Shut the door, Baby.

Seven years ago today, M and I decided that "just being friends" wasn't really something we were interested in, and made the critical leap to actual coupledom, rather than just two people flirting with the idea of dating.

As soon as I met M, something in me recognized something in him. I can't explain it. I won't even do it the injustice of trying, because all the phrases sound so...overused. Was it love at first sight? No. I don't think so. I didn't love him the minute I laid eyes on him. I didn't even lust after him the first time I laid eyes on him. What I did do was decide almost instantly that this was a man I wanted to know better. Much better. And I had a hunch that once I did that, I'd never want to be with anyone else.

Love came fast, and love came hard. Within a month I knew I wanted to marry him. The tricky part was convincing him that he wanted to marry me. ;)

So here's to the man who makes my toes curl (in a good way) when he kisses me; who gets up with Linnea in the middle of the night and the wee smas so that I can sleep; who kills bugs and fixes clogged drains; who helped me with any and all manner of personal hygene when I was too pregnant to do it myself; who can tell by a look when my world is all off-kilter and who can make it right again just by putting his hand on the small of my back; who lets me see him at his weakest and most vulnerable; who tells me I'm a goddess; who cried when our daughter was born; who isn't afraid to tell me when I'm out of line; who loves me for and in spite of who I am; who spoke his wedding vows so loudly, clearly, and emphatically that I knew without any shadow of any doubt that we were doing the right thing:

I love you.

Who knew she could be so opinionated?

Last weekend (while in Wisconsin) we stopped at Walmart to check out Halloween costumes. Being as Minneapolis is Target headquarters, it's difficult to find a Walmart in the Twin Cities. Normally: this doesn't bother me. But Target's Halloween costumes are sort of spendy, and my MIL told me that Walmart had cheap ones. So as we were headed north in Menomenie and saw the Walmart, we stopped.

I had envisioned Linnea being some sort of a fairy for Halloween. She's so tiny, and she's got these big blue eyes and hair that makes whispy curls in the back...it seemed like some sort of pixie-fairy would be perfect. Plus, she's so totally girly that I figured she would enjoy it.

So, we're in the "Halloween Village" at Walmart and they had an impressive selection of fairy costumes. Must be trendy this year. They had peacock fairies, lady bug fairies, rose fairies, water fairies, dahlia fairies, Barbie fairies--a lot. All of them were Linnea's size, which was cool because (once again) she's pretty small. At 21-months she's still wearing 12-month clothes.

I had supposed that picking out this year's Halloween costume would go like picking out last year's Halloween costume went: Mama saw it, thought it would be cute, put it in the cart and voila: Linnea is Tigger for Halloween. But no. I was looking at the Rose Fairy costume (Linnea looking so smashing in pink and all). I held it up, "Do you like this?" "No." "Are you sure? You really don't like it? Look how pretty it is." "No." "You don't want to be a rose fairy for Halloween?" "NOOOOO." "Well. What do you want to be then?" (Points) "Dat."

She wants the water fairy costume. It's not much. Certainly not as cute as the rose fairy or even the peacock fairy. Since the rose costume was rejected so enthusiastically, I held up the peacock fairy dress, "This one?" (Acting like I was confused about which one she wanted.) "No. Dat one." (Pointing once again.) We had more conversations along these lines, with M standing behind us rolling his eyes and saying, "How about a ghost? You want to be a ghost, Nea? Daddy thinks you should be a ghost." and both Nea and Mama turning to him and saying, "No."

To make an embarassingly long story short: Linnea is going to be a water fairy for Halloween. She has chosen to accent her costume with a lovely set of beads that look like bubbles. I should have thought back to all the times my mother tried to get me to wear something she wanted me to wear, that I thought looked stupid. She didn't win, either.

We're taking our water fairy to the zoo for trick or treating. It will combine aspects of all her favorite activities--animals, outside, dressing up. It will introduce her to an activity sure to become a favorite--hitting up strangers for candy. Sounds like a good time to me.

So, tell me if this is a dumbass gift

My MIL used to use this shampoo that she ADORED. But now, she can't find it anywhere.

Just today, I was in Walgreen's and they had a ton of it--and it looked like regular stock. It wasn't some special promotion or clearance item.

We're a little cash-short right now, but MIL's birthday is on 10/6. Would it be hokey of me to buy her a couple of bottles of the shampoo she loves so much and has mentioned to me (several times) about how upset she is that she can't find it anymore? It would be in our price range, but I worry that it would be like, "Happy Birthday! We got you shampoo!" as if we went through our house and said, "Quick! What can we take of ours to send to her for her birthday?!"

So? What do you think? She's also getting a piece of Nea's original art in a frame, but I figure that isn't hokey for a grandma. It's schmoopy.

Because I am a lemming

I'm stealing this from Cyn. Again.

I'm sort of in this creative dry-spell. I get blog topics dancing at the edges of my mind, and they are always almost immediately frightened away by the toddler that's wrapped herself around my knees while screaming, "A clue! A clue! Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" as though if I don't stop whatever it is I'm doing right that instant and turn on 'Blues Clues' the earth will slip off its axis and take out the entire solar system before colliding with the sun in what Roscoe P. Coltrane would call "a horrendous crash". Never, ever in my wildest imaginings of motherhood did I envision myself pleading with my stubborn, tow-headed replica, "PLEASE, Baby. Can we watch 'Barney'? Look! Look how much fun Barney is! Do you like the song? Here, Baby--let's you and Mama sing the song!" Yes. I am a card-carrying member of Gen X, and yes: reality does bite.

So, anyway. Books I'm reading--just finished a reread of Gaiman's "American Gods". I highly recommend this book if you haven't read it yet. And as a special treat, M brought home Gaiman's new book "Anansi Boys" because I am (in his words) a "domestic goddess". He probably said that because I managed to brush my teeth today.

And now, a meme.

Act your age?
I don't know. Sometimes I think I act way older than my age. Other times I think I act less. But ultimately, it's not really anything that I worry too much about.

Born on what day of the week?
Thursday, which according to Mother Goose means I have far to go. Great. I'm already tired, though.

Chore you hate?
Let's see. I'm really not a fan of putting clean stuff away...dishes, clothes. I don't know why, but I'd 100 times over rather wash dirty dishes and do laundry than take care of the stuff once it's all nice and clean.

Dad’s name?
Tim

Essential makeup item?
Mascara and concealer for the bags under my eyes.

Favorite actor?
Like for acting ability? I gotta go with Tom Hanks.

Why?
I've liked him ever since I was a kid and I'd watch him on "Bosom Buddies". That was my favorite show.

Hometown?
I don't really have one. We moved around a lot when I was a kid. I suppose the city we lived the longest amount of time in was Kennewick, WA. The town where I did the most growing up though, would be Spokane, WA.

Instruments you play?
Violin. Although 'play' isn't quite right. I played the violin 15 years ago. Now, it just takes up space in our storage unit, but I refuse to get rid of it.

Job title?
I'm the artist formerly known as Pastor Beege. Now, I answer primarily to "mama".

