Queen Kelley

Over the years, my Butterfly has given me several boosts of self-confidence. You may recall the time she told me my black bra looked like it belonged to a certain sea witch. Once she narrowed her eyes at the wrinkles in my forehead—which appear ONLY when I raise my eyebrows, mind you!—and delightfully pointed out my “rainbows.” Later, she drew several pictures of me with colorful rainbow foreheads. On another occasion, as I did my business in a public toilet, she exclaimed, “Good job, Mama! You tee-teed!” I can still hear the snickers from surrounding stalls. On Monday after school, she happily told my friend that I don’t wear a shirt when I work out at home. She neglected to mention my sports bra. A few moments later, as I turned to buckle her into her car seat, she told me about studying “Mr. T” in class. This is not the man of A-team fame, but an inflatable letter person who apparently has tall teeth. She watched me respond to her, looking closely at my mouth. “Mama,” she said, “did you know your top teeth are much bigger than your bottom teeth?” I nodded and explained that when her baby teeth fall out, her grown-up teeth will look different too. Then she proceeded to inform me, with a completely serious expression, “You kinda look like a goat or a beaver or something.” What does a mama say to that? With only a hint of sarcasm in my voice, I answered, “Why, thank you, sweetie. How very nice!”

I like lists, both making them and reading them. When I get to the end, I feel like I’ve accomplished something. For today’s list, I thought about sharing what with you. Then I figured why is a lot more interesting. So here’s my list of why, part 1.

1. Why I prefer reading and writing children’s literature. By children’s, I mean anything from picture books to teen fiction. I’ll admit I haven’t read much adult fiction, so my opinion is definitely biased. From the few pieces I’ve read, though, I have to say that children’s literature seems to offer more imagination, hope, and freedom to dream. Whether it’s fantasy, coming-of-age, or some other kind of tale, I’m completely pulled into books about or directed toward young people. In the best of these books, the characters are palpable, the life lessons subtle, the humor abundant, and the endings nearly always hopeful, if not necessarily happy. I enjoy writing for this age group for similar reasons. I’ve found that I don’t need explicit descriptions of sexual encounters to sense passion between individuals. I don’t need long, drawn-out, brutal death scenes to appreciate depth of loss. I don’t need excessive profanity to understand the fire behind a character’s words. The bottom line is that I simply think children’s literature is more fun and fulfilling to read. With limited reading time, I go with what I love.

2. Why Harry Potter is an obsession of mine. My infatuation with all things Harry Potter ebbs and flows with the book and movie releases. Recently, I’ve rewatched movies 3 and 4 and will soon watch 5 to get ready for the release of 6 next month. Of course, the books trump the movies any day, but time constraints don’t allow me to reread them in the way I’d like. As for Harry, there’s something incredibly moving about witnessing him transform from a small, awkward, and unaware young wizard into a force that defeats the wizarding world’s greatest enemy. Perhaps most fascinating is that he doesn’t actually evolve all that much. While his perspective on life and death and good and evil greatly matures, he is still Harry at the end of the series—awkward, slightly unsure, not at all self-glorifying. There are things to complain about regarding some of Rowling’s logic and lack of editing, but overall the series is powerful, captivating, and enduring. I look forward to reading the books with my kids in a few years. (As for the religious controversy over the books, I say it all comes back to Glenda’s question in The Wizard of Oz: “Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?” Clearly, Harry is good, as hard as it is to be good in a world where evil is so tantalizing.)

3. Why I put my kids to bed at 8:00 every night. Plain and simple, they need the sleep, and the King and I need the time to ourselves. Additionally, my children wake up by 6:30 nearly every morning, regardless of when they go to bed, so why not get them down early and extend the night for everyone? Although you can never be certain of a family’s reasoning, I still cringe when I’m at a grocery store at 9:00 pm and see small children gallivanting around with their parents. Put them to bed already!

4. Why I believe in God. Science intrigues me. The more I learn about our amazing universe, the more I feel certain that there is a Higher Power behind it all. I simply can’t accept the fact that everything, from the enormity of the sun that sustains our life to the tiniest particles that make up our cells, randomly exploded into being. As for the particulars of how, when, why, and exactly what, most days I’m content to discover those things as God chooses to reveal them. I know many intelligent, logical, reasonable people disagree with this belief in a Supreme Force. But I believe. I’ve found that I can’t do otherwise.

5. Why I’m a Baptist. I’d like to say it’s because I admire Baptist principles like freedom of interpretation, separation of church and state, priesthood of the believer, autonomy of the local church, etc. Those are indeed lofty principles when applied to the way one worships God. To be honest, though, I’m a Baptist because I was born into it. Who knows how it would be otherwise. I might just as easily be a Methodist, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Catholic, some other religion, or not a believer at all. I’d like to think I’d be attracted to the Baptist faith as an outsider, but my particular denomination of Christianity has a poor reputation these days. However, being mature enough now to explore other groups, I choose to remain a Baptist mostly because of the historic principles listed above.

