Spring is in the air

This picture was taken on March 12:
We'd just had a late winter snow "storm" (I use that term loosely, as a snow storm in Western Colorado is nothing like a snow storm in Buffalo) and everything had a crisp, fluffy, white coating ... until about noon when it all melted, returning the city to its late-Winter taupe.

This picture was taken March 25:
Less than two weeks later, the apricot tree looks like it's been hung with garlands of popcorn. The bulbs are starting to bloom and our grass has blades of green.

It seems like spring is here, but the weather this time of year can be a total tease: One day it's sunny and warm with just enough breeze to inspire a trip to the park to fly a kite. The next day can bring skies that threaten to bring rain or snow.

But one thing for sure, it's gonna be hot soon and we're going to be looking back on the schizophrenic weather of spring with lust.

So, I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Acting right

I was once told that I couldn't act right if I had 6 tutors and a chaperone.

Generally that is true but I can fake it when necessary.

This morning it's necessary.

The new head honcho for our parent company is here, so I'm sure my boss would like for me to at least feign professionalism for this morning.

So I'm smiling, trying to sit up straight and generally trying to look like I deserve the money I get paid.

Usually, I slump around my desk, eat chocolate, chocolate-chip muffins and get my co-workers in trouble by encouraging them to horse around with me.

Ah, it's a great job — not sure how I got so lucky as to get this job, but I'm gonna pretend like I can act right so I can keep it.

Wish me luck!

Get out the Purell

Dear Strep Throat,

Since I don't know you personally, I hate to judge, but really, what is with infecting little kids with your bad self?

I mean, my, normally robust kid is now a steaming hot, grayish dish rag who barks like a seal. And our family doctor says that it's most likely (and we'll know for sure in a couple of days) ALL. YOUR. FAULT.

So, now I'm pretty pissed at you and suggest that you stay the hell away from my family in the future lest you get an ass stompin' by yours truly.

Oh, and just so you know, that pink stuff my kids has been guzzeling down twice a day ... yeah, that's antibiotics and it's gonna encourage you to move your sorry ass out of her tonsils. We're not messing around.

Your kind is not welcome here.

Sincerely,

One tired mama

If you love it so much, why don't you marry it

I went to bed last night in a snit. I woke up in a snit.

I'm still in a snit.

Or at least I was in a snit until I started eating this glorious chocolate, chocolate-chip muffin. Now all the little things that were causing me to snit seem all chocolatey. Maybe I'll just eat my frustrations ... mmm, chocolate-chip annoyances, my favorite.

I'm not gonna lie. I love chocolate, chocolate-chip muffins. You can tell by the layer of muffin crumbs that live in the bottom of my keyboard.

And the great thing is that they're great for me.

OK, maybe they aren't the most nutritious but they work for me on so many levels.

See, I hate fad diets. I hate the idea of fad diets. I'm so glad the Adkins cult has finally been relegated to the closet.

I really got sick of hearing about carbs and how many carbs are in my chocolate, chocolate-chip muffins.

There aren't any carbs in a my muffins ... only chocolatey goodness.

The best part of my steady date with chocolate, chocolate-chip muffins is that I actually look better now than before I began using them as my cure-all, my great indulgence.

By eating a chocolate, chocolate-chip muffin in the morning at work, I can change the course of my day.

I'm in a better mood because I'm full and not just full, but full of chocolatey goodness.

I'm more inclined to eat a better and smaller lunch, make it to yoga class, do cardio, take Mar to the park, blah, blah, blah because of my chocolate, chocolate-chip muffins.

If you boil it down, a muffin is really just a little cake and I love cake.

I'm not the only one either. My dearest, Markel, loves cake, too.

Markel and I have invented International Cake Day to celebrate our love for cake.

International Cake Day falls on any day when we want to eat cake.

It's a beautiful holiday and requires only cake.

New Year's Eve saw the birth of the cake shot which is the reason, I'm sure that our drunkard friends were actually able to stay awake until the ball dropped — nothing like a dose of refined sugar to keep the eye lids open.