Kids?
My sweetie petitee, Nea. Who is going through a phase that leads me to believe she's channeling some sullen 13-year-old from the beyond.

Living arrangements?
In a small, 2-bedroom apartment that we love. Who knew that a 2-bedroom apartment in student housing could be the Happiest Place on Earth? But: there you go.

Mom’s name?
Corinne

Need?
Health insurance. And a job. But mostly health insurance so I can have another baby. No. Wait. A job WITH health insurance. If you have a spare one, please: send it my way.

Overnight hospital stays?
One night, January 30th, 2004, after giving birth to my MiniMe.

Phobias?
Oo. Spiders. *shiver*

Quote you like?
"Today was a waste of a manicure and a master's degree."

Religious affiliation?
Let's hear it for the Lutherans!!!! L-U-T-H-E-R-A-N! What's that spell? LUTHERAN! What's that mean? Most of us have no clue!

Siblings?
Two brothers. Both younger.

Time you wake up?
Whatever time it is, it's always too early.

Unique talent?
Um, I can inhale so powerfully that my nostrils slam shut and it makes me look like a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Worst habit?
Ahhh...too many to list, and far too many for there to be a 'worst'.

X-rays you’ve had?
Dental x-rays, and once when I was like four years old my brother jumped on my leg when we were camping so my mom and her best friend took me into the emergency room in Billings, Montana because I kept telling them my leg was broken. It wasn't.

Yummy food you make?
I really don't know. I bake a good chicken, but that's not tough. Oo! I know! I make killer gravy. I didn't know how to make it when we got married, so M showed me, and now mine is better than his. There's something sort of 'StarWars' about that. Maybe.

Zodiac Sign?
Pisces.

And now, because the "G" question has been lost somewhere in cyberspace--is there a "G" question anyone is dying to have me answer? I tried to think up some smart, witty question but couldn't come up with anything. See if you can do better.

Ah...WisCAHnsin

Yesterday we drove over to Wisconsin to visit a friend of ours--he was our bestman and is Linnea's godfather (heh. I accidentally mistyped 'godfarter' which would also be an accurate asseesment). He just got married in June, and so we went over to see the wedding video and pictures.

Sweet fancy Moses! The wedding video was so freaking boring!!!! Even though it was one of our best friends as the groom, another one of our best friends as the pastor presiding over the wedding, and scads of other dear friends popping up in various different places and functions...it was boring. Boring, boring, boring. I tried to smile politely through it all, but inwardly was thanking God that Linnea was running around trying to "coloring" on their hardwood floors. And THEN: I thought of all the people I inflicted OUR wedding video on. And our wedding video? It's no short thing. The service in and of itself was an hour. Then the videographer took video of pictures. And the reception. And then he set up in a little room so people could come in and give us personal messages of love and support and good wishes. Our wedding video rivals "Gone With the Wind" in length...I kid you not.

So, if you're one of the unfortunates that I inflicted this video upon: I'm sorry. I didn't know. I was a bride. I thought everyone was as fascinated by the event as I was. But you weren't. I understand that, now. Please accept my heartfelt apologies.

Silence is Golden

Just haven't had much to say, lately. Not a lot going on in tiny principality of Beegeland.

We had terrible, scary severe weather Wednesday night. Homes were destroyed. Thousands of people without power. It had been HOT that day, and so we had all the windows open. All of the sudden there was a roar like a freight train and books, magazines, and DVD cases started blowing around our living room...sirens were going off...it was scary.

I'm terrible about severe weather though. When it's bad, I don't want to leave my television. We were under a tornado warning, and were told repeatedly to go to shelter, but I just didn't want to leave my television security blanket, with handsome Ken Barlow telling me what was going on, so I'd know precisely when I could stop freaking out.

Having Linnea doesn't make it any better, because when those sirens go off I have no idea how to keep her safe. I didn't grow up in a tornado area. We don't really HAVE severe weather in Eastern Washington. And even with three years in Kansas under my belt we were never sent to shelter...all the storms were well away from us (oddly enough). So: I just hate it.

I went jeans shopping today. I managed to find two pair that make the old trunk look not too bad...my ass up and disappeared after giving birth. I never had a butt you could serve drinks off of, but I did at least have a little bit of a curve back there. Not anymore. Now it looks like someone whacked me with a 1X12--flat, flat, flat. My body is like a total stranger since being pregnant and giving birth...completely different than what it was prepregnancy. I weigh the same, but I'm shaped TOTALLY differently. I'm not entirely happy about that. So when M goes on and on about his 'belly' (that disappears as soon as he lays down, so it hardly qualifies as a belly in my book) it's about all I can do to not unzip my pants and slap him with my stretched out belly skin. You wanna talk belly, Babe?

Tomorrow we're going to go hang out with some friends. I'm looking forward to it. It's been some time since we've just hung out with people our age. The fact that these are some of the dearest friends in our world is just icing on the cake. :)

In the spirit of Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule

I'm channeling my blog-buddy, Dennis today.

I was laying in bed late last night, thinking of movies that I really enjoy--taking a mental inventory of which ones we still need to get on DVD, and which ones I feel were sort of overlooked in their theatrical releases.

So here they are, in no particular order (and for no particular reason):

Beege's Top Three Movies of All Time

1. Happy Texas (1999) This movies stars Jeremy Northam and Steve Zahn, escaped convicts who steal a 'crappy camper' and try and pass themselves off as gay pagent promoters in the tiny Texas town of Happy. While there they find out that the bank will have a large amount of money deposited after the citrus harvest is in, and so they linger in town. Along the way, Northam falls for "Jo" the (female) town banker and "Chappy" the (male) town sheriff falls for him. For me, the highlight of the movie is any scene that contains Steve Zahn, who chews up the comedic material with joy and enthusiasm. We saw this movie by accident--we wanted to see another movie that was out at the same time, but it was sold out. M is from Texas, so we decided: what the hell. And in that serendipitous fashion, we stumbled upon one of our favorite movies of all time. The soundtrack is also very very good.

2. Beautiful Girls (1996) This story of high school friends who reunite for a class reunion in small-town Maine (at least I think it's Maine. It was filmed in Marine-on-St.-Croix, MN.) is, hands down, one of my all time faves. The $9.99 for the DVD is worth every penny for Rose O'Donnell's monologue on beautiful (fake) women alone--"To the fatties, God gave big beautiful breasts. To the skinnies, he gave little tiny niddlers. God's a fair guy, he doesn't fuck around." It stars Matt Dillon, Timothy Hutton, Rosie O'Donnell, Uma Thurman, Mira Sorvino, Lauren Holly, and a luminous young Natalie Portman. Directed by Ted Demme, the writing is good, the story is good, and the ending is somehow satisfying.

3. Mystery Alaska (1999) Starring Russell Crowe, Burt Reynolds, Hank Azaria and a well-rounded cast of lesser-knowns; directed by Jay Roach this is a great movie. It tells the story of an Alaska community league hockey team who end up playing the New York Rangers...and almost winning. What makes this moves one of my favorites is the inter-relatedness of the characters and how those relationships are written. It's funny. It's serious. It has swear words. And while it DOES resist the pat ending, there's still enough goo in there for it to qualify to be the Disney movie it is. Not overdone goo. Just enough.