6. Why I give money to childhood cancer research/support organizations. Everyone needs a cause—a place to direct his or her money, time, and passion. For the King and me, it’s childhood cancer groups. Our main inspiration appears occasionally on my blog. A little girl with a big story, Catie Marie Wilkins battled medulloblastoma (aggressive brain tumor) for nearly four years. She passed on at age four in January 2007, just a week before her younger sister’s birth. I still follow the family’s journey, which Catie’s mother Jenny writes beautifully on her blog. What these children face is beyond horrifying. What their parents endure is unimaginable. The strength they all exhibit is breathtaking. The King and I are committed to caring for these kids and their families as much as we can, and hopefully we can increase our support and involvement as our own children mature.

7. Why symmetry drives me crazy. My husband is an engineer. For his work, symmetry is essential and even at times a life-and-death matter. However, he brings this into the home. The rugs must be completely straight, the pictures perfectly aligned, the colors mirror images of each other. We laugh about it because my instinct is to bump things slightly askew, to scatter the colors, to break the reflection. It makes life more interesting and unpredictable. Of course, John would say just the opposite.

8. Why I wear my seatbelt and switch off lights. It’s my dad. From the time we were small, he insisted that we buckle up while riding, and this was before seatbelt use was the law or even popular. Luckily, the habit stuck with me even through my teen years, when many of my friends considered seatbelts annoying and uncool. Now I have the law on my side, so I will accept no excuses from my own kids. As a Georgia Power engineer, my dad also nagged about us leaving lights on in unused rooms. At this point, I probably use more energy than I conserve because I flip off the lights even when I leave a room only for a few minutes. Thanks, Daddy. (:

9. Why I care about the Earth. I have a hard time understanding why anyone, especially those who believe in God, think caring for the Earth is some liberal, new age way to live. For me, it merely makes sense. When I think about the technological advances that have consumed our world in the past century, our progress blows my mind. Accompanying our advances in America is, unfortunately, a tendency to produce more waste that takes years to decompose (if it ever does), to collect material possessions in excess of anything anyone would ever need, to use our resources as if they are limitless (they’re not), and to disregard the fact that people across the sea still can’t count on clean water, much less electricity to power their lives. Why any Christian would think it’s not important to care for the Earth is totally beyond me. I can’t do it all, but I’ll do my best to recycle, reuse, and choose my food and products carefully in this little corner where I live.

10. Why I take a break from reading to read. The King simply shakes his head at me when, after a couple of hours of nightly editing, I crawl into bed to open a book and read for a few minutes. Let me assure you that there is an enormous difference in reading  someone’s writing in order to correct it and reading someone’s writing in order to enter another world. There is nothing—not movies, not vacations, sometimes not even time with friends—like sneaking away into the world created by a fiction author. I’m so thankful for books and only wish I had more time to read them.

To be continued….

Since the beginning of the year, the King and I have attempted to refinance our home. After weeks of miscommunication with the various agencies involved, we finally completed the process and received enough cash back to remodel our kitchen. The most heavily used room in the house offered worn linoleum, damaged laminate countertops, and outdated stained wood cabinets. We didn’t need a makeover in the kitchen, but we desired one, and fortunately we were able to do it. The actual remodel involved about a month and a half of steps, including the temporary relocation of essential appliances like the stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher (yes, the dishwasher is essential in my house!); the removal of cabinet doors for sanding and painting (which made finding items so easy that I was tempted to leave them off); four days that the girls and I spent with my parents while a contractor laid the tile flooring; one day in which contractors installed the new quartz counters and sinks; and two days for the King and I to paint while the girls spent time with his parents. At long last, and thanks to many people (the Baucoms and Heather for decorating assistance; the grandparents for their babysitting), our country farm kitchen is transformed into a crisp, clean, useful, and pleasant space. All that remains is caulking, a few paint touch-ups, and the construction of a special cabinet/shelf to hold art supplies and cookbooks. I am truly grateful!

Today I sent Ladybug to school with a cute shirt I bought at a recent consignment sale. Bright yellow, the shirt bears a large smiley-face applique complete with blond fuzzy hair and orange bows. “Lil’ Mischievous,” it declares. It suits Ladybug to a “T.”

Now I think I need to find a similar shirt for Butterfly. On our drive home from the preschool, she told me how hot she felt at school—both on the playground and in her classroom. This child’s internal thermostat mirrors her daddy’s completely.

“I was so hot sitting on the rug that I spit into my hands and wiped my face with them,” she said proudly.

“Butterfly, that’s gross! You shouldn’t do that,” I exclaimed.

“Well,” she replied, “it did help me feel cooler.”

Just call her “Lil’ Resourceful.”

