Gee Whiz

Boo and HH are drawing together. Boo has his fire station named: "G FIRE CO."

Dad: What's the "G Fire Co?"
Boo: Dad, this is the "HOLLIDAYSBURG FIRE CO." but I only drew the corner of the building.

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So. What I Wore.

Did you catch that I went to a party Saturday night? It was a picnic outdoors in our home town. I wanted to look all cute and cool and not hometown-ish.

There aren't any pictures of me. This is the best I can do. I wore the new white denim walking shorts (from Salvation Army,) the new brown espadrille sandals and added a brown top from last year. I accented the outfit with green: Chico's glass bead necklace and DKNY purse:
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Cute, huh?? ;-)

I've Been Shopping

It seems I go in stages. One day, I will notice that my clothes look dated and my shoes look pathetic. I'm not one to follow fashion too much any more. I did that in my 20's. And 30's. Now? at 49? It's just not worth the fuss or the money. But I don't want to be one of those people who look exactly the same for 25 years. You know what I mean - the too-bright lipstick, the blotchy blush, the permed hair and shoulder pads.

I was at another one of my stages when I realized many of my basics had been basic'd to death and needed to be buried. So many of my shorts seemed too short. All my tees were too tight. My shoes were surely shabby. (Oh OK, I'll stop!) It was handy then, that for Mother's Day, I got a gift certificate to a plaza that has a Talbot's, Chico's, Ann Taylor Loft and NY & Co.

Oh, but wait.

Of course it's summer. That means Boo is home. And it would be more bother to hear "Mom, I'm ready to go. Mom, mom, I'm ready to go. Are you almost done?" a bazillion times than even shopping is worth. I had just enough time the other day to drive over and have an hour or so TO MYSELF. I shopped fast and furious. From Talbot's, I got 2 t-shirts in sun yellow and black:

The deep V is more flattering for my, umm, thicker figure than the scoop necks I used to look good in. I also got a pair of black chino walking shorts good for a night in the burbs or a day in the city:
And these! I'd been ogling these for months! They are comfy and adorable! And guess what? Blackbelt strikes again. All the sale items were an additional 25% off that day!! Yeah!!

This past weekend, I got a chance to sneak to Macy's and get some walking shorts for kickin' around town. I got white denim and dark denim. Perfect. Calvin Kleins. On the way home, I thought I'd swing by the Salvation Army because I needed a cheap, large serving bowl for the party I was going to that night. I didn't find a bowl, but I found a white denim pair of walking shorts for $3.99. You can bet the Calvin Klein pair weren't $3.99.

I guess I'll have to go back to Macy's to return them . . .

. . . and if you take a mom to Macy's . . .

My Heart My Nest

Whenever I get in a conversation about the difficulty of moving or in-laws who visit for too long, I inevitably inject the theory of the "nesting instinct." We've all heard about women having this need to set-up "house." Like a robin and her beakies. Don't think that I mean every female has a basic instinct for Corelle and chintz valances, all the while holding a babe on each hip. I do get the sense however, no matter what kind of woman you are, there tends to be a special protective sense about your domain, in a different way than men. The adventures of moving can wreak havoc on a woman and visiting in-laws disrupting the routine can make a woman lose her mind. Add children and you're in for some Shakespearian fury.

For me, as a stay-at-homer, our home is my domain, my protectorate. . . my nest. I happen to like stainless steel and abhor chintz, but I define for our family what is "home." I always pictured myself as the robin with Boo, my beakie, raising him for the day he will fly off alone. My nest, my realm of responsibility, goes beyond my house proper, and involves everything to keep Boo healthy, happy, safe and successful which has not been typical, natural or normal. And for me, momming has been harder than for some. Now that Boo's 7, at the cusp of boyhood, emotionally healed, it's only recently I've been able to look up to get a better, focused look around my nest.

And I wondered, where is the daddy robin? Is he just flying back and forth, merely bringing home the berries?

What have I been doing to keep my HH healthy, happy, safe and successful? What have I been doing to make the nest sweeter and softer for him? The answer I came up with: not enough. I tuck my yellow bill under my wing in shame. I have been doing the bare minimum to keep the house running for him, but not much more. Since then, I've made a point to do the following:

• stop and smile when he comes home from work
• wait to tell him of my day's trials
• have his laundry ready
• rub his shoulders more
• massage his forehead more
• pull myself off this dang computer to sit and read in bed with him more
  

It's not a lot, in one sense. It's not that I've merely made more room in my nest, but I have made more room in my heart: sweeter and softer for him.

How about you? Have you been nurturing your husband with the care you nurture your child(ren)?

Down the Shore, 2009

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For You, Amy

Seen at the Shore:

No Lie.

This probably requires a little explanation. I have a dear friend, Amy, who lives in a part of this country known for healthy living: organic cotton, ugly slip-on shoes and hybrids. And yet. And yet. All her favorite foods are orange. Not as in tangerines and magos, but Cheetos and Velveeta. So, when I see other healthy foods, my thoughts naturally go to dear Amy. I hear they're coming out with orange filling for the Oreos.

Hi Tech

You know I've been "down the Shore." That's Pennsylvanianese for the Atlantic coast of New Jersey.

You know everyone's got either an iPhone or a Crackberry or a fancy slide-em-out-so-you-can-text phones.

You know to keep em in a zipper plastic bag at the Shore. And talk holding the baggie to your head.

I just think it's funny is all.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Girls are loved; boys are respected.

Girls are hugged and spoiled and protected, but not respected. Even when we are grown women - umm, female human adults, people insist on calling us "girls." But love without respect is no love at all.

Boys aren't hugged enough and forced not to cry, but they are told they can rule the world. Even as a boy, they are called "young man." Respect without respect for who that person really is, is no respect at all.

I'm just sayin'.

What MY Little Boy is Made Of

Click on pick for full effect.

Who Told Him?

I signed Boo up for a social skills group run by a Masters-level psychologist with training in Applied Behavior Analysis for children with disabilities. I told Boo at dinner that there would be four boys; three boys plus him.

"Four boys? No girls?" he asked.

"That's right, just four boys."

"Good. It'll be quiet."

I laughed so hard the soup almost came out my nose.

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