So, there you have it. Apropos of nothing: my three faves.

Also good are: Dangerous Beauty, The Red Violin, and Garden State (but everybody knows that already).

And there was playtime, and there was story time: the first day

Today was Linnea's first day of dayschool.

In a spectacular way of getting off on the right foot: we all overslept. We don't usually set an alarmclock, since Linnea has functioned as our alarm clock for nearly 21 months now, waking us up between 5:30 and 6:30 every morning. I woke up at 8AM (when she was supposed to be there) and said, "We have GOT to get going." Naturally, I hadn't packed her bag with extra clothes, the package of diapers and wipes, or filled out the immunization record on the application last night, as I had planned on having enough time this morning to do that. We managed to have her there by 8:30 (it helps that the center is across the parking lot).

For the first time in her entire life, I found my daughter to be a bit hesitant. Not a lot. But she kept coming back to me to lean on me for a few seconds before going off to play some more. But ultimately: she had a good time. She only cried when the teacher read a story about mommies and daddies, and Linnea realized that we weren't there. But she was easily distracted and back to having fun within minutes.

And, a funny story: 'Linnea' was the 1,197th most popular name in 2004. That means that only one in nearly 1200 female births resulted in a child named Linnea. Our Linnea is the second Linnea in her dayschool class. Here we had prided ourselves that she would never ever have to be "Linnea LastInitial"...but she does. We actually got around that quite neatly by suggesting that the teachers call her Nea, which is what we call her at home a lot of the time. At least I do. I just think it's amazing that with a name that unpopular, there's two of them in her class.

When I went to pick her up, she was at story time--totally absorbed. When she saw me, she burst into tears. I couldn't get to her fast enough and just held her and held her and held her. So while she had fun (and while I also enjoyed the time apart), we were very happy to be back together again.

Petty Annoyances

I feel sorta bad writing about this. I really do. But I HAVE to get this off my chest, and who better to complain to than my scads of readers who will never ever meet the woman who has inspired these petty annoyances?

*sigh* My mother-in-law. She means well. She really does. That she loves us beyond redemption or recall, I have no doubt (ergo, the nebulous feelings about this post). But I just have to complain to someone, and I don't want to complain to M about it. She's his mom, afterall.

Back in May, we went to Texas to visit them and have family portraits taken. On our way home, we stopped at this quaint little town I'd always wanted to visit--Salado. The in-laws decided they would drive as far as Salado with us, and then return to their house while we continued northward to Kansas.

I had been looking forward to wandering around this town that's full of art galleries, jewlery designers, fun little shops, etc. I love towns like this--towns that are just bursting with stuff to be discovered and admired. But with MIL in tow, we went to all HER favorite stores. A truly crappy art gallery, a horrendously ugly jewlery store, and a store called 'Bundle of Joy' which was an upscale baby boutique that was actually pretty darn cool, if not lightyears out of our pricerange. I mean, I'd love to live in a world where I could spend $55 on a onesie that has a monkey appliqued on it--but I don't live in a world like that.

Anyhow. This store had really nice dolls. Vinyl head, arms and legs. Cloth body. The dolls do NOTHING. Just close their eyes when you lay them down and open them when you pick them up again. They don't shriek, "Mama!" when you accidentally step on them in the night while trying to quietly check on your sleeping child. They don't pee in a potty. They just ARE. And I loved that about them. MIL had said she wanted to get Linnea one of these dolls. I said, "Fantastic! Let's let her pick one out!" BUT: all the dolls that were in stock were too small. MIL wanted to get Linnea a bigger doll. So I thought, "OK. These dolls aren't too outrageously priced. I'll get Linnea one this trip." So I picked one out that had little pink camels on her little pink dress, and she smelled like vanilla. Bought her, gave her to an ecstatic Linnea, who adores 'Nilla Baby to this very day.

Fastforward to July. In-laws drive up to Kansas for one last visit. While having a conversation about the girls, MIL says, "I really need to stop in Salado and pick up a dollbaby for S. She's the only granddaughter I haven't bought one of those dollbabies for. " I immediately said, "No, she isn't. I bought Nilla Baby." Which flustered my MIL, because in her head she totally remembered that SHE had purchased the Nilla Baby doll. And really, it's not THAT big a deal, it's just that I don't want her getting credit for purchasing Linnea something that she didn't. It all comes down to the fact that K and S live 4 miles away from her, and get showered with "Meme Gifts" all the freaking time...and Linnea doesn't. So I don't want her cousins to be getting expensive dollbabies from Meme while Meme congratulates herself on getting Linnea the doll *I* bought.

See? Told you they were petty.

Also in July: I found some material I wanted my mom to makes sheets for Linnea out of. I figured: new room, new sheets. I was wonderfully excited to also find a matching polar fleece of Linnea's favorite material (one with frogs and dragonflies). So I bought some, and my plan was to just cut a fringe around the edge. I was sitting on the couch one night with my scissors, reading myself to fringe, when MIL said, "I could take that and put an edging around it." I said, "Like what?" She said, "Well, I could find a hot pink fleece to match and just do an edging." I said, "That sounds great! Thanks!"

We just got the blanket back. It's cute. It's got the hot pink edging. And sewed into the hot pink edging? A "Made Especially for you by ____________" label with her name. This, for whatever reason, annoys me. I guess because it communicates that SHE found the fleece, SHE bought it, SHE had the idea of a nap blanket, and SHE did the edging. And: she didn't. She's taking total credit for the blanket when all she did was edge the damn thing.

Am I just crazy that these things bother me? 'Cuz sometimes I feel like I am. I know that they're totally petty, but that's the way my MIL is: the petty stuff just wears you down and down and down until you do/say something stupid and then she's off wailing about how much she knows you don't love her.

*sigh*

Hmmmm.

So.

I was coming to blog about something really interesting. Toward the end of dinner, I was struck with inspiration. And in the time it took me to get up from the kitchen table, walk to the office and sit down at the computer: it's gone.

I have no idea what in the hell I was going to blog about. But I'm sure you would have enjoyed it.

An Author of Note

I'm a voracious reader. I always have been. And if there has been a silver cloud to the whole unemployment thing (other than spending guilt-free time with Linnea), it's been having time to read again like I used to.

I came across the author Christopher Moore a few years back, after finding and reading his book Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. I rarely come across a book that is so freaking funny that I have to stop reading to guffaw, gasp, wheeze, choke, wipe my eyes and turn to M and say, "Listen to this."

He uses language in a way that makes me, an aspiring fellow-writer, want to smack my head against a wall because I didn't think of the phrase first. He treats hallowed subjects with a twinkle in his eye and a devlish grin and just enough irreverence that you begin to see things for the sacred cattle that they are. Jesus having erections as a young pre-teen boy? Preposterous! Is it really, chief? I mean, isn't the whole point of his being fully God and fully human that he would do all the horrifyingly embarassing things that we do? Pop a boner in the middle of class...voice breaking in front of a girl he likes...Mary acting like a Jewish mother and embarassing him in front of all his friends. It was fabulous. Out and out fabulous.