Cake shots are small, bite-sized pieces of cake often served in cupcake wrappers. Genius, I tell you.

So my day is off to a better start because of my chocolate, chocolate-chip muffin which is good because my kid is sick and I'm going to have to ask my boss if I can go home at lunch time to stay with her.

Here are a couple of completely non-cake related pictures of Margaret from Saturday. I love this first one. She started pouting over something and I told her to wait, just as she was, while I went in to get the camera. So there she sat mid pout until I could snap this picture: After she had forgotten what she was pouting about and instead turned her attention to drawing this line:

Friends

I was going to save this post for Tuesday, as I just posted a quick blurb for Monday below. But this is too funny to save. So here is tomorrow's post today:

I've written about how important my friends are and how lucky I am to be surrounded with people that I truly love.

But man, they are frickin' her-larious (a Mar-ism).

Saturday was a day of recovery. Saturday evening was an evening of pure, unadulterated silliness.

It started out adult enough: We went out to eat with Markel and Special K (who promises she'll update soon). We ate lots o' meat — like the carnivores that we are.

Then we came back to Chez Dorkus and the silliness ensued.

First we did Mad Libs (if you click here, you can play online). We hurt ourselves laughing.

If we are at all lucky, Special K will blog some our of Mad Lib stories. (Markel, please pressure K into giving us some transcripts. Everyone should get the joy of hearing about jerking intestines.)

Then we took some pictures with the cool dilation sunglasses:Yeah, Markel and I look cool, but Special K rocks the house here:

Who says the optometrist isn't fun?

Here I am Friday night with my kick-ass band. We had a great show.

We rocked like we've never rocked before. We had a great time and got lots of great feedback.

We're really hitting our stride. Woo.

We were having so much fun, after the show, we moved the party to our house. We hung out with our friends until way, way too late and had too much fun taking goofy pictures of ourselves with our iMac.

It was cool, or at least we thought it was cool until we realized that Bill and I had to be at the optometrist at 10 a.m.

Now, this doesn't seem like such an outlandish accomplishment, but considering we finally went to bed at 4 a.m., getting up at 8:30 was a bit on the painful side.

And to make things worse, spring moved in on Saturday and it was an absolutely gorgeous, bright, warm, sunny day — which sucked because this is how I looked when we left the eye doctor around noon:The doctor dilated my eyes. Bill got his done too, so we were both wearing this totally hot shades.

Bill wanted to get some food, but I knew that I couldn't make it through the drive-thru without collapsing into hysterics. We looked so ridiculous.

I was really awed by how huge my pupils got (yeah, I am very easily entertained). Here's a picture I took of myself after I got out of the shower a couple hours after my eye appointment:I look like I've been tripping which made me want to act like I was.

Who knew going to the eye doctor with only 4 hours of sleep could be so much fun!

Naptime

I can't get to my camera right now, but if I could, you would be seeing a picture of my kid sleeping on the floor next to my desk.

Like a little angel ... with a wadded up tissue in one hand and beat-up brown bunny in the other.

Bill promised our sickish kid that if she went to kindergarden this morning, she could spend the afternoon with him at his work.

She was tired and Bill had a lot of running around to do this afternoon, so here she is in all her pig-tailed glory, with her little kid head resting on an orange flower pillow, covered up with my sweater.

I wish I could keep her like a little pet under my desk all the time, but she'll want to get up and talk and go to the bathroom and other annoying things, so instead, I'll just enjoy her little, sleeping self now.

For those times when ...

you need a little mindlessness in your day:

Click here.

Thursdayedness

Damn, it's past 3 and I have to leave early, so here's a tidbit, until I can create a proper post chock full o' my fascinating wit and wisdom.

Yesterday as I was getting out of the shower, Bill excitedly whispered, "Come lookit our kid, quick!"

This is what I saw:A giant, pink rabbit had taken up residence on my kid's head (her name is Lola, by the way — the pink rabbit, not my kid).