Ask Butterfly what the world looks like on Christmas morning, and she’ll tell you it’s covered with snow. Her vision fits well with the dozens of Christmas stories we’ve enjoyed together that depict children playing in the snow—woolen hats, mittens, and all. We talked about snow angels and snowpeople and footprints in the snow. She imagined how snowflakes might feel as they fell on her skin. Along with Ladybug, we even duplicated a preschool art project and made several of our own snowpeople to decorate the kitchen wall. Of course, we got no snow on Christmas. It was even warm enough for short sleeves.

But finally, at long last, a cautious weather report hinted at the possibility of snow in our southern town. I scoffed at first and tried to convince my little girl that, even if snow fell, it wouldn’t stick. Even so, after a couple of teases, the snow fell in earnest Sunday afternoon. I immediately bundled up Butterfly and sent her out with her daddy to explore the fresh, new world. As soon as Ladybug woke up (with my subtle help), I put on her snow clothes (such that we have, seeing as we NEVER get snow) and hurried her out.

I found the King and Butterfly happily enjoying the snowfall. Butterfly leapt around in the bed of the old truck, scooping up handfuls of white fluffiness and tossing them at her daddy, while the King kept rubbing his hands together. Both were red-nosed and pink-cheeked. Ladybug was more hesitant to join the fun, but soon I followed her as she trekked across the front yard, amazed at the tracks the created.

Snowfall has its own special sound. It muffles the rest of the world in a magical way. Covering the mud from the previous day’s rains, decorating the tree branches with a white fur coat, smoothing out the pitted yard, it made our neighborhood look like a dream. Thrilled beyond expression that my girls finally got to see this wonder of nature, I encouraged them to soak it in—build a (albeit teeny) snowman! throw snowballs! make tracks! form a snow angel (though Daddy doesn’t want you to get wet)! taste the snow!

The girls gladly obliged, twirling in the falling flakes, hitting me with a few well-packed and not completely comfortable snowballs, constructing a mini snowperson (and promptly squashing it), stomping their shoeprints into the slush, and generally echoing my own glee with the unexpected delights of a southern snowfall.

Of course, we only got a couple of inches. Of course, the temperature never dipped below 30 that afternoon. Of course, hard ice later replaced the soft snow, then melted into an unpleasant mush. Of course, by Monday, little was left for play. Of course, they girls may not see snow again in these parts for several more years.

But none of that matters because, for one totally magical afternoon, they got to enjoy one of the greatest delights of nature. We all played in the snow, and we have more than 200 pictures and film clips to remind us that it really did happen.

Ever read another mother’s account of something her kid did and thought, “She nailed it”?

To start at the beginning, I’ll say that my heart goes out to families with sick kids, and I frequently get to know such families through their powerful blogs. Somehow I found “MckMama.” When I first landed on her site, she was pregnant with her fourth child (in four years) and had been told that the baby would surely die at birth due to irreversible heart failure. Now, this little boy is three months old and appears to have no lasting complications from his illness in the womb. Aside from being a photographer who posts breathtaking photos of her children, food, the ice and snow of the frozen tundra where they live, and anything else she finds interesting, MckMama is clever, witty, and entertaining. I’ve read her “Have a Question? Check Here First!” articles on the left side of her blog. In many ways, her approach to rearing kids, her marriage, and God differs greatly from my own. In other ways, of course, we’re on the same page. Regardless, I enjoy her updates and empathize with her about life, even as I wonder how in the world she does it with so Many Small Children (MSC, as she dubs them).

This post is a case in point. Any mamas and daddies who click on this link and read it (and any aunts/uncles/cousins/friends of little ones who’ve been there and can vouch for its validity), let me know if you can identify! Note: MckMama identifies her four children by McDonald’s menu items.

What? It’s fun! And clever. Clever, I tell you.

You know, in this world full of the objectification of females—panties marketed for four-year-olds with phrases like “hot” and “sassy” written across the rear, revealing attire worn by women in most media, and impossibly shaped dolls—I’ve discovered something refreshing. The Barbie company, at least, plays it equal. The jeans they manufacture for their male dolls are just as revealing as the dresses made for the females. While Barbie’s entire bare chest is visible above the tiny strip of fabric they call a tube top, her guy friend’s whole bum shows above his low-rise jeans, especially when he sits down. There you have it, folks—equal opportunity in the world of Barbie dolls.

We have yet to celebrate Thanksgiving officially, but already I feel the Christmas spirit. It’s appropriate, I think, even now before we consume the turkey and dressing. To me, Thanksgiving is all wrapped up in Christmas and vice versa. They complement each other. Anyway, I am starting the season with a bang—taking my girls for repeated viewings of Christmas trees at the local Wal-Mart and Lowe’s, letting them push the buttons on the ridiculous animated toys as many times as they wish, and promising to add their latest toy request to the mythical “Christmas list.” (I know. I’m Supermom. Admit it: you’re jealous.)

