Queen Kelley

Finally, Lost premieres tonight! When the show ended last spring, it seemed like ages before the season 4 premiere. It will be a too-short season, for sure, due to the writer’s strike, but you can be sure I’ll hang on every episode. As some people say, I’m a bit obsessed with the storyline, though not to the extent described. I’ve simply found it a well-acted, precisely written and conceived, thrilling, and highly entertaining piece of television. Of course, I have little memory of what happened on the most recent episode, so count me among those watching the review show at 8:00 this evening. I’ll post about it later!

The King’s family is somewhat unique in that his sister and brother-in-law and their three kids live in Burkina Faso, Africa. Rebecca and Keith minister there, educating, serving, and training the natives to teach others about God. The children know little different from all the beautiful brown faces they see (the middle child’s shock of blond hair is quite a contrast in photos!), the hot and dusty days, and the customs and behaviors that seem strange to untraveled Americans like me.

My nieces and nephew are a hoot. Via email, we receive photos of them enjoying mud puddles with their neighbors, covering themselves in diaper rash cream or stickers or lipstick, lounging in big buckets of water. They enjoy life to the fullest, and I for one admire how Rebecca has adapted her life to that of the Africans–learning how to live at a slower, less hectic pace; cooking meals from the barest of scratch; losing some of the typical mommy paranoia about what might taint our kids. Take this, for instance.

Merely thinking about this gives me the shivers, but it’s like Keith wrote, they sometimes have to accept approaches to life that we might not consider “normal.” Normal, in fact, is completely relative. Just ask the African children my in-laws nurture on a daily basis.

So, is this the best news ever or what? I can barely contain myself. I’ll have to dig up the oversized tee bearing Jon’s image, find a scrunchie to tie the shirt on my hip, crank up the curling iron for sky-high bangs (not to mention purchase some fresh Rave hairspray for maximum hold), and get to relearning everything from “Hangin’ Tough” to “I’ll Be Lovin’ You Forever.” This last task will be easier, at least, thanks to the gift of my favorite youth minister, who brought back a New Kids CD from his trip to Ecuador. He said he got it for a great price. “Listen up everybody if you wanna take a chance! Just get on the floor and do the New Kids dance!”

So, yeah, the baby threw up last night. One of the worst sounds I’ve heard as a mother (other than a “thunk” and a scream) is coughing, gagging, and heaving in the middle of the night. My heart pounds, my adrenaline rushes, and I enter overdrive, quite as the King described it. That was after I lay in bed for 30 minutes after the first cough, praying Ladybug wasn’t sick to her stomach. She was.

We handled it well, and fortunately, it seems like she’s over it. Maybe an allergic reaction to the macaroni and cheese she had for dinner? Too much saliva from teething? An overload of mucus from a cold? Too hot? Too chilly? The moon was a bit higher than the night before? A butterfly flapped its wings halfway around the globe?

That’s what it’s like to be a parent–trying to decipher the young child’s needs, even though the child either can’t speak English yet or can’t speak it well enough to detail her medical ailments. It’s all a mystery, really, and so we do the best we can to cuddle, comfort, and calm. To be honest, I’ve read enough about the abnormal to be grateful for the normal, even when it’s messy and smelly. I don’t know if my friends who’ve been through such trials would say it quite the same way, but things could certainly be worse for Ladybug.

Well, it’s happened. My dear King has followed me into this blogging world. So, friends, if you dare, take a trip to shallowthinker.com and enter a world you never imagined. Just don’t expect him ever to post a picture of Johnny Depp. That would be weird.

I take comfort in assuming that most every household battles the yearly invasion of the ladybugs. Such an assumption makes my home feel not so dirty and infested. I think, of all creatures to invade my home, I’d prefer ladybugs. They prey upon more annoying creatures like aphids, keeping those populations under control. They’re not big and brown and creepy-crawly like cockroaches. And, with their orange/red color and black spots, they’re actually kind of cute. Of course, most of ours end up dead near the windows after struggling for freedom. Some enjoy bouncing off my older daughter’s ceiling fan light, making a small “ping” sound and delighting her. We’ve even carried a few back outdoors, rescuing them from an untimely death on our laminate flooring.

Apparently, my little Ladybug, 10 months old, has an affinity for her namesakes as well. I came home from the grocery store recently to find the King walking toward me with Ladybug, who was gumming a mysterious substance. “She’s been working on a ladybug for the past ten minutes, and I can’t get it,” my husband informed me. “Ew!” After glimpsing a bit of black on the baby’s tongue, I hooked my practiced index finger and made the standard swipe, bringing out a dark pulp with flecks of orange. “Ew!”

“How’d you get that out?” the King asked, astonished. I suppose after fishing out numerous objects (leaves, a plastic stroller part, paper) over the past months of Ladybug’s life, I have grown adept at the art.

I understand a baby’s desire to put things in her mouth, but I don’t get why she keeps it there, especially if it tastes like leaves or paper…or worse. There was a struggling ladybug by my bathroom sink the other night. It had been there for at least a day, surely dying. To end its misery, I grabbed a piece of toilet paper and squashed it. Merciful, I know. You wouldn’t believe the strength of the odor it emitted. It smelled exactly like fresh earth. Like dirt. One would assume it also tastes like dirt. Thus, my Ladybug enjoys the taste of dirt. Of ladybugs. Sigh.

