Panda

I almost feel dirty writing this post. Did you hear the story about the panda Xiang Xiang who died in the wild? Apparently he was raised captive for three years. The keepers of this panda were puzzled because, as they put it, "Xiang Xiang... had been trained to build a den, forage for food and mark his territory. He also developed defensive skills such as howling and biting."

Color me cynical, but how in the name of all things panda does a keeper teach a panda how to build a den? Forage for food? And the defensive skills... howling and biting... how exactly does a human teach an animal to use these methods of defense? Tell me some poor soul didn't dress up like a panda and spray panda smell on him in order to teach Xiang Xiang to fight. Then they release the panda to the wild, massaging his shoulders like a fighter in a ring: "You are a WILD panda. You're WILD, man. Now GO!"

The situation is grim, of course. A cute yet surly male panda is released into the wild following a Tarzanesque captivity and expected to live. He does, for one year, and is attacked by REAL wild pandas. Can you imagine this poor frightened creature trying to make it? I can imagine this panda's thinking: "That's funny, Keeper Joe always left shoots of bamboo for me behind this bush and ... whoa... holy panda stampede. Run, Xiang Xiang! Run! Was it howl for 'hello' or howl for 'I'm the alpha male'? Don't hurt me! I'm a National Endowment!"

I told you I felt dirty writing this. Such a sad waste. I'm not an activist by any means, but this article saddened me.

Geen Beans

Does anyone know what Geen Beans are? Because they are labeled as an ingredient on the front of Meijer branded organic soup I was considering buying today. I might have bought them, but I'm scared of geen beans.

Laughing... for the record I LOVE Meijer. I've allocated two slamposts, but all-in-all I like them.

Thoughts on Motherhood

For some reason I have attributed efficiency as a good trait to have in life. Do something quickly and well. That's my aim. But today I finally realized that efficiency is not the point of motherhood. In fact, it is the opposite of motherhood. If one wants to truly love their child, a good deal of efficiency will have to be tabled a great deal of the time.

Take this morning: Morgan and I were getting ready to go to the grocery store. But today Morgan had a touch of the grumpies. No, scratch that. She was VERY whiny. All morning. Nearly every request was accompanied by faux tears and a dramatic production. Assessing that my compadré would probably not be game for many errands this day, I quickly mind-dumped all but one: the grocery store... arguably the most boring errand a young child would desire to make. But it was necessary. We like to eat, after all.

After I informed my little friend of our day's outing, she quickly fell into a tearful panic because I did not give her a "horsey ride" down the stairs. She was heartbroken. The broken heart turned into a full blown tantrum and, somehow, deafness, which lasted the majority of the afternoon. After a good half hour of discipline (time out, talking, time out, talking, etc.) we were good to go.

When we arrived home, we watered my backyard flowers. There are 4 plants and one of them is a sedum which thrives on neglect. At least I know that this one won't die. It also very much dislikes too much water or fertilizing, so I generally let the rain take care of it. I informed Morgan that she may water all plants but that one. As fate would have it (fate being Morgan in this case), that was the plant she REALLY wanted to water. Of course. Which she promptly did behind my back after she watered an already thriving dandelion in our back lawn.

I decided to choose my battles and let that one go. I wooed Morgan away with some juicy summer watermelon, a favorite of hers. Morgan and I used a baller to scoop out the insides of our watermelon. She was thrilled. We were on the up and up. And then she determined that she didn't like one piece and started spitting pieces of the fruit in the fresh bowl of cut watermelon. Immediate dismissal and nap ensued.

I'm not trying to paint my daughter in a bad light. It's rather humorous to see a three year old play mind games with her mother, no? But after this morning's escapades, I thought about what my purpose in life was as far as being a stay at home mother. It isn't to feed her gourmet food, yet she does need to eat. It isn't to dress her up like a doll, yet she needs clothes. And while organization is important (bills must be paid after all!) that isn't all important in raising Morgan. I'm trying to slow my life down, scrap a few "needs" I think I have and meet her where she is.

Meanwhile, all you stay-at-home moms out there, I'm all ears for ways in which you have found ways to connect with your child(ren). Years from now, I'll probably still have dandelions, but my 3 year old friend will be a little older and hopefully, a lot closer to me. Hopefully.