It’s not only about them, though. I have found my favorite flavor of the holidays, and it’s delivered by Chic-fil-A. The peppermint chocolate chip milkshake is DIVINE. First, it’s pretty. Red-pink and thick, with flecks of dark chocolate and a creamy whipped topping spiral. Second, it’s seasonal. I’m not a regular consumer of peppermint (unless you count my mouthwash), and it never fails to remind me of Christmas. Third, and most important, it’s simply delectable. You take a sip, and it cools your entire throat all the way down to your stomach, where it settles comfortably. It’s not only cold; it’s minty fresh. Then there’s the added bonus of the chocolate bits, which mingle well with the mint. If you have any inclination toward peppermint, I’d recommend this milkshake. It’s like drinking a Peppermint Patty, only sweeter.

I have also found my favorite sounds of the season, and they come from the voices of the gorgeous Harry Connick, Jr., and the equally adorable Kristin Chenoweth. Harry’s What a Night! finds me jumping off the couch to dance around the room with my girls. As always, he combines traditional carols with upbeat secular songs and a few original compositions, and it’s ALL fabulous. This is his third Christmas album, and it’s another unique contribution to the group. Kristin’s A Lovely Way to Spend Christmas is exactly that. As I’m not familiar with most television shows these days, I don’t know Kristin from The West Wing or Pushing Daisies. No, I first heard her voice on the soundtrack for Wicked the musical, where she sang the part of Glinda the Good. Her vocal stamina is evident on every song she sings for Wicked, ranging from a nasally twang to high opera. On the Christmas album, her singing is sweet as sugar, smooth and warm and inviting. Both Harry’s and Kristen’s holiday recordings have me seeing visions of sugarplums and twinkling tree lights, though neither are in my home just yet. (What are sugarplums, anyway?)

So here you have it: my Christmas kickoff. Go get yourself a peppermint chocolate chip milkshake from Chic-fil-A (it’s never too cold for ice cream), wrap yourself in a blanket, and listen to Harry and Kristin while you drink a a little Christmas. I guarantee it’ll put you in the spirit.

In the spirit of a friend, I thought I’d write a so-long note to the rapidly depleted bounty my daughters raked in a couple of weeks ago.

Dear Halloween Candy,

I always knew we’d reach this point, but somehow I didn’t think it would come so fast. I mean, there was so much of you, and only one of me. Who could have known how quickly I’d consume you? Who could have realized how fleeting our time would be? You came in so many delectable forms—candy corn, Skittles, Laffy Taffy, Smarties, and, my favorites, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Snickers, and Butterfingers. I will never forget the powerful sweetness you delivered immediately, or the surprising way you left me always wanting more. I must be honest, though. Your hold over me was not entirely innocent. You drove me to do unimaginable things, like refuse candy to Butterfly while sneaking some for myself when she wasn’t watching, or consume six Hershey’s Kisses in a row, or eat three little bags of candy corn in one fell swoop. You could have been less overpowering, you know, and taught me more about delayed gratification. Instead, you chose to control me, and I let you. You’re nearly gone now, and I suppose I will get along without you. At least you gave me the dignity of keeping a few extra pounds. I think I’ve said enough to you, Halloween Candy. So go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. After all, Christmas Candy is already on the store shelves….

Until next year, I remain your beloved Queen Kelley.

Okay, I’ll admit it. My King was a teeny, tiny, little, miniscule bit right when he suggested our money (sixty dollars!) might go to better use at a place other than the fair. And, as he describes in his post for today, Ladybug presented an enormous challenge as we struggled to keep her safe from manure-filled wood shavings, the powerful hind legs of resting cows, zooming golf carts, and the enticing mashed cigarette butts lying on the road. Her protests whenever we tried to redirect her were loud enough for half the attendees to hear. She much preferred to push the wagon than ride in it. And big sister, as sweet as she was the entire time, cared little for the wagon as well, so the thing ended up being a huge burden in itself. (Thank goodness for Aunt Katie and Friend Erin, who were of tremendous help!)

Despite my earlier predictions, the weather still felt a few degrees too warm, especially in the direct sunlight. The cheese on the pizza I helped the girls eat was a bit rubbery from sitting out too long, the usually delicious roasted corn sported a mushy black spot the size of a quarter, and the funnel cake had enough powdered sugar to make a miniature Christmas village atop the picnic table. My back and arms ached from lugging Ladybug around, and my shirt grew damp in the heat. The parrots were unbelievably loud at the petting zoo (where, as the King noted, my girls did NOT pet the animals!).

Even with all the negatives, though, something in me knew it was right to be at the fair. It’s simply tradition. Four years and four pictures of Butterfly devouring funnel cake (her sister, smart gal, wouldn’t touch the stuff), little girls pointing at all the sights with wide eyes, Ladybug exclaiming at the size of a lazy black cow, Butterfly holding my hand and listening intently as I described the various animals at the zoo, the kids having a blast on the playground display, Ladybug blowing kisses at the rather frightening and enormously tall robot, Butterfly describing the rides Daddy took her on, and just plain old people watching—this is the essence of the fair.