My current "Bedside Table Book" is The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror. Once again, I find myself gasping, wheezing, chortling, and trying not to shake the bed too much so I won't disturb my sleeping husband. Check out the link to read a brief synopsis.

An exerpt: [Sam] said that Santa was just something the goys made up to make them feel better about not having a menorah. That was crap, of course. Goys (a Jewish word for girls and boys, Sam had explained) didn't want a menorah. They wanted toys. Same was just saying that because he was made because instead of Christmas they had snipped the tip of his penis off and said mazel tov. (The Stupidest Angel, page 46.)

And just the titles of his other books make me itch to read more--The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove; Island of the Sequined Love Nun (intruiging to a person currently absorbed in the first season of LOST on DVD); Bloodsucking Fiends; Practical Demonkeeping...one of the toughest parts of writing can be coming up with a title, but Moore has got that art down to a science. His writing is very reminiscent of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet in Good Omens.

Oh! And most importantly: the funk LOVES it. Loves it so much, it almost disappears.

So if you're looking for something to read. Something not too taxing, but that somehow still makes you think (without even realizing it because you're having so much fun): check out Christopher Moore. I think you'll be happy you did.

(Heh. How much do I feel like one of those kids from 'Reading Rainbow' who would tell you all about this great book they read. I should see if I can find a file of the "Duh-duh dah!" music they played at the end of every book report on that show...)

A mindless meme...but FIRST

It's over. I didn't think it would ever end. After the way it started...meeting at a concert, a whirlwind romance, a romantic wedding on the beach only weeks later...but it has ended. Yes: Renee Z and Kenny C are no more. Shall we observe a moment of silence for a marriage that I'm sure we all thought would stand the test of time?

Nah. I didn't think so, either! Let's meme!

I took this from Dix, who took it from Kara, who took it from someone I don't remember. Sit back, relax, and prepare to be astounded.

7 things I plan to do before I die:
*Travel to Japan

*Learn to play cello

*Be published in something other than the weekly rural newspaper I wrote for in Kansas.

*Earn a PhD

*Bawl like a baby at Linnea's wedding

*MAYBE get a tat

*Learn to appreciate (and enjoy!) sushi

7 things I can do:
*Play violin (although I haven't touched the thing in 15 years, so this may be a fudge)

*Speak in front of large crowds without nerves

*Knit rectangular things

*Make Linnea stop crying faster than anyone

*Pick out a fine bottle of wine

*Read New Testatment Scripture in Greek (as long as I have a lexicon)

7 things I cannot do:
*Eat with chopsticks. I don't care how easy M says it is. I can't do it. My chopsticks? Little plastic purple monkey chopsticks. It ain't dignified. But it ain't a fork.

*Watch Star Trek. Gads. That show (in all of its incarnations) drives me crazy. Exept Jean Luc. He's sorta hot.

*Remember any of the Hebrew I studied.

*Like Bush. I've tried. Hell, I would have voted for him in 2000. But I just can't do it.

*Write with my right hand.

*Housetrain a dog.

*Eat sushi.

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
*Sense of Humor

*Nice, big, broad shoulders

*Devotion

*Loyalty

*Compassion

*Dark hair and eyes

*A way with kids

7 things that I say most often:
*Fuck

*Sweet!

*Damn!

*For future reference

*Mama loves you like crazycakes

*You wanna know what I wanna know?

*Love you.

7 celebrities i find attractive:
*Owen Wilson
*Johnny Depp
*Matthew McCaunahey

*Orlando Bloom

*Viggo Mortenson (although primarily in his role of Aragorn. I guess I've got a raging inner-geek)

*Ty Pennington

*Zack Braff (because ultimately, the raging inner-geek is attracted to fellow geeks)

Get down and get funky.

So, everybody around seems to be in a funk. Lots of the bloggers I read are in a funk. A lot of my friends are in funks. It just seems to be a general malaise. I won't go into why I think people are feeling funky-in-a-bad-way--'cuz I think that does the funks a disservice to assume that all are caused by the same things. And if my hard-earned college bachelor's degree in psychology taught me anything (other than prepping me for a fast-paced job in the food service industry), it's that when one comes across a funk, one must treat that funk with respect.

So, I personally, have been trying to peacefully co-exist with my funk. I've unleashed my usual "funk busting" arsonal, and it mostly hasn't worked. So now I'm letting my funk live a corner. I know it's there. Everyone in the house knows it's there. We acknowledge it. We address it, "Hey, funk! Want some popcorn?" And usually, the funk does. Who knew funks could be such popcorn fiends? This particular plan seems to be working better than the "Funk Eradication Program" I impletmented earlier.

Today, I took my funk and Linnea to the zoo. All three of us had a really good time. It's hard not to have a good time watching an orangutan get some action (even if you're a funk). It's especially hard not to have a good time listening to Linnea crow, "Mooooooooooooon-keeeeeeeeeeeeees!" as soon as we entered the primate house. And even a funk can't complain about sharing hot, salty, buttery popcorn and an icy cold lemonade while watching a lion sun his nether regions.

So maybe that's the secret: just love your funk. It won't hurt. It might help. Perhaps funks are just deeply misunderstood, their very funkness a cry for help and attention.

Or, maybe I'm just funkin' nuts.

Dying for want of a breeze...

So, the Twin Cities is experiencing near-record highs and heat indexes right now. It's hot, humid, and STICKY. At night, it doesn't get better: you just sweat into the sheets and everything gets hotter and stickier and then M decides that he want to cuddle (and he's a hot sweaty sleeper anyway) and it's about all I can do to not turn green and go freaking crazy. ----->

And our A/C is broken. It's nice. We just call up the management office and say, "Our A/C isn't working. Hasn't been working all weekend." and they say, "OK! Can we come over right now to look at it?" and we say, "Sure! We're the only apartment with it's windows open! Come on over!"

*sigh* So the property manager came over and looked at it. Groaned when he saw our system and said, "Beege, it's one of the old ones. This isn't going to be an easy fix. I'll go up on the roof and see what's going on up there." Then he comes back and says, "I'm calling the air conditioning guys. We'll see what's up."

The air conditioning guys came. And left. And as far as I know: we're still without A/C. But no one thought to call us and let us know where we stand on the issue.

So we're all sticky and cranky. M found two fleas in the apartment, and I'm hoping they just came in on some laundry we had outside and that it doesn't mean we have an infestation. I know we didn't bring them, as Marty Marty Where's the Party and Little Murray Sparkles have only ever been inside cats. And we didn't notice them until today. None of us have flea bites. So: here's hoping, 'cuz I have no clue how to get rid of fleas.

Linnea is enrolled in daycare. I'm excited for her, and for me. Although, I don't know what I'll do with the time. I haven't heard squat from anyone about a job, and just went another round with the synod office about things that I should have done that I didn't know about (and that they're not in any real hurry to explain to me, either). So it's not like I'll be working, or need the time to get stuff done because I'm so busy working. But it will be nice to have whole stretches of days when I don't have to have a bathroom buddy. "Mama poop!" Say it louder, kid. I'm sure the family living on the third floor didn't quite catch that through the vents.