Now if you'll excuse me, this horsey needs to take a little nap herself.

Watermelon Season

Memorial Day

I had a memorable weekend. I crack me up. "Memorial Day"... "memorable"...*sigh* Anyway, Dan and I got to know our house a little better. If you read his blog, you will wonder if we like our house. We do. (Tangent: Can some blogger tell me how to link a blasted hyperlink to text? I want the words "his blog" to link to his blog. Grrrrr.)

Anyway, we did have a little excitement this weekend:

1. The garage door opener wouldn't work. It kept catching and going back up. We called in an electrician and, as Murphy's Law would have it, it worked. Then he left. It stopped working again.

2. We locked ourself out of our new house. It was surprisingly easy to break into which was, at first, a relief. And then terrifying.

3. Dan installed a new faucet unstairs. We used it. It leaked into the kitchen ceiling. To his credit, he installed it EXACTLY as the directions indicated: "do not overly tighten the pipes".

4. If you read Dan's aforementioned blog, you'll find the other delights in our house.

5. Unlike our last house, a wonderfully charming, dark and shaded bunglow, this house is durn bright. I thought the mother ship was shining a laser beam in our living room yesterday afternoon. I did the ghetto trick and put sheets up on the windows for shade. Rats. Just the good God-given sunlight that I truly love. Except when I'm trying to watch a movie in our living room. We tried to install shades. Bought the wrong size. Need to have some cut.

NOW... on a positive note:

We had lunch at the Millers. It was great. I confess to being a baby hog and holding baby Alex a bit too much, but I need my fix. Sorry. It was great to see Marc's folks and his sister, Sheryl, as well. Random tangent: Marc's mom and I were both wearing a cyan blue shirt. So was Morgan. Earlier yesterday, I went to coffee with a friend and HER shirt was the same cyan blue. (Twilight zone music here.)

So in summary: We got to know our house better this weekend and we had a little fun in the midst of it all.

Twirl Factor

I bought Morgan this beautiful kerchief dress for church. She was balking about wearing it. I asked her why. She said it wouldn't twirl.
But I convinced her that it would twirl. All was well in her world again.

Eye Humor

This is an advertisement we got in the mail before we moved. Did you know that Van Lines can time travel? Oooooo.


Morgan has started to draw sunshines lately. This one was particularly interesting with the addition of a moustache. I call it the Charlie Chaplain sunshine.


I bought this card in a set of holiday themed cards. This was for Valentines Day. Happy Heart Surgery?

Solicitors

Holey Solicitors, Batman. Since we moved in here (scarcely two weeks ago) we have averaged one solicitor every other day. I mentioned this to Dan and he wasn't too pleased about it. But yesterday, when he was home, TWO solicitors came and he was so fried that he nearly ran out DIRECTLY to Home Depot to find a "NO SOLICITORS" sign. He was ticked.

A few days ago, I saw a solicitor at the door, heard the doorbell ring and quickly hid Morgan upstairs. "Morgan, let's play a game," I encouraged her, "Let's see who can be the quietest. Let's be as quiet as a mouse so the guy at the door doesn't know we're here." I got a distinct Corrie Ten Boom "Hiding Place" vibe. No, I'm not a sacrilegist. I don't mean that tritely. I very, very much dislike solicitors and felt that I had to protect my overly friendly daughter from answering the door.

Part of the problem is that our new house offers sidelights flanking the front door. This gives great light in the foyer, but it also allows people to peek inside which has often occurred. Not to much privacy there. I still maintain that this house is great and, for the most part, has been "move-in" condition, at least compared to our last abode. But I'm going to have to get some kind of blinds or shutters for those sidelights. Feeling a little exposed.

Laughing... I do recall one VERY funny solicitor back at our last house. Dan and I were watching "Lord of the Rings" in our living room which was situated right next to the front door. A boy scout came and knocked at our door. We turned down the volume to pretend we weren't there. Then we heard a voice with the authority of the FBI: "I know you're in there and I know you're watching a movie." We laughed so hard that we couldn't help but open the door, albeit sheepishly. The little guy popped his head into our house to see what we were watching. "Lord of the Rings? This is the best part. I love this part," he piped in. We quickly bought the cheapest item we could find on his list, an $11 container of some mediocre popcorn.

