My violin professor in grad school had me tape every lesson to review during the week.  What you see are about 20 video tapes that I have dragged on 6 moves, yet have not viewed a single one since 2002, at least.  I keep thinking that maybe I’ll have a student who will play the Prokofiev unaccompanied sonata, or the 2nd Wieniawski concerto.. and I could look at these to see how my teacher taught it.

But even in that unlikely event, I seriously doubt I could watch them.  Why would I want to watch my dream implode?  Would I want to see what I played like the week before my arms failed me?  Or see what happened to my body in those two years?  The times that I broke down in tears and she had to shut the camera off?  I would also see me fight my way back and work my way up to playing my master’s recital, but I have a video of the performance that pleases me enough.  I just don’t think I need to see any of these lesson tapes, or drag them on any more moves to sit in any more basements.

I guess I’m waiting for permission to throw them away… like a good student I do what I’m told, and now I’m apparently the teacher, but to different students in a different medium.

So can I ask you a favor?  Can you wide internets give me permission to throw them away?  I’d really like to be able to move on literally and figuratively - because when I pack up my basement again some day, I’d rather deal with all the other baggage down there.  

Please?  Thankee kindly.

When Daddy is away in Canada, the kids will put on their footie pajamas, eat pizza and watch The Penguins of Madagascar. Those are my feet. And yes, these jammies DO glow in the dark.

(via mar-see-ah)

72 and Amsterdam

Today I am incredibly thankful for the stay-at-home part of stay-at-home mom.  The Dude has resurrected the waking-up-at-unholy-times-of-night habit and started screaming at 2:30 this morning.  As I shuffled around getting him a bottle, I realized I was feeling violently sick, so spent the next good while rolling around the bathroom floor.

Sidenote - how annoying is it that a woman of a certain age can’t throw up without everyone assuming she’s knocked up?    You can’t say “ug, I feel so awful!” without a “HHHHMMMM????!!!” right back at you.  All I want is pity, not a expectant question.

And no, I’m not.  Sheez.  Why on earth would I be thinking about adding to the brood when the Dude is the biggest handful a 17 month-old has ever been??  Let a poor girl catch her breath!

Anywho, we woke up late this morning with nothing planned, I was able to roll around on the floor some more and moan while the kids watched Sesame Street and then we made some blueberry muffins.  I know in a few years there will be school every day and a morning like this will be a distant memory, but oh, it was appreciated today.

Now WonderGirl and I are reading and getting smart.  It’s days like today that being a trophy wife totally pays off.

 

GPOYW - My Kid Totally Drew That Sweet Castle - edition.

urban cowboy

I did not get a picture of it, but rest assured that at 4:17 PM today, I attempted running the Roomba around the Dude for the first time, and, as you have probably already surmised, he tried to ride it.

Sigh.  He is SUCH a Dude.

(via theduty)

Gotta keep things in perspective.  Poor WonderGirl has some serious Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Genuinely depressed - I know the difference between I-want-my-way or I’m-so-cranky-because-I’m-tired/hungry/bored, etc.  She is seriously depressed and is really struggling, lonely and stir crazy.  Me too.  I HATE wearing coats and warm clothing.  I feel like I’m in a straight jacket all the time, and the thought of getting ready to go out (which we do every day) is terrifying.  I hate having to put a coat on the Dude, because he hates them too (I gave up on hats and mittens).  It pains WonderGirl to the core to have to wear coats and layers to cover up her wardrobe creations.  Ug, I feel the exact same way, except my clothes kinda match and I don’t look homeless.  I’ve given up on the clothing battle - as long as it’s warm and modest, it’s fine.  So she dresses like a clown/hobo.  Sigh.

I do dislike life right now.  But I haven’t been stabbed yet, so that’s cool.

(via lalalindsay)

Frozen pizza and frozen cookie-dough, in the same package.

AAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!  We’re looking at the next few months and husband will be travelling for work more often than normal… BUT IT’S TOTALLY FINE.  I CAN BE STUCK IN THE HOUSE ALONE FOR WEEKS ON END BECAUSE THIS PRODUCT EXISTS.

We might see two suns in the sky in 2012

We might see two suns in the sky in 2012

Holy.  Snap.