Again, I’ll admit it is way too expensive. I imagine, though, that the King and I will have the same argument again next year.  And what a gentleman he is to indulge his wife’s whims on occasion. Bottom line: the fair isn’t as fun when you have to take fiercely independent toddlers, but somehow it’s still fun. At least for me.

It’s nearly that time again, and I can’t wait! For the past several years, the weather at the Georgia National Fair required shorts and tank tops. The sun beat down ruthlessly, and it was difficult to get into the spirit of fall with sweat trickling down your face. Kids quickly grew hot and tired, and parents chose to leave early rather than wait for the midway lights to shine in the night. This year, however, may be different! According to accuweather, the temperature may range from the low 70s to the low 80s—fairly perfect, I’d say. I’ve almost convinced the King that going to the fair will be a good idea this year. With Ladybug at 18 months, wide-eyed and curious, and Butterfly already a veteran of kiddie rides from our recent trip to Dollywood, they are at prime ages for a few enjoyable hours. We’ll pull them around in their wagon, pointing out the cows, horses, and pigs, letting them at least look at the rides, and buying them some cotton candy and funnel cake. We’ll enjoy looking at pumpkins, haystacks, and scarecrows, huge tractors, and various wares. We’ll let the girls climb all over the playground display and release their sugar energy. I’m sure it will be an evening to remember.

Blech! It was time to get that nasty roach off the top of the page. And what better thing to replace it than candy corn? Specifically, this new, incredibly yummy caramel candy corn by Brach’s. While perusing the tempting candy shelves at Wal-Mart yesterday, Butterfly and I oohed and ahed over the various offerings. “Let’s choose one thing,” I kept telling her, while secretly pining away for five or so different bags. “Candy corn!” she shouted, and I agreed. It’s long been my favorite Halloween-season candy. The King prefers the pumpkins, which I’ll admit are tasty, but the candy corn can be eaten by the handful, which is a significant criterion for me.

Anyway, I skipped the regular bags at first, searching instead for what I thought was a smarter choice—a large bag full of individually wrapped packets of candy corn. This way, I reasoned, our consumption would be limited, at least as long as our will power held out and we didn’t open a second packet. I found the trick-or-treat bag of candy corn and dumped it into the cart beside a delighted Butterfly. Then something new caught my eye. Brach’s has released a couple of new candy corn flavors, including caramel, caramel apple, and chocolate. I found the caramel especially attractive. Going against my earlier logic, I added a bag of it to our cart.

Later, while heading back to the house, I listened to Butterfly lick her fingers as she finished her tiny packet of regular candy corn. (Ladybug asked to “hold it,” and I let her have a small piece, but she soon spit it out. She hasn’t yet displayed my weakness for manmade sweets, though she’s a glutton for fruit.) In the driver’s seat, I tossed a couple of caramel corns into my mouth and enjoyed the supremely sweet, creamy, buttery caramel taste. Both Butterfly and later the King thought they were too sugary for their liking. This is okay by me. I could easily consume the whole bag within a week…though I really will try to eat only the amount that would fit into a tiny plastic packet. Really, I will. And then I’ll eat another. And perhaps another.

Observing Butterfly’s love of changing her Disney princess dolls from one outfit to another, despite the fact that she has few outfits yet, I decided to look for another medium. She’s not yet four, and her fingers still have a bit of that toddler stubbiness left to them. Even so, she’s getting pretty dexterous, so I thought paper dolls might be fun for her. We perused the sparse children’s book area at our nearby Wal-Mart since it was the closest location. After searching through the numerous coloring books, which she rarely uses anymore, I spotted a thick book that boasted four dolls and dozens of outfits. It lived up to those claims.

Once Ladybug settled down for her afternoon nap, a ridiculously excited Butterfly and an at least mildly excited Mama sat on the den floor and began punching out the dolls and their clothing. As you can see from the photo, these are not your standard cherub-like little girl dolls, nor are they old-fashioned figures from some time long ago. Instead, they’re hip, they’re diverse, and they’ve got a wardrobe to die for. These Fairy Princesses have the colorful names Crystal, Ruby, Sparkle, and Jade. Their outfits range from outlandish—hair in various bright hues, wings, and wands—to royal—lavish dresses, shoes, and polished hairstyles. Both of us have enjoyed dressing the fragile dolls, seeing what styles we can devise from the selections. My only complaint? That they’re fragile, of course. Already we’re losing clothing tabs, bending the big heads at their tiny necks, and struggling to keep the stands intact for their wobbly wearers. Even so, the six bucks I shelled out for the entire set has been worth it for Butterfly’s delight. A small price to pay indeed for an hour of creative fun.