Moments later when I went in to make sure Mar was up, this is what I found:Bill had been lured in by the wiles of the giant, pink rabbit named Lola.

I love that the enormo-fat cat Ella Fitzgerald, didn't move a muscle when Bill got into the twin bed with a gangly 5-year-old, a 4-foot rabbit and about 25 other stuffed animals which we call Mar's "guys."

This was the scene this morning:Like the siren's song, the lure of the Lola can not be resisted.

Rest assured that even though Lola isn't in the picture, she's in the bed. Because, really, what 5-year-old can sleep without a 4-foot, pink rabbit.

Warm up

Last night I did something that I've never done before.

I played at an open mic night.

Kelley, the amazing singer for our band, decided yesterday that she was going to sing a couple Riveter songs at the open mic last night to promote Friday's show.

I volunteered to play guitar with her. Then immediately regretted it.

I've never played my acoustic guitar for anyone other than friends and family. I was actually nervous.It turned out to be great fun and I'm glad that stretched myself and got out of my comfort zone.

I love that my comfort zone has become a crowd, a stage, a loud amplifier and kick-ass electric guitar.

Go me! Go Riveter!

Showtime

Yesterday, I stumbled to class in a drug-induced haze.

The giant dose of antibiotics and spoonful of narcotic cough syrup quelled the cough but tilted my head off axis.

As I stood at the computer trying to get my jump drive installed, one of my students approached. He said that he and his wife (who is also in my class) had Googled me.

I was kind of stunned by that comment. He then, of course, asked if I was in a band.

I never talk about my band when I teach. I like to stay focused on the task at hand and that is teaching the fundamentals of art.

But it was fun to spend a minute talking about the band that I love so much.

Our next show is this Friday.

It's an odd gig for us — but we're really excited to play it nonetheless.

It's at the big club in town. So, we'll be on the big stage with a decent sound system.

We're headlining — and while it's not odd for us to headline, it is odd that we're headlining when the two acts before us are on a national tour.

We're playing with Shannon Curfman and Lennon.


Lennon's sound is described as rock/alternative/goth. And she's hot!

Shannon Curfman is said to be a female Jonny Lang with a rock/blues/southern rock twang.

Both girls are on the cusp it seems and I'm very excited to be sharing a stage with them.

Better ... much better

Ah, there's nothing like codeine to make one feel better about coughing like I've worked in an asbestos factory for a decade.

I can't wait until I get home from class tonight and I can take a big ole spoonful of narcotic-laced cough syrup.

So there, you nasty, hacking cough. Codeine is on the way and you are going to die ... ha.

One morning last week, my mom asked me, "What do you put on pancakes?'

"Syrup," I said, wondering if all the horrible cancer drugs she had to take last year had eroded her sharp mind.

"It's not 'sir-rup.' It's 'sur-rup,' " she insisted.

Huh. And now that I'm typing it, I realize it is neither "sir-rup" nor "sur-rup." It's "syrup."

Funny how drugs clear things up.

Goodbye

My parents left for home Saturday morning. The weather forecast looked good, so they packed up and headed out.

I'm sad to see them go, but am thankful for the time shared. It was good.

While they were here, we drove out the Unaweep Canyon to the tiny, blip of a town, Gateway.

Gateway is interesting for several reasons.

One is that this is what the valley looks like:

The area is so beautiful that it caught the eye of John Hendricks, the founder of the Discovery Channel.

He bought land and built a pretty nice resort out there. He's also in the process of building a car museum. The jewel of his collection is a 1954 Olds concept car which Hendricks bought for a measly $3 million.

The resort is all south-westerny with a nice restaurant and hotel. As we were walking around, we noticed a giant kaleidoscope in a courtyard.

I took this picture which included my dad's fingers:

On St. Patrick's Day we donned our green (OK I was wearing a shamrock sticker on my regularly scheduled black duds) and headed over to the botanical gardens, where I took these photos:


Yeah, I'm tired today (shocker, I know). I have a cough that's been keeping me up. I have a call into the doctor to try to get some narcotics, so hopefully I'll be more likely tomorrow.