On a lighter note our current solicitors, anticipating rejection, have delivered schmeals so fast that the Micro Machines fast talker (John Moschitta) would have to update his resume.

Allergic?

I'm allergic to unpacking. No wait, I'm not making this up. It's true. I know it sounds like a lame excuse for my husband to do all the grunt work, but hear me out:

Ever since we have introduced cardboard into our house a month ago, I have been having breathing trouble. It started out subtlely- I needed to catch my breath now and again- but then it became much more difficult as of this week. I thought it was stress, but by Wednesday I had so much labored breathing (even without exerting myself) that I had to call the doc. I had had enough of this asthma-esque fun. She couldn't narrow down the trigger, but we think the combination of moving, stirring up dust, getting new carpet installed and hanging around a lot of cardboard has caused this reaction. She gave me two inhalers and they are doing a great job of helping me get my breath again.

So, you see? I AM allergic to unpacking. Sorry, can't help you Dan.

Jeeves, get me my shoes. I'm allergic to work now as well.

Morgan News

I think I've mentioned before that Morgan is having trouble making it to the bathroom for her poops. The pee-pee in the potty thing- she's got that part down. But the poopies don't make it there.

So today I'm changing her pullups when I notice that she gave a double whammy: both poops and pee greeted me. I calmly asked her, "Morgan, how come you didn't go pee-pee in the potty? You know how to go pee-pee!"

Her response was priceless: "Well, the poopie wanted to come out first, but the pee-pee won."

_____________________________________________

I bought those 2000 Flushes for our toilets to keep them extra clean between wash days. Normally I buy the colorless ones, but I accidentally bought the ones that turn the toilet water bright blue. I had just installed the blue tablet in the downstairs toilet when Morgan needed to use the restroom. After doing her business in the (then) clear toilet bowl water, she flushed and a surge of vivid blue dye came and filled the potty. Naturally, she freaked: "Make it un-blue! Make it un-blue!" she screamed. I explained to her that it wasn't a bad thing.

She's used to it now, but she's still not keen on any water that isn't clear. Next, Dan will teach her that "yellow + blue makes green!"

Last Day at BP

Today is Dan's last official day at BP. To be fair, he has checked out mentally since two weeks ago and donned hawaiian-esque shirts and jeans every day since, but the last paycheck will state THIS day as his last.

It's 2:30 now, which means that since 11:30ish he has been partying with his BP friends at Hugo's Frog Bar. I wish I was there. I may just drop in for kicks and giggles. Right. Nah, I better leave him to his cynical fun. He tends to tone down the petroleum jokes to meet me at my intellectual level whenever I crash his conversations. Better let him be.

Dan has a lot of change heading his way, but I can pretty much rest assured that one thing will not change. In the many years I have known Dan, he has a hard time keeping his gas tank full. This is no word picture folks- he literally forgets to fill his tank. He and I will often be talking in his car only to be interrupted by the friendly chirp of his gas tank, reminding him to quench the thirst of his sedan. He looks at me sheepishly, anticipating my scowl, and we negotiate with the car whether or not we can make it to our destination. The irony, of course, is that he works for a petroleum company and gas should be on his mind a lot, right?

Dan will miss a few things about BP. He will miss his many friends there. I figure he has at least 10 friends there, given that he has worked there a decade and he makes at least one friend a year. :) Actually, he's been given a LOT of goodbyes and sincere farewells from friends he hopes to keep in touch with and, let's be honest, bring with him to Google.

He will also miss the free gas the company bestowed upon all their employees. Oh wait, I lied. They never gave free gas. That part was false. Nix that.

He has had a great deal of input at BP. Before the new logo came out years ago (the helios, flower-looking one), Dan was privy to seeing it. He had to sign his life away as far as secrecy, but he saw it. We laughed our butt off when it launched because it was so darn pretty and we tried to imagine the gas attendants scrapping their old majestic logos for ones that looked like a flower: "Durn corporate. Why they keep making us wear this girly stuff?"

Well, I'd better turn in. Dan will be gone a lot of today and he made need a lift home. Not because he drank too much, but because his car didn't get enough to drink. Plus, I've got to make room in our house for a new member in the family: Dan's smile has returned.