Just a brief post to say happy birthday to my amazing husband, the King, otherwise known as the Shallow Thinker, Daddy, and John. Butterfly and I created a storybook for him today, which she presented to him this evening after a taco salad dinner. She was also most proud of the red rubber bug she chose for him at the Museum of Arts and Sciences during our trip there this morning. “Touch it, Daddy,” she said, stretching it nearly to the breaking point. Ladybug offered frequent kisses and spoken “hap buhdays” to her father. We all enjoyed a yummy dessert recommended by Aunt Jamie. You can’t go wrong with crescent rolls, apples, and lots of butter and sugar—especially when you top it with vanilla ice cream. Needless to say, we’re still stuffed at 10:00 pm. I am incredibly thankful for the King, thankful that he was born 29 years ago, thankful that his parents and siblings and the other special people in his life influenced him to be who he is, thankful for his ambition and motivation, for his deep love and affection, for his sometimes ridiculous and often intelligent sense of humor, for his unending desire to know more about God, and for his unwavering faithfulness to the girls and me. We love you!

Is your coffee cup feverish? Has it been shivering lately? What about your hands? Are they weary of clenching a paper coffee cup covered in a paper sleeve that you merely throw away after using? How many thousands of such sleeves do you imagine get tossed each week? Well, of course, I have the solution. For those of us growing ever more eco-conscious and concerned with preserving our beautiful earth, there is a way to save a few trees. Check out coffeecover.net for an innovative product that both helps the environment and makes your coffee cup look gorgeous. 

Those who know me may question my endorsement of this product, as I don’t drink coffee and rarely visit a Starbucks, but I still think it’s a great idea and an interesting find. Also, Erin wanted to support her cousin Mandy, who is co-developer of this new venture. Erin is a former coworker and sometimes reader of my blog, so, as you can see, my endorsement is not entirely selfless.

Now, all you coffee lovers (and hot chocolate lovers and those who simply love to dress up your cups) go get your coffecover (or two or three)!

After watching a preview that ran at the beginning of one of Butterfly’s DVDs, the two of us decided we needed to rent Pooh’s Heffalump Movie. Since we rented it on Saturday, she’s watched it at least five times. (Bad Mommy Alert: Yes, I know that’s probably too much screen time.) The premise behind the film, which stars Lumpy, the most adorable stuffed elephant I’ve ever seen, is that the Hundred Acre Woods creatures fear the mystical “Heffalumps” and vice versa. It turns out that “heffalump” is simply Pooh’s mispronunciation for “elephant.” It also turns out that the heffalumps, though they speak with British accents, look big and strange, and live in another land, are actually quite similar to Pooh and friends—they enjoy having fun, love their family members, and delight in making friends. The first one to realize this is young Roo, who goes out in search of a heffalump with the intent to capture one and bring it back to the Hundred Acre Woods. Of course, he meets sweet Lumpy, and the two become fast friends and share many saccharine moments together.

After watching the film with Butterfly on one occasion, I talked with her about the theme: “They each thought the other was scary because he was different. But it turns out that they’re a lot alike, and they can be good friends, even though they don’t look the same or live in the same places. A heffalump is really just an elephant, right?” Well, Butterfly had her own opinions. ”Mommy, Lumpy is an elephant, but there are bad heffalumps out there! Let’s pretend to catch a heffalump.” And off she went to find string for rope and an object to use as a gun. Apparently, she wanted to kill the heffalump! No amount of my explaining otherwise could deter her mission. So off we went hunting heffalumps. (At first I wondered how she knew what to do with a gun, but then I remembered her recent obsession with Disney’s Pocahontas, in which John Smith and his other English comrades wield guns against the “savages.” Sigh. At least these Disney films have been fodder for conversations and make-believe play.)

Really, though, just look at Lumpy. How cute is he? Just wait until you hear him talk and sing.

Buy a Wendy’s Frosty this weekend (June 14 and 15) at participating locations, and support the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption. I learned about this on Jim Houser’s website. As manager for Steven Curtis Chapman, Jim has updated regularly about the family and about his own grief over little Maria’s death three weeks ago.

This weekend, I can’t think of a better reason to go enjoy a yummy Frosty (or two or even three) than to support adoption. I hope you will too!

One of the springtime activities I’ve enjoyed with the girls is visiting the strawberry patch, otherwise known as Elliott Farms. Now that spring is taking her bow, with summer breathing hot and heavy over her shoulder, we likely won’t go often. While the weather was mild, though, we and our best friends spent three separate days there, first picking berries, then picnicking, then exploring the farm.

Both girls could pick berries all day. Being a paranoid mama, I never let them eat directly from the patch, even though I overheard the field’s owner assure my friend, “Oh, there’s nothing on those strawberries but dirt!” Well, it’s the dirt I don’t necessarily want my kids to swallow. Even so, Butterfly took great joy in searching for the reddest berries and plunking them into her white plastic bucket. On each visit, she worked until she filled it to the brim. Ladybug enjoyed picking too, and she didn’t care whether the berries were hard and green-white, or so red and ripe that she merely had to grab one for it to turn to mush in her fingers. (Note to Mama: Don’t dress the kids in school clothes for a day at the farm.) 