I’ve kind of been up to something.  After reading Emily Matchar’s article Why I can’t stop reading Mormon housewife blogs : I’m a young, feminist atheist who can’t bake a cupcake. Why am I addicted to the shiny, happy lives of these women? I got to a-thinking.  It’s quite an interesting read, particularly because I don’t feel like I can identify with most of those famous shiny, happy ladies.  Am I a mommy blogger?  I am Mormon… but I was blogging long before I had even the intention of being a mother.  And I’m a terrible home maker - I look at these women who are knee deep in the “New Domesticity” and both envy and study them.  I sure wish I was good at this home thing.  And no amount of telling myself that I have many other qualities will make up for the awful feeling I get when we sit in my chaotic house, eating food I know none of us likes.  So I read these blogs and try to pump myself up, telling myself it can be done.  There are loads of ladies out there who are talented in more than one thing, so there’s got to be hope for me.

The husband and I were talking about my old professional life, and all the things I simply don’t have credibility in anymore, because I’m not currently active in any of it.  I’m pretty much only active in raising my two children.  The house is a wreck, I can’t seem to get anything to work right, but every day I sit down at the piano with WonderGirl, sing with the Dude and dance with them to everything from Bach to the Beatles.

And it occured to me - that’s my credibility.  I’m a mom teaching music.  Those bloggers are always sharing their amazing ideas and creations, and these kids - their music appreciation and abilities are my creation, and I’m always working and adding to it.  I’d even venture to say I’m kind of good at it.

So, I decided to start my own craft-type blog, but for what I create - http://atreblemaker.blogspot.com.  Please visit, and share any of what you do to share your love of music with your wee ones.  I would sure love to learn from you!!

PS. I’m not ending this blog by ANY stretch of the imagination.  You can’t get rid of me that easily.

On Monday, after the INSANITY had died down, I went outside during the Dude’s nap to shovel the driveway.  I put on 17 layers of clothing and my headphones, turned on Pandora and got to shoveling.  This was the first song that came on - I had to laugh.  Too tired to cry.

I dislike snow.  So very, very much.

GPOYW - the I Just Realized My Hair Makes Me Look Like I’m a Member of Whitesnake - edition.  Yikes.  So blasted busy, I WANT to tell you about our insane adventures last weekend, but dagnabit life hasn’t stopped since then.  I’ll find the time later today… maybe…

except

We just realized we don’t have house keys, and we left the garage door opener with the car. We are sleeping at the bishop’s house and can’t get into the house until midday tomorrow, hopefully.

Growl. Sigh.

Flat tire, in the middle of nowhere, an hour from home. It’s single digit temps out there, too. Our awesome bishop came to pick us up and take us home. I am praising the heavens right now for cell phones, portable DVD players and human kindness. The Dude is praising the heavens for all the cool buttons on the dashboard that I let him mess with while we waited.

Home again home again, jiggety jig. I feel like we live in the frozen tundra! Sushi was had, anniversary was celebrated and a mall was visited, not necessarily in that order.
Now back to ClownTown. Yay.

On the road to Iowa for the weekend for our anniversary. We just passed Taliesin. Honestly, I don’t know how much respect I can have for Frank Lloyd Wright. He could build anywhere, and he chose Wisconsin. Did he not visit this place on winter??? %#%%.

Anywho, I’m looking forward to this see trip! We’re visiting the hubs sister and family, spending time at a mall with a Tarjay AND a children’s museum in it, then hitting a fabulous sushi place to celebrate 6 years at this matrimony thing. It’s not the Ritz to some, but to me it’s heaven. Paaaaartay!!

iammommahearmeroar’s kids are SO lucky.  I hope my kids don’t get wise to how cool their childhoods could have actually been if their mom had had the slightest talent for anything other than making snarky comments.

I think the doctor’s office should start a running tab. Today’s complaint? Dry lips. No joke, its that dumb, but that bad, too. It’s days like today that I miss the delightfully poorly regulated pharmacies of South America.

GPOYW New swimsuit day - edition. Took the kiddos to a mini water park today, and got to wear my new suit. I feel particularly awful, but I snapped a picture anyway. For modesty’s sake, I pixelated my bathroom and added a raptor to my cleavage.

confession

I feel like a failure because I feel like a failure most of the time.  Really, how counter-productive is that?  I hate that when I meet my maker, I’ll have to admit that I spent most of this beautiful life He’s given me feeling inadequate, awkward, inconsequential, wrong and never, never pretty or thin enough.  Which in turn makes me feel horribly ungrateful, but still impossible to shake.