If you were at church at St. Andrew's this morning...

Today, we went to church. It was the first time since July 31st that we'd darkened the door of a church, and we both felt that it was time to get back into it. We'd had our Sundays off...our Sundays of "being Jewish" (lox and bagels at the bagel shop)...our Sundays of hanging out at Ikea. Labor Day had come and gone, and it was time to get back into the worship swing of things.

Odd, getting back into the worship swing of things when we weren't the ones leading the swinging. Odd, but somehow OK. Good, even. To sit in the pew towards the back of the sanctuary and just let someone else do all the work up front. I didn't even miss it, or feel out of place like I thought I would. Nor did I spend the entire service critiquing the work being done up front--I just sat, and worshipped.

It was Rally Sunday, a time-honored tradition in the Lutheran church of kicking off the new Sunday School year with a bang. So there were TONS of kids in the church, and we sang some kid oriented songs until they were dismissed for Sunday School (not something I agree with, as a general pastoral rule, but as I said: I wasn't the one leading the swinging). One of the songs we sang was "Jesus Loves Me."

I've been in kind of a dark place lately. Very dark. Very scary. With scary voices whispering scary thoughts into my head. It's a place I don't often go to, but when I do go: look out, 'cuz I go full-bore, all out, balls to the wall. I had pretty much convinced myself that I was unlovable...by my friends, by M, by God, by anyone. And once you hit that particular point, you start to wonder other scary things.

So we're sitting in the gi-normous sanctuary, with the ha-uge choir, a brass ensemble, and a pipe organ who's pipes take up the entire north wall of the sanctuary and we're singing "Jesus Loves Me". Sweet little innocuous song, treasured by children and people in the nursing homes. And as I sang, I started to cry. And cry. And cry. Except I was trying very hard NOT to cry, so I was making these odd, muffled, strangled trying-not-to-cry noises as it was brought home to me that I am not, in point of fact, unlovable. That Jesus loves me. And that's no small thing.

But I'd forgotten. I'm very very good at telling other people that Jesus loves them...but it's the sort of message that I can't give myself. I need to hear it from outside myself...a voice that comes from the Other...even if the Other takes the form of a song that I've sung to Linnea since before she had ears.

Jesus love me, this I know

for the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to Him belong,

they are weak but He is strong.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

The Bible tells me so.

So, if you were at church at St. Andrew's this morning, and you heard a young woman next to you snerking her way through "Jesus Loves Me": that was me, Beege. Nice to meetcha.

It's like toilet tag, only better...and less embarassing

Childhood Meme
So I have been tagged with a meme from Mojavi. I was tagged an embarassingly long time ago, but with the move and everything: didn't get to it until now. My deep apologies to Mojavi. I am to tell you all about my Top Five Childhood Memories. I'm not sure I can do a Top Five...at this point, I'm sure I either won't be able to come up with five at all, or I'll come up with five hundred. And, frankly, who wants to sit through five hundred of their own memories, much less anybody elses? But because I'm always so ridiculously excited to be tagged (You like me! You really like me!), and because Mojavi seems to be one of the coolest people I've never laid eyes on, I'll give it a whirl!

My best friend's step grandparents owned a cabin on Holland Lake in Montana. It was right across the lake from the Holland Lake Lodge (which is why this pic got the nod). I realize now that it was less of a cabin, per se, as a logmansion in the mountains. They had two boats, some jet skis, about 6-bedrooms, a large wrap-around porch...it was amazing. But you know, when you're 10, if you're told it's a cabin: it's a cabin. I'd spend weeks up there with Robynn and we always had so much fun. We'd wander the woods and play spy (a game which seemed mostly to consist of our walking around saying, 'Sheet!' as loudly as we could, because we figured spies would have accents when cursing...plus, Robynn's mom couldn't get after us for saying 'sheet' like she could for our saying 'shit'); we made this delightful beverage that consisted of lake water, some mint, some apple juice all mixed together in empty beer bottles (ew, but we drank a ton of that stuff...and it was good lake water too--pulled right from the boat slips!); we lip synched to "We Are the World" in our bedroom, and declared our undying love for Micheal Jackson (it was the time of "Thriller" we couldn't help it. We were culturally required to have a crush on him. Plus, he was almost normal then.). It was always fun. I always remember those as good times.

When I was about 8 years old, my family moved to Missoula, MT. We lived in a great neighborhood that was FULL of girls my age. We immediately formed a girl gang and spent long summer days terrorizing the neighborhood on our bikes (excuse me, our horses, all of us going through that stage where girls are wild for horses); playing Barbies; planning weddings for two of the youngest kids in the neighborhood; and chasing down the candy truck. I always (when I could get money from my mother, who was always reluctant to let me have any money for the candytruck and so she told me she wouldn't give me money because he sold drugs) got Lick M Aid. Now it's called "Fun Dip". But Lick M Aid was great, because you could make it last for such a long time! Granted, it had those cardboard-flavored white dippers but then you had like FOUR fruity powders to dip the stick in...grape and orange and strawberry and something else...lime, maybe? Anyhow. I loved it.

I would be remiss in any Childhood Memory tag if I didn't mention Barbie. If I had a dollar for every hour I played Barbies--alone, with my girl gang, with my brother--I wouldn't be nearly as panicky about being unemployed because I'd be freaking rich. I loved to play Barbies...I'd always set up their house (I had to design my own Barbie Dream house--no plastic prefab mansions for me, thank you very much!), an activity that could take days. Then we'd play. And play and play and play. Once we heard about the birds and bees, our Barbies got a sinful amount of lovin' from Ken or Donnie (I had the Donnie fashion doll, but not the Marie fashion doll). When it came time to have their babies ('cuz you only have sex if you want to make a baby, right?), they would faint in a very ladylike fashion and wake up with their best friend handing their baby to them (this helped cover up our total lack of understandings of the workings of childbirth). They were never, ever Barbie. They were always "Princess Aurora of Greenland" or some such thing (Greenland sounded like such a beautiful country to be the princess of!). A good time was had by all.

I devoured these books when I was a kid. I had all of them but one (Jacquline, I think). They were historical romance novels written for young girls (now they call them "tweens" I think). Anyhow...I loved them. Read them over and over and over again. They satisfied my need for both romance and historical accuracy. I sure hope Mom did throw my collection out...they're out of print and nearly impossible to find. In fact, I know them so well I can tell you (and it's been a good 18 years since I've read these) that Diana took place during the Lewis and Clark Expidition; Kathleen chronicles a young girl who flees the potato famine in Ireland and settles in Boston; Susannah takes place during the Civil War.

My brother, when he was about 6 or 7 found this comic book in the library. It's a series called ElfQuest, and it immediately seized our imaginations with its stories of the Wolfriders and the SunPeople and all their adventures.

We would play ElfQuest for hours in our backyard, which was heavily forested, and perfect for imagining

ourselves to be wolf riding elves. My dad slung two hammocks between some trees and those became our wolves.