After we paid less for the berries than we would have at the grocery store (and I usually added a jar of local honey or a few squash to the purchase), we had a snack lunch in the grass. There’s nothing like dining on a picnic blanket with goats eyeing you from behind a fence only a few feet away, or with the wailing calls of the peacocks startling you as you sip your water. The ambiance is unbeatable. Lunch was, of course, not complete until we all enjoyed the delectable homemade soft-serve strawberry ice cream. I don’t even like strawberry ice cream, but this…mmmm.

Once we cleaned up our mess, we traipsed around the farm, studying the various animals—the goats (one got his head stuck in the wire fencing), the peacocks (one actually flashed his breathtaking tail feathers at us), the burro (he brayed frequently), the hens and roosters and baby chicks (they’re all quite smelly, but Ladybug enjoyed chasing after a rooster), the horses, the cows, and the huge pig (quite an expression on that one, eh?). We even got to see and pet a gray baby goat, who seemed to delight in the attention.

Elliott Farms has offered great fun for all of us, and we look forward to trying the corn maze in the fall. (Actually, we just look forward to the fall, no matter what we do then. It’s getting HOT!) You know you’ve had a good day at the farm when Ladybug picks up a small round pellet of manure and sucks her fingers after I slap it out of her hands. You know it’s been a fun morning at the patch when Butterfly is actually brave enough to attempt feeding a horse, even though she dropped the hay before his lips touched her palm. You know you’ve had a great time with the girls when all of you leave the farm with feet blackened from the dirt, hands stained with strawberry juice, and hair damp with sweat. We’ll definitely go back.

Apparently, this is what I’ve become. If you ask my husband why, (other than my thirtieth birthday last fall) he’ll probably tell you it’s because of what he saw on our kitchen counter yesterday evening. Taken separately, the two items are likely innocuous–one recently came in the mail from amazon.com, and the other was a groomsman gift the King received. When stacked together, though, the King says they say, “Old Fart.”

Of course I beg to differ. We’ve had this feeder outside our home for nearly a year, and he and Butterfly have both delighted in keeping it filled. All of us, even little Ladybug, have enjoyed watching our feathered friends nest and dine. It’s only natural that I decided we needed a way to identify these funny creatures. And, when I received the book and began flipping through to find our most common visitors (brown thrashers, cardinals, house wrens, mourning doves, and tufted titmouses [titmice?]), it was only natural that I needed a way to see them more clearly. The King promptly brought me his binoculars. Butterfly and I had a good time looking through them and trying to figure out the intricate feather patterns on the birds. Well, I had a good time doing that. Butterfly kept looking at me through the wrong end and saying, “Mama, you look really tiny.” When it was time to clean off the table after dinner, I stashed my bird gear on the counter. That’s where the King found it and had his realization. It’s made for a few jokes at my expense. I’m not helping matters much, though.

This evening, when the King was heading to his workout at the gym, he noted that I was watching Antiques Roadshow with my mother. I fully intended to turn on a movie, but I’ll be honest. The roadshow rocks. Someone presents a hideous piece—a vase, a rotting trunk, a strange sculpture (look at that piece! better yet, look at its owner!) a painting I could do with my eyes closed—and the appraiser rattles off the rare qualities. The suspense builds until, finally, we learn that the item could sell at auction for several thousand dollars. Inevitably, the owner nearly faints with greedy joy. Or, someone presents a nice-looking piece, and the appraiser gets brutal. “This’ll net maybe twenty dollars. Sorry. It’s just not authentic.” The owner’s face? Appropriately grieved. And it goes on and on. Who can beat that?

Signing off,

The Old Fart (and proud of it)

Ps. It needs to be recorded here that the King set out a bowl of water for the birds. It seems that this Old Fart has found a hobby that everyone in the family enjoys!

It’s always odd for me to think of my mama and daddy as grandparents, but that’s what they are. Once they were the folks who dealt with my mood swings and kept me in line, and now they’re the ones who visit my kids bearing trinkets and promising hours of entertainment. They never fail. The girls and I just spent a couple of nights at Nana and Pappy’s house. I think Ladybug and Butterfly had the most fun with a box of costume jewelry from our collections through the years. They donned faded gold-plated bracelets and various gaudy necklaces and pranced around the room. Later, Pappy took them to the pond to feed the ducks. Nana had a tickle fight with Butterfly. Pappy tried to show them a train pulling through the rail yard, but we were a few minutes too late. No matter, though, because at the playground afterward, a train passed through the woods nearby, and Ladybug finally got to see the invisible “choo choo” that she could hear at her grandparents’ house. The girls even got to enjoy a birthday party for their great-grandfather “Pop,” complete with chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. Visits like these make me wish we lived a bit closer than a 70-mile drive, but it makes for a nice trip on either side. I’m continually grateful for both my parents and the King’s; they focus on my children completely and love them fully. Visits with the grandparents are always what they should be—pure joy! And then, as my parents say, they get to hug and kiss goodbye, and the King and I get to go and do the dirty work.