Some days it’s even too much for my go-to solution - heaps of bravado.  The question for you, dear reader, is how do you get yourself to focus on the positive?

I did it! I mean, we did it! I know I’m a week early, but inspiration hit and I had to run with it. I’m rather pleased with myself, I am.

I stumbled on this while going through the pictures of the last year.  This was July at the Carthage jail in Illinois.  I have been zooming through these but this caught my eye.  There’s me, the two women who raised me, and these two children.  Who are mine.  The way we’re standing strikes me - my mom and Sanny are behind me, like they always are, while I’ve got my arms full of years of work ahead of me (delightful work, nonetheless).  It just brings tears to my eyes.  I’m so blessed to have these ladies have my back.  Plus the fact that I’m responsible for my own kids sneaks up on me and surprises me every now and then.  It’s still so surreal.

Oh, and there are almost zero pictures of last winter and spring.  That’s because it’s just too blasted cold to do anything and everything fun to do out here is outside.  But the summer?  We got out and played HARD.  I swear, this video just might be 8 hours to cover it all. 

via npr:

Immigrants like these Indians at a Sikh festival in Barcelona are bolstering Europe’s stagnant population growth rates. Research shows that the more education a woman receives, the fewer children she is likely to have. Photo by Randy Olson, courtesy of National Geographic. (Taken with instagram)

Hmm.  Interesting.

GPOYW (a day late) - the I Think Every Single Picture In This Anniversary Video Is Goint To End Up Being Of The Dude, Grinning.  I’m too busy trying to make this video to look decent enough to take a picture of myself, so the Dude shall suffice.  Seriously, I have 17 kajillion pictures of the Dude this year looking so happy he’s getting ready to explode sunshine.  This boy is pure magic.

shirtoid:Homonyms available at the mental_floss store

WonderGirl and I are currently rocking the homonym world.

Bad day.

class is in session

Raise your hands if you have been approached at least 5 times in the last month by casual acquaintances wanting to know if you are “done” having children.

Raise your hands if you think it’s kind of just between you, your doctor, your spouse and God.

Raise your hands if you have already made this a serious topic of prayer and deliberation and when you get an answer, you will deal with it.

Raise your hands if you’d rather not have your medical history as a small-talk topic as a way to defend yourself when said casual acquaintance and/or stranger won’t stop badgering you.

Raise your hands if you are a really open person, but for heaven’s sake, you think there are just things that should be allowed to be personal and private.

Raise your arms if you think this raising children business is ridiculously difficult and it’s just hurtful when people out there insist that if you don’t start a child’s life out right with a medication-free childbirth and breastmilk and whatever else that you are a selfish cow.

Okay, my arms are getting tired.  Class dismissed.

12 days and counting until our 6th anniversary, and I need inspiration for the video. Here’s year 5 to jog your memory. Song suggestions, please!!

via nothingsoundsbetter: “Sick of You” - Cake 2011 is here, and it brings with it a slew of releases that have me salivating with anticipation. One of the many is the upcoming Cake album, Showroom of Compassion, the first new album by Cake since 2004. Despite the extensive down-time and the incorporation of new ideas, this is vintage Cake. Listen and love as John McCrea sings about hate. - Tyler Hanan NEW CAKE!!!!!!! I need to dig out Mr. Mastadon Farm. Oh, and I did a killer version of Jolene back in the day. I saw them play in Dallas years ago and John threw a hissy fit because we weren’t cheering loud enough. It was exactly how I’d expect him to react.

via nothingsoundsbetter:

“Sick of You” - Cake

2011 is here, and it brings with it a slew of releases that have me salivating with anticipation. One of the many is the upcoming Cake album, Showroom of Compassion, the first new album by Cake since 2004. Despite the extensive down-time and the incorporation of new ideas, this is vintage Cake. Listen and love as John McCrea sings about hate.

- Tyler Hanan

NEW CAKE!!!!!!!  I need to dig out Mr. Mastadon Farm.  Oh, and I did a killer version of Jolene back in the day.  I saw them play in Dallas years ago and John threw a hissy fit because we weren’t cheering loud enough.  It was exactly how I’d expect him to react.