My brother and I have an...odd relationship. It's not bad. It's not good. It just is. And this is one of the few good memories I have of us, hanging out and howling.

So that's my five childhood. I'm not sure it's a top five...but they're the ones that came to me most easily, so there's something to be said for that!

I tag: Dix, Cyn, and Zoe.

Date Night

There's a daycare located on the campus of the school M is attending. One night a month they host a "Date Night"--they take the kids for two and a half hours, and Mom and Dad can get away.

Tonight was the first one. I was having serious second thoughts...Linnea has never ever stayed with anyone who wasn't family and whom she didn't know. I had visions of her spending the evening screaming and crying, feeling abandoned.

As soon as we got to the door and she saw the kids AND the toys, she scrambled out of my arms and never looked back. When we went to pick her up, she was dancing to The Wiggles with an older boy...my presence (or lack thereof) didn't seem to matter to her one little bit. One of the teachers asked, "Does she ever sit down? We tried to get her to color a picture, but she just couldn't sit still long enough to do it." I said, "That's pretty much my girl. If it's not a wall, she doesn't have time to color it."

*sigh* I need to get her into daycare. I really do. She needs it--the kids, the structure, the activites, the other kids. She's ready.

I'm not so sure I am, though.

Management Decision

I'm going to start including more pictures in my blog entries.

I like how they look.

If this is problematic for anyone (i.e. slow load times, etc.) please let me know, and I'll try and limit myself. ;)

Men weren't meant to ride with clouds between their knees

Today was a good day. I got to be all by myself for most of it.

Since becoming a mother, I've developed this need to alone--totally alone--from time to time. I didn't have it before. But I've got it now. I left the house this morning and went shopping...not for anything terribly exciting (storage baskets; a new mirror because mine broke in the move; groceries) but it wasn't about the excitement. It was about the solitude. It was about driving through the Twin Cities on a grey and rainy morning, just me and Dave Matthews and a cup of McDonald's coffee. It was about getting lost and then figuring out that I knew right where I was all along. It was about sitting in my car to eat lunch, reading an Us Magazine because I didn't even want to have to accidentally interact with someone inside the restaurant. I wanted to be alone.

And it was good. Very, very good.

So, you know, me and Superman: every superhero needs a fortress of solitude.

Dale, Dale, we hardly knew ye...

Dale Fish, beloved of Linnea, died last night of unnatural causes. His long-time tankmate (and possible life partner), Gribble Fish, was quoted as saying, "He was here. He was swimming. Then he started hanging out under the bridge. And then he was gone."

Sources say that Dale had developed health complications related to "New Tank Syndrome"--a serious, but relatively unknown health threat to innocent goldfish everywhere.

"If only we had done the twice-weekly, 1/3 tank water changes..." his negligent keepers were heard to muse. If only they had, indeed. Who knows what heights Dale Fish would have acheived if they'd only known!

Dale was returned to his creator last night in a burial at sea. His light shone briefly, but brightly. RIP Dale the Fish.

Pucker up!

Linnea loves her up some "flow-ahs". She loves to smell them, and I love the look on her face in this picture as she moves in for the sniff...eyes
closed, lips puckered. She is a delight to me.

Small, small world

We were sitting in the campus center, visiting with various people today, when someone walked into the building that I just instantly knew that I knew. Oddly enough, it was someone I hadn't thought of in YEARS (like, nearly 10), indeed, I wouldn't have even thought her existence had taken up space in my memory...that's how much I hadn't thought of her. Not for any reason. We'd worked together at a summer camp about 10 years ago, but didn't really interact much, because our areas of responsibility were different. So we weren't close.

But as soon as this woman walked in, I knew it was J. Or rather: I had deep suspicions. I told M, "That woman TOTALLY looks like someone I worked with at camp!" He said, "Go talk to her!" I said, "No. If it's not her, it would be weird." He said, "So what?" Finding it hard to refute his logic, I approached her. I said, "Excuse me, this might be really strange, but is your name J?" She said, "Yes..." I said, "Did you work at _________haven?" "Yes...." I said, "Because I think I was on staff with you about 10 years ago." She looked at me, recognition dawned and she said, "Yes! Yes, you did!" So we caught up with one another. She has a two-year-old. I have an almost two-year-old. She's studying to get an M.Div. I have an M.Div. It was cool, and fun, and weird. And neither one of us really seemed to know what to do after the initial, "Wow! What have you been up to for ten years?"

I'd like to see her again. Maybe get our girls together. But I don't want to seem weird and stalkery. Any suggestions?

Perhaps Christian worship would be enhanced by the addition of Jazz Hands

As I mentioned, all of us went to the opening Chapel service.

The president of the school raised his hands to give the benediction. Linnea, watching closely, evidently mistook his very appropriate benedictory posture as the Jazz Hands that Steve and Joe do at the end of the "Blue's Clues" theme song...and so she ALSO did Jazz Hands and cheered. Loudly. Laughter from the congregation ensued, further egging my little attention junkie on and she began to clap and cheer.

*sigh*

But: perhaps she's on to something.

What SaraJoy wants, SaraJoy gets!

Here is a new pic of Linnea, taken just after we moved in. This jungle gym/slide is right outside her bedroom window (in fact, the open window behind her is our bedroom window) so you can see how close we live to the toddler nirvana that other residents simply think of as "the playground".

Slightly crooked bang-trim is courtesty of Grandma, who is carrying on the fine tradition of grandchild haircare started by her own mother. When ever Grandma trimmed my bangs, she trimmed them wet and too short, so that when they dried they stuck out and AWAY from my forehead...like little anntenae as I went out into the great, big world. At least Linnea's are only crooked, rather than crooked and sticky-outy.

It's nearly 1AM and I am wide awake. I've done everything I could to tire myself out...read, did Sudoku, made M's night...nothing worked. I was mildly heart-burny from my spicy Sesame Chicken from Leann Chin's that I had for dinner, but not enough so that I would be kept awake. And then I realized: duh. M let me sleep until like 9AM today...that's about two hours later than usual. God bless him for it, but it sort of screws me over on this end of my day.

Speaking of Sudoku: anybody else out there into this? M bought a book at Barnes & Noble and he hooked me on it. At first I didn't think I'd like it, since I tend to distrust anything containing numbers just on principle...anything that even vaguely resembles math is something I try to avoid at all costs. Explains why my checkbook hasn't been balanced since 1997...but, I digress. It's totally engrossing and there's absolutely no math involved. If you can count to nine, you can play Sudoku. Now that I know I can play it on-line too...it could be a very very dangerous thing.

I submitted my resume to two more places today (how much do I love that people REQUEST resumes as email attachments?!). Hopefully I'll start getting some nibbles. I'm really ready to have another baby, but that whole "we don't need no stinking insurance" bravado of a few months ago has sort of fled in the light of cold, harsh, financial reality. Without a job, we can't afford to support another baby. It's not just the medical care. It's all of it. Plus, I'd just like to know precisely when the money we spend will be replaced by another paycheck. So, continue crossing fingers.