I was going to say something about my 100 posts in my last entry, but the seriousness of the subject matter made me forget. Maybe it’s a little more unique to celebrate 101 posts, anyway. I’ve been at this blogging business for two months shy of a year. It’s been fun, sometimes demanding (gotta keep up with the Shallow Thinker now!), and a much-needed outlet for writing, even if it’s only brief snippets. It’s given me a way to record funny and serious moments in my daughters’ lives, to wax eloquent (or not so much) about one of my favorite TV shows, to advocate for a passionate cause, to explore matters of faith, to review films, and to gripe about my writing. Thanks to Lance, Mr. Piniglarism himself, for hosting my blog. It’s a blast, and I look forward to making many more posts, whether or not anyone stops by to read them!

The King and I experienced a tremendous date this weekend. With the girls happily secure at GG and Pawpaw’s, we drove to Atlanta and dined at Cafe Intermezzo (thanks, Monica, for the recommendation!). As my husband so eloquently details on his blog, it was delicious. My favorite part? The huge display cases of cake, pies, and tortes. Choosing only two was insanely difficult, but the derby pie and white chocolate raspberry torte were both amazing.

After our meal, we drove to the Civic Center to watch the Broadway tour of Disney’s The Lion King. In a word, Wow. In more words, the show was absolutely breathtaking. I wouldn’t say I’m a live theater buff, but I do enjoy the occasional cultural experience of actors playing roles right before my eyes, utilizing body language, vocal inflection, facial expression, and costumes to deliver a live spectacle in only one take. I’ve always loved the animated film about Simba and his realization of his place in the circle of life. The opening sequence of the cartoon is particularly dazzling, and the theater magnified it for me. A reviewer describes it:

It’s been said that the first 15 minutes of The Lion King are the most sublimely theatrical experience you can have in a theatre. When the performers—as cheetahs, zebras, rhinos, gazelles, buzzards and ostriches—proceed from the rear of the auditorium to the stage the audience invariably reacts with awe.

The sequence is extraordinarily moving for its very simplicity. The wonder is not at how much the actors look like animals, but in witnessing the human creativity that can take simple sticks and fabric to create the idea and beauty of a giraffe.

This person is exactly right. Before the show began, I warned the King that I would probably cry a few times. “But it’s a CARTOON!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. Later, after one particularly poignant moment, he nudged me and said, “I got chills!” (He may not relish me telling you that, but I swear it happened.) There were many moments like that throughout the production, but this opening sequence truly set the mood.

The mostly African American cast (and some native African) sang heartily and acted passionately. Harmonies, deep rhythms you literally felt in your heart, and swelling crescendos all worked together to move the story along.

Most amazing were the costumes. Most of the actors essentially played two parts—delivering their own expressions and spoken lines and also moving the gorgeous puppets that melded with their bodies. That director and costume designer Julie Taymor was able to conceive of such a beautiful way to present the animals is awe-inspiring. Rhinos, birds, lions, cheetahs, antelope, wildebeests, even elephants and giraffes paraded across the stage (and wound through the audience) at various moments during the show.

My favorite new songs were “They Live in You,” which reminded Simba that his father Mufasa (and all the great kings of the past) live on within him, and “Shadowland,” which reworked a melody from the original film score by adding moving lyrics for Nala to sing.

Back at the in-laws’ house that evening, I ordered the original cast recording and can’t wait to receive it. What a special date! I’m grateful that my man is willing to get some “culture” with me every now and then. I suppose he doesn’t mind too badly when it comes with white chocolate raspberry torte.

Robin posted this hilarious Lost montage. If you need a review of the past season thus far (or heck, all past seasons), you should definitely check it out. After viewing it–and laughing out loud the entire time–I said, “My sentiments exactly!”

This morning, Butterfly decided to wear her Minnie dress from Halloween. Then she decided she needed some brown shoes (worn on the opposite feet, of course) and yellow socks to go with it. She topped off the striking ensemble with a hot-pink headband. I’d offer more comment, but I think the picture is sufficient.

(Sorry photos are always of the backs or tops of my children. The King and I have an agreement not to show their faces on the Internet. If you know us, you see enough of our kids in person and via email photos anyway!) 

This is just a note to let my readers know one of my best friends has joined the blogging world. Check out Heather’s new site at the appropriately named Sweet Southern Belle.net! As social worker, minister’s wife, and mom to a 17-month-old, Heather has a unique outlook on life. I look forward to reading her thoughts.