Let's hope so ... I'm boring myself to death.

Out of the mouths of babes

Here is my kid with Maisy.

Maisy is a giant rat. Maisy has her own TV show.

Some sad soul has written books about this giant rat and her equally obsequious pals.

A big-box bookstore here in town had story time featuring Maisy.
The unfortunate bookstore employee who is giant-rat size had to don this undoubtedly smelly and hot rat costume and stand in front of the group of kids while someone else read the nail biting: We came to the bookstore just so Mar could participate in story time.

As soon as the woman held up the book with the bath tub on the cover, I felt that sinking feeling in my stomach.

See, about a year and a half ago we had to take Mar to the doctor because she was crying whenever she peed. She said it felt like her pee was hot.

Turns out that my doctors have been trying, unsuccessfully, for years to get children's bubble bath taken off the market. Apparently it's very irritating to the hoo-hoo dilly and can cause the phenomenon known in our house as hot pee.

When I saw the book was about bath time, I knew there could be trouble.

So, story time began and the reader was asking the children questions and getting them engaged in the story telling process.

She made the unfortunate mistake of asking what would seem to be the innocent question of, "Who likes to take baths?'

Mar's hand shot up. I cringed.

She shouted out, loud and clear, "I don't take baths anymore because it gives me hot pee."

Yep, that's my kid.

Note to self:

Yo, Self, what are you? Slow?

Don't schedule the following on the same Thursday morning after having two days off:

* Guilt over not being a better daughter to ailing parents

* Losing the keys to your boss's office and desk (while he's on vacation)

* A lovely, phlegmy cough accompanied by a lovely smoker's rasp

* Your period

Yeah, it makes you a wee bit emotionally erratic (read that as you'll end up spending a good hour crying at your desk).

These things should definitely be dealt with separately as you may find yourself (again) accepting a consoling hug and sharing entirely too much with the poor co-worker who happened to just need to put a new phone in your boss's office.

Moral: Get your shit together, dumbass.

Spring snow storm

Sunday morning around 5 a.m., it started snowing here in the Grand Valley. Big, fluffy flakes like the kind that fell incessantly for the three years I lived in Pennsylvania.These are buds on the apricot tree in our front yard.

I woke up around 8, threw on my snow boots, coat and hat over my pajamas and headed out the back door in search of our snow shovel — it doesn't snow much here and we end up using the snow shovel more as a leaf shovel.

I had to let our neighbor's dog, Marley, out and decided that I'd shovel our walks while I was at it.It wasn't too cold and I really enjoyed the peacefulness of the morning so I shoveled our walk and driveway ... and four of our neighbors — just because I was in the mood.

After I was done, the rest of the family was up and I was joined by Margaret who helped do a little more shoveling.
One of the things that comes with age is self-consciousness. I mean, how many adults do you know would simply lie down in a neighbor's yard when you wanna take a break from shoveling?
We call Mar, the snow cow, because she loves to eat snow. She would've eaten the yard clean if we'd let her.
After breakfast, Bill and Mar built this snow wizard ... you know, because snow men are just so passe.

Fwd:

I love the Inter-Web for oh-so many reasons. One of them is that it affords the ability to easily research any number of topics.

Recently Uber-husband and I were in the market for a new cell phone plan and, of course, new cell phones.

I knew I wanted a camera phone but there are so many of varying prices out there.

So I started researching them. One of my favorite places to research electronics is PC Magazine.

I determined that we had to get this one: The Motorola Razr.

It's a bit pricey but with tax-return money burning a hole in my pocket, Bill and I each got one.

And why did I have to have the Razr?

Not only is it supa thin, but I can download the pictures I take with it via bluetooth connection to my computer.

I mean, how cool is that?

We just got our phones Wednesday and I haven't had the time (busying hanging with my 'rents) to make sure the bluetooth option is going to work for us, but they are such awesome phones with crystal-clear reception and easy-to-use features, I'm in love.