Tomorrow, I'm going to attend the Chapel service up on campus. It's one of my favorites of the year, because it contains "the Parade of Faculty"--all the faculty process into the service wearing their robes and hats of distinction. It has the distinct possiblity of being utterly ridiculous, but somehow, in all the years I've seen it done, it's always avoided ridiculousness and landed smack-dab in the middle of stately elegance. It will also be a good chance to see some of my dearly loved former professors--some of whom achieved a place on my PILF list back when I was a student. Who knew that in a dusty seminary full of dusty old theologians, there'd be theologians that would warrant a PILF list? I certainly didn't, until I got here seven years ago.

Seven years ago. Wow. M and I met seven years ago this weekend. It was Labor Day weekend 1998, and I had been invited to hang out with some people and watch movies. Over time, some of these people became incredibly dear friends, but at the time, we were all just first year seminarians, far away from home and family, and sort of lonely, and scared that we were in way over our heads, but trying to put a brave face on in spite of all that. I jumped at the chance to watch movies with anyone. M was sitting on the floor, and when I walked in the room, he lit up and said my name in such a way that my head was completely turned...I made a beeline for him, and we've been walking through the world side by side pretty much ever since. Love at first sight? No. But I knew there was something there. And I was right.

We got Linnea some fish. Goldfish. Mini koi, if you want to be exact (and Lord knows this blog is all about being exact). Did Linnea want mini koi? No. Not really. Linnea wanted ALL the fish at PetSmart. Daddy picked out the mini koi. We got two, and named them Dale and Gribble. Put them in a 5 gallon aquarium and expected that they'd be happier than two pigs in shit. And they were...for about the first two days. Then they started flagging a bit. Plus, the water was REALLY cloudy. I knew that goldfish were dirty fish...but it's been years since I'd kept them, and I'd forgotten just how dirty they are. So we decided that a scum sucker was in order. So off we went, back to PetSmart to pick out a scum sucker fish. But they were out. So we picked up a few other things. While we were checking out, the checkout woman just starts holding forth on the ins and outs of goldfish care and maintenance. Did you know, for example, that there is something known as "New Tank Syndrome" and that we had a raging case of it? Apparently, it takes about four weeks for nitrogen-fixing microbes to build up in the water, so we were supposed to be doing twice weekly 1/3 water changes to keep the amonia/nitrate levels at a non-toxic level (we hadn't done that at all in a week), never clean the rocks, etc.

As this woman is telling me all this, and I'm frantically trying to remember it all, I also remember thinking, "When in the hell did goldfish get so complicated?!" Goldfish, rocks, glass bowl, highly unrealistic looking plastic plant: voila! You got yourself a pet, kid! Not anymore...now there's chemical treatments, water tests, bells and whistles...before I knew what was going on, the simple, no-frills, inexpensive goldfish I'd envisioned for Linnea has turned into a pretty signficant financial investment. Gribble has recovered nicely from our inadvertent neglect. Dale, less so. In fact, we've removed Dale to a "hospital tank" so that if he's got the funky crud he won't give it to Gribble. All he does is lie on the bottom of the tank. He comes up to eat, but that's about it. Poor, poor Dale.

Cranky Lethargy.

I've been in an odd mood lately.

At first I blamed it on PMS (handy excuse to have, that).

But PMS is gone now, and I'm still smack-dab in the middle of the funk.

I think it's a lot of things...Katrina, and the incessant coverage of New Orleans while ignoring the devastation throughout the region AND things that are going on all over the world (the tragedy of the bridge stampede in Iraq? Got a mention in the last 90 seconds of the newscast). Still not having a job, but not starting school either (an odd thing...I'm so academically minded, that as people all around me are gearing up for the start of classes tomorrow and I'm not, I'm getting a bit pissy, 'cuz I want to be gearing up for the start of classes tomorrow, too!). The still not having a job thing...I realize we've only been here for three weeks now, but I'd still like to have a job, please. Bush. Don't even get me started on Bush. How can the man be so obtuse?!

So I don't know what to do. I need to do something to adjust my attitude. Blogging about my laundry nemesis doesn't help...blogging about Linnea's new shoes and red tractor doesn't help...soaking in a bathtub and reading "Memoirs of Cleopatra" helped for a little while.

I think it's sort of like after 9/11...there just comes a point where you're ready for it to go back to normal. I remember writing to a friend, "I want to go back to a 'Today Show' where Katie and Matt and Al and Ann are telling me how to raise my kids and giving me tips on how to avoid osteoperosis." Just that...normality. And my life isn't in nearly the uproar that some people's are. I don't have a job? Big fucking whoop. I've got a house. And a car. And I know that right this minute M is cleaning out the vacuum and Linnea is in her crib. And I was able to feed them "Blue's Clues Mac 'N Cheese" for lunch with milk my my own refrigerator. I have food. I have shelter. And I know where every single member of my family is.

*sigh* I don't know. I wish I did. But I don't.

Uh-oh.

Does anybody else get a sinking feeling in the pit of their stomach over the fact that W now gets to appoint TWO justices?

Or is that just me?

Happy Birthday, Sue!

In high school, I had a really REALLY good friend. She was my best friend, and we were super-duper close...so close, we seemed telepathic, to ourselves and others. We could laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh; we were both "smart girls" (though she was way smarter 'cuz she was smart in math and science and literature and history...while I was only smart in literature and history); we went to "Claire's" and bought one of those cheap "Best Friends" necklaces, where each friend wears half...she was "Be Fri" and I was "st ends".

Then, in my junior year I "found Jesus" and got really holy and really annoying. You know how Christians can be. I was one of the worst. And Sue got tired of it, and we stopped being friends.

While we were packing, I found a bunch of pictures from junior high and high school of me and Sue, and I remembered how much we meant to one another. Today is her birthday. I always think of her on September 4th, and wish that somehow I could get back in touch with her and apologize for being such a holy pain in the ass.

That new shoe smell

Linnea wears shoes called Robeez. They're supposed to be good for child foot developement, helps them develop their motor skills because they're able to grip with their toes, etc. They're little leather moccasins, and so, so, so cute! I quite love them, and wish they made Mommy-sized Robeez.

These are Linnea's latest pair. We got them just the other day for fall shoes. I love how funky and bohunky they look. She loves the "flow-ahs!" M loves that we're taking good care of her feet (he has horrible feet--they hurt all the time). Everybody wins!!!!

The monkeys were her very first pair. I bought them because she's our Monkey Girl, and always has been. Plus, her birth year was the Monkey, yadda, yadda, yadda. And mostly because they're just so freaking cute. She's outgrown her first pair of monkey shoes. So we bought her some in the next size up.

She's small, so she's just now (at 19 months) fitting in the 12-18 month Robeez. That makes me happy. It means we have many more months of shoe-buying joy ahead of us. Everybody wins!!!

New life, new look

So, I was sort of tired of my other template.

What I REALLY want is a pretty red one, like Poppy's. But Blogger doesn't offer that, and I'm too penny pinching right now to think about upgrading to a pay blogging service.

