What we choose to write

We all have different writing styles. Different things that nag us until we write them down and different ways of expressing them. Some of us only write the things that we wouldn't dare tell another soul and some of us broadcast our rants and adventures over the entire blogosphere.

I have always written in the "a day in the life of..." form. A story of chance meetings and key moments that make up an experience that in some way affects how I feel or think about life. It's how I best express myself.

I have always been attracted to those who can openly write about nothing but their opinions. Who can say, "this is what I think, and this is how it is." Maybe it's a strange fear that for some reason you and I disagreeing will end up in my loss of your acquaintance or maybe it's just because I prefer to always be perfectly balanced in my own mind. It's probably a combination of both - neither of which carry much merit and I will work on remedying the matter.

Regardless, some of you may have noticed that there is only one link on my list of "other blogs worth a peep." If you have not peeped, I beseech you to do so today. You can never know what Aunt B will be talking about on her Tiny Cat Pants, but you always know she will be speaking her mind and eloquently answering any questions (or addressing any comment) raised by her readers.

Today she talks about, among a plethora of other things, hope (it kind of reminds me of the notes you take on the back of an envelope when you go on a plane ride, "Ooh! Don't forget that...and why does this work this way?")

Hope is a crazy thing (though usually not explained like that) and I appreciate B's scatterbrained and painstakingly honest remarks that among other things, remind me that I'm not the only one who can't stay on the same thought for a whole two sentences.

So check out her Renewed Sense of Optimism today, and check into hers as often as you're on the interweb. While you may get an amusing account of the Life of E here, you're sure to gain a mind (and ear) full of good stuff over there, updated at least twice daily.

Bon apetit.


(p.s. - also, please buy a Tiny Cat Pants shirt so B can come drink beer with me at the Flying Saucer...I recommend the avocado green ringer tee...it looks great with jeans and chiffon skirts. I know from experience.)

Adventures in Motherhood

I have a new-found respect for a couple things:

A. Mothers (and fathers with motherlike qualities)
B. Ice packs

These are the only known forces in the world that can solve most any problem.

For those of you who did not notice my sudden exit from existence, I've been babysitting for the past three days. My mission was to take care of a sixth grade girl and her two brothers, third and fourth grades respectively.

Remember a few weeks ago when I had my first babysitting experience ever? Well, apparantly news travels fast when your kid likes the sitter, and I went into my three day stay with little more qualification than George W. Bush had when he became President of the United States of America.

I am happy to report, the children are still alive, we came in under budget for eating expenses and besides one close call of the youngest getting up five minutes before the bus came, there were relatively few skirmishes and peace was maintainted between sitter and sitees.

Moral of the story, vote for me in 2008.

The true lesson learned, vote for a mom.

The past couple days have been a complete zoo at work. We all know my absolute need for down time to decompress so I don't grind my teeth to nubs, yet that time was non-existent. It was straight home to a pick-up football game or flirting with the sixth grade girls.

Being around youth is exhausting. Every minute it's something different: How should I respond when they let a dirty word slip? Is it fair that the little brother beats up on his big brother constantly, but when the bigger one finally fights back the little one cries? Is it ok to let the girls make a call to their "boyfriend?" The answers to all of these questions is: Compromise.

If I took any pride in the past few days it would be from grilling out a tasty hot dog meal (charcoal grill, no less) and solving most every problem with compromise.

"Hey, hotstuff, are you going to clean your pop tart mess up for me."
"I don't want to."
"So no playstation tonight?"
"I'll get the dustpan."

---

"We really want to watch the end of this movie." (Secret, I really did too, and didn't feel right not letting them see the emotional ending.)
"It ends past your bedtime."
(and the classic...) "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease."
(enter de ja vu)
"Alright, but you have to promise me you'll get up when I ask you to in the morning, no complaints."
"OK!"
(note: the next morning is when youngest brother refused to get up...sigh.)

---

"Can I watch TV in my room until bedtime?"
"Absolutely."
(E enters bedroom, bedtime - TV still on)
"Off, sweetheart."
"But I can't sleep without it."
"Well, I'm across the hall and can't sleep with it. I guarantee I'm grouchier than you in the morning without sleep."
"But..."
"...sorry, lady; no buts."

Oh yeah!!!!!! I've always wanted to do that!!!!

---

Regardless, to all you moms out there that deep down I've been secretly mean towards in my mind when you leave work early (or come in late:) Kudos to you. Being a working mom is a bitch - but a rewarding one at that.

Last night, the youngest wanted to read with me and the oldest boy wanted me to help him with his homework. We all ate dinner together and they hung on my every silly story and perspective. For some reason, my explanations made sense, and they wanted their friends to meet me. I was cool and "cute" (says the eldest sister.) And while only the real Mom can cure all the blues, we got through a few minor bumps and bruises with ice packs and one-liner jokes.

It was a rewarding experience and thankfully a paying gig. While I would happily do it again, I won't admit that for at least two weeks...

I am stoked to go home to my Mumbles tonight and worry about such commonplace things as, "should I take a shower tonight or on Saturday?" I am glad to have my ability to take off at a moment's notice back, and I am thrilled to not worry about dropping the f-bomb in front of virgin ears.

I am in awe of moms and dads and realize I am no where near ready to be one or marry one. I am equally thankful that I had such a great pair growing up.

And most importantly, I'm excited I've finally been able to use some of their old and "unfair" lines on some other helpless child...

Mwa ha ha!

How I waste my time and money

Have you ever heard of "rain rot" before? For the 7/8 of you that haven't, it's a fungus - a nasty one at that. Basically it rots a horse's hair right off of its back. To cure the fungus you basically have to skin the horse and remove all the "rotting" hair to let the new hair grown in. It usually affects the entire hindquarters of a horse, and if any of you have ever met Lad, you know that is a pretty considerable area. So yesterday, I went out to the farm and stuffed my fingernails with fungus. As you can imagine, it doesn't feel so good to have rotting hair yanked off of your back, so you have to go very slowly and be as careful as possible while picking the skin off.

Lad was such a good sport. We stood in the shade of the washrack with the first of the fall leaves floating down on us occasionally. He had himself backed into a corner to brace his weight every time he shuddered from my picking and between dousings in Ivory dish soap and humming a few verses of Beatles tunes, that's how I passed a few hours of my afternoon.

I'm always complaining about how stressed for time I am, and I admit, there were a couple moments where I thought, "this is such a tedious process, there's got to be a faster way." But no, there is one way to peel the skin off of the horse you love and that is very....slowly.

There was a great addition to our afternoon though. Heather, five weeks out from her precious little Trey being born, took her inaugural ride with me. Both of us were as loose in the saddle as you might ever want to be, but does that really matter when you're off on a trail ride? We took Lad and Jack down to the Duck River and let them play and paw as we laughed like we always do. It was all the old antics, sling shotting branches back and working together to open and shut gates so neither of us would have to get off.

The apparent "black hole" in my budget doesn't seem so black anymore. I wish he were closer and I wish gas were $2 cheaper. I wish I would sometimes relax and realize that the best way to spend my precious time is picking the fungus off my largest friend's back.