Another recent tax-refund purchase was the decidedly less sexy Eureka carpet cleaner.
My Internet research led me to the Hoover SteamVac V2, but the $280 price tag was just too much for me since we only have a room and a half of carpeting (albeit white carpeting ... some fool decided white wouldn't be to hard to maintain. That fool needs a swift kick ... oh wait, it was me.)

I read about the Eureka's tendency to leave carpets wetter than others. So I was careful to suck more than rinse and have been very happy with this cleaner.

So a big two thumbs up for these Internet-researched products.

I do, however, have one giant beef with one thing that the cyberworld has fostered. And it is urban legends and other phony stories that are sent via e-mail and then forwarded from person to person.

I receive so many of these e-mails from well-intentioned friends and family. I amazed that we tend to believe the claims simply because ... that's just it, I don't know why we are so easily duped.

I received an e-mail from a very bright friend of mine claiming that tampon companies were adding asbestos to tampons because it makes us bleed more and, therefore, need to buy more tampons.

Just this week, my lovely mother-in-law forwarded a claim that the evil Hillary Rodham Clinton was the only senator who refused to meet with a group of mothers whose children were killed in war.

Both were compelling claims. Well written with what seemed to be many details proving that their claims were true.

Both are utterly false.

How do I know?

I researched them on Snopes.com and Truthorficiton.com .

Both these sites research urban legends and other Internet claims and give detailed and documented explanations. Some of the claims they research are true. Most are not.

As much as I'm annoyed by the fact that these phony claims are tainting the minds of many, I do love to get these e-mail simply so I can debunk them.

Yoga for pets

I skipped yoga Tuesday so I could hang with my mom and dad. In an attempt to stave off a case of the crankies, I practiced yoga by myself last night after everyone went to bed.

It was really beneficial except for the fact that a quiet house and a girl sitting on a yoga mat is apparently irresistible for our four-legged housemates.

I was sitting in padmasana (pictured here) with my eyes closed.

When I opened my eyes I found a dog face staring at me.

Quincy was sitting right in front of me with her pointy little doggie snout as close to me as dogly possible without actually touching me.

I shooed her away and continued with my practice. It was quite a challenge in that two of my cats then became eager to join me as well.

They would sit on the mat, rub up against me and generally get in the way. But they were only trying to affectionate so I tried to stay focused and work around them.

Now when I want a cat to pet, they are nowhere to be found. Pet irony, I guess.

Lookit!

My mom took this picture of Bill and I during our meal o' meat last night.

It wasn't a quick shot that captured Bill in thoughtful repose.

Nope, he decided he'd look all cool gazing off into the distance with my fat melon glued to the side of his head.

It's like he doesn't see me there — his thoughts all full of cheese and hockey.

I look like some sort of desperate Siamese twin that was once attached at the head to another me (shudder).

But it suits us — being that we are pretty strange.

Lunch with the Grandparents

I just had lunch with Bill, Mar and my parents.

When I took the picture of my folks with Mar (upper left corner), I told my mom that she and Mar looked good but my dad looked a bit goofy. She replied, "Oh, he always looks that way."

Here, kitty, kitty! Burp.

Last night when I got home from my class, I found a giant RV parked in my neighbor's driveway.

I can't remember the last time I was so excited and relieved.

My parents finally arrived.

They drove from California in their 30' RV, dragging their Jeep (CJ, of course). I always joke that my parents have never been to Europe because they can't drive their RV there.

As quirky as it is, the RV works for them. They have a comfortable bed, their own bathroom and, most importantly, my dad has his own TV ... complete with a satellite dish. Fer reals, yo.

I'm certain that the first thing he did this morning was get out his dish (with custom-made stand) and yelled at my mom until the dish was aligned and locked into place. I bet right now he's lying on the couch in the big rig (Bill taught 2-year-old Mar to call the RV the "big rig") watching "Law and Order."

It's so great to see them. (That's all I can say about that without crying at my desk.)

So last night while watching "American Chopper" on the Discovery Channel, we noticed one of our cats paying close attention to Bill's empty beer glass.