So, we'll try this for a little while. :)

Don't worry. If we don't like it, we can always change back.

Didn't expect this for a few years

We kept Linnea up past her bedtime last night. She's usually in bed between 7-7:30, but last night (because she and her dad were having so much fun playing) she got to stay up until 8. She went to bed easily, like she always does, but apparently wasn't quite ready to go to sleep, because I could hear her chatting to herself in her bedroom for about half an hour after we put her down.

When we went to bed, and I went into check on her like I always do, I found something that gave me pause--she had fallen asleep on a book. I went to M, "Did you give Nea a book in her crib last night?" M said no, that she must have pulled it off the bookshelf by her bed.

So we both crept into her room, and gazed down at our little girl, face-down in a book, snoozing the sleep of the well-read. And then we beamed at one another, because the gene has been passed. We have given birth to a book-lover.

I have a nemesis

A laundry nemesis.

Last Saturday evening, I had to do a very quick single load of something...can't even remember what. I ran over to the laundry room, found an empty washer, plunked my quarters and my stuff and came back to the apartment. I carefully set the timer so that I would be back in the laundry room in the alloted time so that I wouldn't tie up the washer with my soggy things if someone else needed to use it (Saturday being a very high traffic day in the laundry room).

I walked into the laundry room and saw my washer being unloaded by this...this...guy. Older guy. Wore an old fisherman's hat. I swear, the washer could not have been done for more than about 30 seconds before I walked in, which meant that this guy was sitting there WAITING for my washer to be done so he could unload it and put his stuff in.

This, dear readers, annoyed me. To no end. I mean, ultimately: it was no biggie. I was done with the washer. I didn't have any other loads to do. But this guy had taken SIX washers up with his laundry already, and then "stole" mine. What if I'd had other loads I needed to do? Was I just shit out of luck?! Jerk.

Anyway. Because I didn't get the laundry done earlier this week, I had to do it today. There was no help for it. And once again: my nemesis was there. I got there before he did, snagged the last two available washers, and (because I had mulitple loads to wash today) piled the dirty laundry on TOP of the washers I had claimed as my own (it seemed more sanitary than peeing on them). Sure enough: the vulture started circling those washers whose timers were running down, and as soon as they beeped, he was hauling other people's laundry out and putting his own in.

Is it just me, or is that poor communal laundry room form? I mean, I don't want some random guy handling my unmentionables. Or my mentionables, for that matter. I can understand if the soggy clothes had been in there for an hour--in that case, I feel it's perfectly acceptable to put the clothes in a basket, near the washer so the owner doesn't think their clothes have been stolen, and put yours in. But to wait for the ding...that's just wrong. And rude. And annoying.

Plus: what was a gorgeous day has turned rainy here. And the idiot is outside our apartment, hanging his clothes on the line to dry in the rain.

Oy.

Saturday Chores

So, it's Saturday. There are a host of chores I could choose to do...upload our new Quicken so I could balance the checkbook and pay bill...do the dishes and scrub the kitchen...tidy up and dust and vacuum the rest of the apartment...do laundry (although trying to do laundry on a Saturday in a community laundrymat is virtually impossible. EVERYBODY tries to do their laundry on Saturday. Which is why I like Thursdays.)...the possibilities are endless.

This apartment is just so much easier for me to keep up with than our HA-UGE house in Kansas. Someday, I'll post a picture of it. But I'm too lazy to go looking for it right now.

Heh. I'm also procrastinating. It's a gorgeous day! M is done with entrance exams! We should go outside and play...

You can take the girl outta Kansas...

...but you can't take Kansas outta the girl.

Linnea's current fave toy? A doll perhaps? Perhaps her crayons and coloring books? Perhaps a cute and cuddly stuffed animal?


No.

It's a red tractor. Complete with "realistic farming sounds!" She putters that thing all around the living room, "vroom vroom-ing" as she goes.

There's something wildly adorable about a little girl, with fly-away dandelion hair, sitting in her overalls and barefeet, vroom vrooming a tractor around the living room.

I think we'll keep her. ;)

Keep your fingers crossed...

...'cuz I just applied for a job. It's with a social services agency, part-time, benefits eligible, within walking distance of our home and salary is DOE. It wouldn't be a glamorous job, but would be a job and at this point: I'll take it. Things are moving far too slowly with the church...I was informed the other day that because I moved I'd have to resubmit my paperwork (because my address and phone had changed, the whole 30-page document would have to be resubmitted); I was also informed that one of the reasons I hadn't heard anything from them (in addition to there not being any churches they feel I am a match with) was because I wasn't on this special list that the bishop uses to pull names for congregations from. Tricky part: one must REQUEST to be on this list. But before one can do that, one needs to know it exists, which I didn't. So I'm on the list now, but I'm just not feeling very hopeful. I've decided that the time has come to start exploring other options, and (as my good pal Julie suggested) I'm looking in the non-profit/social service sector first. I'm not above working retail (God knows I've done plenty of it already!), but I'd like to exhaust other options first. There's TONS of retail jobs out there right now, so if I need to, I'll do it. But: I'd rather not.

I'd rather be a pastor, do the job I went tens of thousands of dollars in debt to learn how to do--but that's just not happening right now.

In other news on the Beege front:

Our wee daughter informed us this evening (during bathtime) that "Pee yeyow." and proceeded to pee in the bathtub. Then she said, "I poop!" and sure enough: plop! M said, "Do you have more poop?" "Yeah!" so he scooped her out of the tub, put her on the toilet, and she pooed in the big girl potty! THEN (because she's freaking brilliant!) she grabbed some toilet paper, waved it in the general direction of her bottom, and dropped it into the toilet. I'm thinking we're not too many months away from potty training. And I'm not really sure how to do that, but if tonight is any indication, Linnea won't need me to teach her how to do anything--she's already watching very closely.

Last night we had one of our dearest friends over for dinner (Hi, P!)! It was SO good to have her come over. She used to be my boss, but she never ever felt that way. We would spend hours talking and laughing, and not getting much work done...it's a lucky thing OUR boss was understanding (if even a little jealous that we got to sit together and talk and laugh, while he was stuck in his office) because there were days when we really were terrible. She's the sort of woman I want to be when I grow up...still learning, still discovering, still trying new things, but at the same time learning how to just let herself be who she is. We talked non-stop last night, and at 10:30, she left before we just talked the whole night away.

I've forgotten how good it is to have friends. In Kansas, we really didn't have any. We had people in the congregations that we were close to...but that was a tricky line to walk, because you don't want to be perceived as having favorites. And there was always the pastor/congregant aspect to the relationship, no matter what. But here, we have friends who knew us before our teeth were capped, so to speak. Who have seen us at our most brilliant, and seen us at our most brilliantly boneheaded. And loved in spite of all of it.

Sunday we're going to go to the church that's pastored by one of our dear, dear friends--best man and Linnea's godfather. I can't even believe that we're going to church together as a family. That's happened fewer times than I can count on one hand. We'll sit together--Mama, Daddy, Linnea. We'll be normal. Well, as normal as we get.

Which, really, isn't all that normal.