My favorite and admittedly bizarre actor, Johnny Depp, has been nominated for an Oscar. This is his third time as a nominee (Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, Finding Neverland, and, now, Sweeney Todd).

He makes strange film choices and is probably the one actor who actually embodies a bit of every single oddball character he’s played. After years of freewheeling, rather irresponsible living, it appears he has settled down a bit–at least for him. With a longtime beloved, two kids, various homes (including one on a private island in the Bahamas; hey, if you’ve got money, I’d say your personal island ranks right up there in things to buy!), and a film career that allows him to play outrageous characters and pass on the more mainstream roles, he’s got reason to feel comfortable and settled.

I’ve already reviewed Sweeney Todd. I loved the movie and am still enjoying the soundtrack. Johnny was, of course, outstanding in the film, as were his costars who are getting a bit less press. Suffice it to say that I believe it’s high time he was awarded the highest honor for a film actor, even if he ends up chucking the statue into the sea or melting it down to form some sort of crazy piece of art.

Give the man an Oscar, already!

Since my beloved Gilmore Girls was cancelled last year, my favorite TV choices have dwindled. From seasons 1-5, GG was consistently funny, touching, and finely acted. After that, when the writing changed and conflicts over story direction evolved, it was still finely acted, but the actors had less quality material to present, including a bizarre side story involving leading man Luke (Scott Patterson) that seemed like something out of a soap opera. Of course, my King would tell you that show was nothing more than a soap opera all along, but I and other loyal fans would beg to differ.

So what to watch now? Like thousands of others, I eagerly await the season premiere of Lost, which I consider one of the most thrilling, mysterious, and entertaining shows I’ve ever seen. I’m not a fan of true-to-life crime dramas. They make me nervous. But the fantasy/science-fiction element of Lost makes it intriguing rather than nerve-wracking. Great acting, powerful stories, and, again, that overwhelming sense of mystery comprise this excellent show. I certainly need a recap before I enter this new season, though. This might help. See Recap in 8 min, 15 sec. (Thanks, Robin!)

I’m also a fan of The Office. Amazing acting, humor so over the top it sometimes makes me uncomfortable, and of course the fabulous love story of Jim and Pam–I could watch episodes back to back for hours. (Thanks, Monica, for lending me season 3!)

Now, only time will tell how much longer the writers’ strike will last or how deeply it will affect our favorite shows. Let’s hope for a resolution soon!

For the first time, after viewing several different versions (most notably the Mickey Mouse animated one), I read Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. [NOTE: SPOILERS MAY FOLLOW FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN'T READ THE BOOK.] Imagine my surprise in finding that Jacob Marley is not, in fact, a tall, gangly, dog-like creature. Of course, like any great book that’s converted into a movie, the original offers much more detail and back story, like the fact that Scrooge attended boarding school and was rather ostracized by his peers. Oh, and he actually saw his own dead body lying in bed, decaying and abandoned. You won’t see that in any Disney version! The same themes are there, though. A reformed man vows to live life anew, considering each breath a gift to pay forward rather than a way to curse fellow human beings. (”Bah!”) Dickens is also quite humorous, sprinkling the entire work with funny lines.My favorite passage, in fact, is one that emphasizes the significance of a sense of humor:

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that, while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor.

I’ve known several people who live like this, and trust me, they’re a lot less stressed than the rest of us, no matter what comes their way. Judging from his writing, I think Dickens himself was probably a funny man.

Good grief. I haven’t posted in ages. I totally intended to write a post on New Year’s Day–start the year out right. It didn’t happen. The whirlwind of the holidays, a vehicle mishap, and overwhelming work loads have made me a delinquent blogger. My apologies to anyone who actually checks this with regularity. (Do I have such a reader?)

Lately, I truly feel as though I have no time. My days, happily, are consumed with my girls. Butterfly and Ladybug keep me busy, especially since the baby has learned to get around quickly and with ease. She is across the room in a flash, often with a leaf, a small toy, or a piece of paper stuffed in her mouth. My big girl lives in her imaginary world and constantly invites me to visit. She just discovered The Wizard of Oz film, and all day I hear, “Mommy, you be the Tin Man and I’ll be Dorothy. Now be the Lion. How about the Scarecrow?” Never beautiful, sparkly Glenda, mind you. No, I have to be those without a brain, heart, or bravery.

After the dinner rush and cleanup, the girls go to bed, and I hit the computer for work. No time to work out, no time to watch a TV show (and Lost is tantalizingly close to airing again!), no time to talk deeply with my husband, no time to read more than three pages of a book I like, no time to blog or email, and certainly no time to write on my poor little novel-in-progress.

I work until my eyes refuse to stay open, and then I toss and turn all night while the baby calls out or my dear husband snores. I’m restless and anxious.

I know it will pass, and time will be mine again. At least a bit more mine. For now, I’ll do as much as I can with the time I have–the same time we all have.