Me Meme

This is cool.  Blogging is all about what you say you are.  Few visual cues.  Oh maybe you can know something by the font they chose, the background.  But we never get to see any writing.  Hand writing, that is.  (Does anyone ever write anymore?)  What does it say about you?  What does it reveal?  We architects spent hours practicing our writing..."lettering."  In fact, we might even get hired or not based on our lettering.

The Rules
Write the following:
1) Your name/blog name.
2) Right-handed, left-handed, or ambidextrous?
3) Favorite letters to write.
4) Least favorite letters to write.
5) Write “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.”
6) Write the following words in capital letters:
7) Write your favorite song lyric.
8) Tag people!
9) Any special note or picture.



I have a pretty strong conviction about healthy, creative toys. I have an aversion to what I call "performance" toys: battery operated toys that "perform" for the child erstwhile sending this mom into histrionics.

I also had a pretty strong conviction toward not spoiling my child with material goods. Had. Ahem. It's just that I'm an avid thrift shopper and I see great deals for great toys and so somehow, somehow he has accumulated about octrilllion toys. This might be my eighth reveal:

My little boy, soon turning 8.  Eight.  Huit ans.  Yuddul-sal.

I've been thinking it's time for him to move on to more challenging toys.  I found two great games:  Blokus and Exago to teach strategy, foundational for chess sometime in the future.

HH has been away on a business trip and Boo has been taking it pretty hard.  Weeping and gnashing of teeth. So we took a trip to Target to supply ourselves with a bunch of diversions to occupy ourselves during the dreary, rainy days of dadlessness. And there, on the top shelf, under the angel choir, lit by holy light descending from the heavens was:


Hallelujah and Amen.




I'm It.  Incognito Mom, who became a little less so, has dared me to reveal 7 things about myself that I haven't before.  I'm supposed to tag others but I'm not gonna play.  Because I have this rebellious streak.

1.  I have this rebellious streak.  I know, I'm this conservative Christian, and you might think I'm all into institutionalized everything, but I'm not.  I hate being told what to do.  Unless you have the right to.  Like you're my boss.  Or you're God.

2.   I used to be a cheerleader.  OK, it was in 9th grade but I was the captain, y'know.  It was the hardest thing I'd done.  I was totally incompetent to lead a group of 15-year old girls.  But then, who is?

3.  I'm an introvert.  Reading me on this blog, you might not be too surprised, but if you met me in person, you would be. I'm loud and straightforward and pretty much not scared of anyone.

4.  I think I look better than I do.  I realized awhile ago that I never seemed happy with how I looked, that I was always criticizing this or that about my body.   When I was 24 and a size 4.  When I was 26 and a size 6.  When I was 38 and a size 8.  So, I reasoned, why not like where I am now?  Did I know at 30 that I'd go up a size at 40?  Do I know now what I'll be next year?  I just try to look my best and enjoy it.

5.  I didn't like my husband on our first date.  Let this be a lesson to any of you who aren't married yet!  I was terribly underwhelmed on our first date.  Oh, he was pleasant and all.  It was a friend who convinced me that if it wasn't a bad date, to give the relationship a chance.  I think God sent me that friend just so she could tell me that.  Because you all know I think HH is the best thing since...well, the best thing.

6.  I was a total slacker goof ball in school.  From the beginning of time up until grad school, I did only enough to get good grades.  It's a wonder my parents didn't beat me up.

7.  I am a genius.  BWAhahahahaha!!  That was for AmyA.



My oven is broked. I don't bake much at all, and anything else I've been using an electric griddle. So. My husband's birthday was yesterday. I remember 5 days ago that maybe I should bake him a cake. Cuz, you know, it's only the big decade. Maybe I could break open a 2 dollar cardboard box and throw it in the oven to show how much I love him. But I've been an ingredient reader for a long time and aside from not being able to get a whole baked anything to come out of my oven, my love for my family precludes me from buying many of the items that we Americans call "food."

I did the next best thing I could do given my circumstances. I bought a locally baked angel food cake, organic strawberries, blueberries and raspberries. A carton of heavy cream. I whipped up the whipped cream, blended up some berries, cut the cake in half, stuffed it with cream and berries, poured some on top and...VIOLA!  I mean VOILA!!

My boys were thoroughly impressed.

After my boys' favorite meal of "roll you own" California roll:

Happy Birthday to my Main Man, my Handsome Husband, my Heaven-sent.  You are the strongest man I know.

* His age, in Korean.  ;-)



Yu Na Kim, of Korea, 19 years old, earns about $10m a year in endorsements, wins the Olympic Gold medal for Women's Figure Skating, the first time for Korea.  She roundly wins, with a world record score.  Here is the short program she skated (I can't post the Olympics version due to copyrighting.)

 Here is Mao Asada of Japan, also 19 years old.  Despite 3 triple axels, she couldn't get near Queen Yu Na.  She is roundly defeated.

It's hard to express to anyone that has not suffered humiliation and murderousness at the hands of enemy aggressors, the small, but deep and profound satisfaction at seeing this, our flag over that of Japan:



I looked up at her, hoping.

She is a young woman, still wearing the plumpness of two pregnancies.  A pretty face, cheerful.  Sharp eyes.  Like she'd actually remember the things I have to say, that she would think they mattered.

She says she loves her Asperger kids the best.  Twelve years in social work, seeing mostly  Spectrum kids.  And today, she sat in my living room, having played for an hour with my son.

My son, who laughs too loud, jumps too much, whose middle name could be Fidget.  My son, who feels the world too hard, the hand dryers blowing a tunnel through his head, the vacuum a monster seeking to blast him away.  My son, whose world is too loud, too bright.  My son, whose fingers are on fire, legs filled with tops, insides swirling to explosion.

She, this young woman, MSW in tow, is the next step for my son.  Holding, sleeping, attachment parenting, therapy, speech, neuro.  The next step: for this woman to see him, get him.  I want her to see his sparkle in the spectrum. 

I looked up at her, "Please, love my child."

Please, don't be disappointed in him, the way I am, every day.




It's not that I think he's a Picasso or anything, but the perspective thing seems a bit advanced.  Funny how things work out...this kid with none of my DNA.


Block Party

I just wanted to tell you that I have so much going on in my life, so many thoughts, so many concerns, that I have not been able to sit to write things down.  This is not bloggers' block.  It's a life block.

I'll be back.