. Meetings, meetings. Holidays that seemed far enough away to be manageable have roosted on my front door and brought chilly-weather reminders that they are here and I should pull out my boots. And then there are these two babies that I love and the power it takes to keep them at the top of the pile when new things have a tendency of landing on their heads is palpable.

A few weeks ago, at yet another rushed event, a calm and collected friend mentioned that the canyon was in full color. No, I countered, citing the calendar date--it must be past prime. I was already certain that I'd missed it and mourned the missing weeks before. She assured me she'd seen it just yesterday and it was entirely perfect.

We headed up the canyon the next afternoon for a drive around the loop and she was ever so right. The maples were on the decline, but the oft-overlooked aspen were taking their turn. As we slipped around corners, new views came into sight, and the kidlets oohed and aahed from the backseat, I could feel my breathing slow. We rolled down the windows and put our arms out to catch the wind. I rested my head on the door, my face to the breeze and closed my eyes. And when I opened them and caught Craig's, I read in his mind the same thought from my own: must slow down.

It's not always possible to drop things and sit at home by the fire and read, though I have done exactly that a few times this past week, when it felt right. The less-is-enough approach to calendaringis great, when you can swing it. Thankfully, there's peace to be found in slowing myself during the race--taking note of the landscape, counting those blessings quickly as necessary, making time to think and plan and pray about what is most important and finding the strength to put it first. I can't make everything around me stop, but I can pace myself.

These last few months of the year are the busiest I remember having. And yet, I'm enjoying them. Fast and furious, yes. Difficult to keep perspective, yes. Hard to let some things just go, yes. But I'm enchanted by the rhythm and flow of the day to day as I focus and let it unfold. How some things get done and other things don't. Trying hard to keep perspective, constantly checking myself--where I'm at and where I should be, body and mind and heart. Letting the best things rise to the top and letting the fluff fall to the murky bottom. Knowing it can all change with one stir of the pot, learning to feel that out and make the right choices for me.

I'd always thought it was the other way around--that speed took all the effort. But for now I'm hard at work slowing down long enough to take it all in. Because it really is a very nice ride.

and i'm a mormon.

This is the other thing Brandon and I share. "There's still a fire burning in there."

The first is our music, of course. His and mine. He sings it and I crank it up on the ipod when I run. We make a great team.