Disclaimer: As with Special K's recent entry the rest of this entry (like most of my entries, really) will have limited appeal — especially to those people who think that cats are disposable pets.

She started out with a little sniffy-sniffy.

Then a little licky-licky.
Then she — like many people and some cats and dogs — realized that beer rocks!
I mean, I knew that Ella Fitzgerald liked her bon-bons but I didn't realize she loved herself some beer.

Spring skiing

So here I am on this fine Monday a little bleary-eyed and tired (and not at all from the two beers I drank yesterday — yeah, I totally drank two beers in one day and lived to tell about it.)

Phew, what a weekend.

Friday, our dear friends and next-door neighbors, Jenn and Davy, had a party to celebrate Davy's last day as a paperboy.

Davy took an early-morning paper route to make some extra cash, but soon he'll be working in his natural environment again — a brewery. He's a brewmeister (and a distiller, he works part-time in the local distillery here making sweet-ass vodka) which, according to Bill, makes him the best neighbor ever.
(Here they are waiting for the lift at the local ski hill yesterday.)

Davy and Jenn are the best neighbors ever and it is only marginally because Davy brews beer and makes an enchilada casserole bigger than any enchilada casserole has ever been made before (We dubbed the behemoth "the Davy pan.")

They are great people and we're very lucky they moved in next to us. (In the six years we've lived in our house, Davy, Jenn and 4-year-old Kate are the third family to live in that house — we're trying not to take it personal).
Kate and Mar are pretty good friends and love playing together. This is a shot I took of them getting ready for their ski lesson yesterday — Mar's in the lavender waving at the camera and Kate is in the fushia facing away.

I spent yesterday waiting at the bottom of the bunny hill alternately taking still photos and video of the girls skiing.

They are so little, yet they ride the lift and ski down with such confidence and nonchalance. One time Mar rode the lift all. by. herself. I nearly cried seeing her little skis hanging from her little 5-year-old legs all alone up there. But she smiled and waved, not worried at all.

She's close to not needed the "edgie-wedgie" which keeps the tips of her skis together, thereby helping her to snow plow. The instructor said she has great control over her skis and is advancing wonderfully. So Woo for Mar!

Bill spent the day trying to keep up with Sean, who's 15-year-old legs don't ever seem to tire.

I took that photo and the one of Jenn and Davy from the outside of the lift lines. I'm like some crazed, stage-mom, living vicariously through my kids. I wait at the bottom of the slope then shimmy along the edge of the lift line so I can get pictures of their faces.

The lift operator realized that I wasn't going to stop so he showed me a place where I could get better pictures.

Even though I decided to neither ski nor snowboard this year, I've really had a great time watching and drinking beers in the lodge (I know, me drinking beer!). Not once have I wished I was participating.

I think, however, that next year, I'll take up skiing again so I can ski with Mar. Bill can board (and fall on his ass) with Sean. It's a good plan.

Before I close for today, I must mention the pizza joint we visited on Saturday.

Bill, Mar, groovy-cool Markel and I drove the many miles (OK, it's probably like 10, but for here, it's a long way) to a new place in the town of Fruita. It's call Hot Tomato. ( Special K was in Denver for a trip with some students, which you can read about in her fab blog here.)

They have excellent stromboli and great sausage rolls.

The best part of the trip was the amazing spring weather we enjoyed while sitting outside.

Mar had a great time playing on the planter and we got to eat some really good food outside.

It rocked, fo' sho.'

This is the current weather situation as of 9:45 a.m. mountain standard time (the time zone, TV listings forgot).

See that white dollop that is sitting right in the elbow of California along the California-Nevada border?

Directly under that winter storm lies my parents' house.

See that green band of evilness that intends to push that white dollop across Nevada and Utah?

That is the route that my parents are supposed to be driving as I type this.

But the white dollop has pinned them down. So there they are, hunkered down under a white dollop, delaying their visit to their only daughter (and favorite child — as decreed by me).

Stoopit weather!

What is with wintertime anyway? I mean, for Pete's sake, they are coming for Spring Break. You know "Spring," the season of temperate weather and sunshine.

Oh well, nothing can be done except make an offering to the weather gods and pray they'll blow the storm up north where blinding blizzards are more welcomed.

Good things

Welcome to Rivetergirl's Thursday edition of "Things that are Good."

I run around daily frantically driving from place to place, going to work, driving kids to school, going to class, going to band practice, going to yoga, blah, blah and yet I rarely pay attention to the effect this all has on me.

Everyday it's something to do, some place to be. We are a very busy family.

And you know what? What we have going on this semester, is very good for me. Finally.

Last year sucked. Too many bad things that were out of our control happened. This year, especially this semester, has been really good for my little family, but mostly for me.

I feel good ... naw, I feel great. That's a very unusual thing for me to say. I focus so often on the things that suck.

So, I'm going to take a moment here and list the good stuff:

Mar is doing great in school. She's in trouble way less. She's reading way above her kindergarden level. She's learning to ski and loving it. She sings along when I listen to Eddie Spaghetti's CDS over and over. And she has a great sense of humor (which is a relief because I have no patience for people who have no sense of humor).

Sean, my 15-year-old step son, is an inspiration. He's getting straight As in high school while taking a full load of advanced placement classes and plays different instruments in three school bands. He plays guitar like he was born with it in his hand — although this sometimes makes me a little ill. Plus, he's a cool person to have around. My only regret is that we only have him with us a couple days a week.

My band is gelling like Magellan. Kelley, our new singer, has brought so much. We have a renewed vigor that feels awesome. We're writing new songs that kick ass — last night we even began working on a song that I wrote the hook for ... Woo, go me! I'm very excited about our future. Playing music was never so much fun.

I'm so lucky that Laurena asked me to share in her dream to start a band those two years ago.

One of the things that I regret is that we don't have family here in Shale City. But we've been so fortunate to fill that gap with the most wonderful group of friends. They are our family here and we are so lucky for that. I love them all so.

My husband is so amazing (is her ever!). I couldn't imagine my life without him — really, I've added so many wonderful thing to my life because of him. Plus, look how cute he is.

And I'm really very thankful that, after a very long year, my parents are finally well enough to travel and come for a visit. I have missed them desperately and have been consumed by worry. They have given so much to me in my 35 years and I only hope that I can give a fraction back to them.

They are an inspiration. Next month, two days after Bill and I celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary, my mom and dad will be celebrating their 40th anniversary — and that is something to feel great about.

Ambition

Before our show on Saturday, Bill and I walked the kid and the dog a block over to the school park near our house.

We like to swing and throw the tennis ball for the dog and chase Mar around and play on this curvy ladder thing that has a bug head.

This is a picture of Bill and Mar from another trip to the park:


While Mar was chasing Quincy and Quincy was chasing the tennis ball, she found an under-inflated, but-still-bouncable basketball. Bill and I began a pathetic game of "we're so white" which had us shooting again and again and only very rarely making a basket.

Every time the ball would bounce, our stick-figure-like dog would try to get the ball away from us. When the ball rolled on to the grass, she descended upon the ball like it was a cat box full of fresh cat turds. She tried desperately to bite the ball again and again.
Lookit the size of her mouth. Then lookit the diameter of the ball.

It just wasn't gonna happen. But the pea-brained dog was not deterred by the fact that — unless she was part snake and could actually unhinge her jaw — she was never going to feel the satisfaction of plunging her teeth into the skin of that ball.

However, the prospect of possibly sinking her pearlies into that ball excited her so. She ran in circles and chased the ball, be-boping and scatting all over the place.

And even though we just though she was more than dimwitted to exert such energy into something that was, for all intents and purposes, impossible, I think there is a lesson here; a moral, if you will:

Sometimes you just have to give into the dream wholly and take joy in the endeavor regardless of the outcome.

I'm gonna be more like my dog (except, I don't think I'll jump on people when the come over and then sit so desperately close to them ... but then again, maybe I should) and find the joy in the act and to hell with the result.