Milk

Today I was at Meijer with Morgan under the guise of "picking of play sand"; in reality we were mostly grocery shopping.

Anyway, I was headed to the milk section when an older lady (probaby 80 years old, give or take a century) butt in front of me and pretended to not see me. I'm kind of used to people being rude in grocery stores, but when I saw the price of milk, I understood why "Ms. Social Security Check-ness" had to cut me off. The milk was marked down to 60 cents. I'm talking 6 dimes folks. She probably sped home in her 2007 Cadillac and told all her bunco buddies: "Mildred, call the girls! I haven't seen milk this price since World War II. We're making vats of pudding tonight!"

*ahem* Meanwhile, being a bit younger than the aforementioned milk buyer, I merely blog it to all my friends.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to tell Dan we're having pudding tonight. Lots of pudding.

Who's on First Base?

Dan and I have been married 7 years this August. I can't believe it has flown by like this.

I am, at heart, a pessimist and somehow I have managed to really, really enjoy something for 7 years. I'll be the first to admit that he does the bulk of the forgiving work, but still, it's nice. I'm pretty darn crazy about him. He makes me laugh with his incessant mime impersonations at the most inopportune times... like church. And he's got a heart of gold. He's definitely a keeper.

In case you were afraid I would keep on with this love dribble much longer, you can take a deep breath because I am about to divulge our achilles heal. Somewhere along these 7 years of communicating with Dan I think I may have aired my opinions too much. Dan is hesitant to commit to an idea unless I give my okay. Now this sounds like a good position to be in, I'll grant that. But in reality, our conversations become somewhat cyclical. Let me illustrate:

Emily: "Dan, were you planning on mowing the lawn soon?"
(Translation: Mow the lawn.)

Dan: "Do you want me to mow the lawn now?"
(Translation: Now?)

Emily: "Well, it's just getting a little long. I was wondering when you were planning on mowing it."
(Translation: Yes, now.)

Dan: "I can mow it now if you want to. But my parents are here and I wanted to spend time with them."
(Translation: Now?)

Emily: "I'm trying to not tell you what to do, but to ask if you had considered the lawn."
(Translation: Yes, now.)

Dan: "Well did you want me to do it today? I can't do it until Tuesday otherwise."
(Translation: Now?)

Emily: (Trying to phrase the same question differently) "You indicated to me early on in our relationship that you wanted to be in charge of the lawn. I'm trying to not nag you (too late!), but simply inquire when you were planning on cutting the grass soon because it is growing long."
(Translation: I don't remember offering our yard as a sacrifice to Greenpeace. Let's mow it before our neighbors call the HOA.)

Dan: "Well my parents are here. Can I do it Tuesday?"
(Translation: If you get off my back today, I'll do it first thing on Tuesday and throw in a back massage for good measure.)

Emily: (For the love of Pete.) "Yes. That's great."
(Translation: Yes, Tuesday is fine. And don't forget that back massage.)

I'd write more but I have to run. Abbott and Costello called. Something about needing new material.

New House

Living in a new house in a new city is interesting. It's like the first day of school again. There's the awkward "Hi, my name is Emily" introductions to neighbors over the fence. And the even more awkward introduction of Morgan to her new neighbors when she runs behind my legs and pouts. "She's really quite chatty," I assure them, recalling how she wouldn't stop talking about princesses for 2 hours that morning.

There's a lot of new things to learn. For one, we now have a homeowner's association. Everyone now: groan. This artist in me naturally bucks against any organized system of design. Even my three year old noted: "Mommy, everyone has the same mailbox as us. They do. And they do. And they do..." I think I may paint my front porch furniture a zany blue to remind me that though I succumbed to buying a subdivision home I am still unique. They'll probably call me the "crazy blue lady" but that's not so bad.

One good check about the homeowner's association is that we won't have any neighbor trying to, oh I don't know, grow wildflowers in their front yard for the sake of being earth friendly. These HOA folks also frown upon tireless cars hiked on bricks in yards as well. Though I will miss (and I genuinely mean this) our diverse neighbors on Webster. One couple used old toilets as planters in their yard. They did it in a kitschy way which put a smile on my face. Don't think that would fly here.

In other news, Dan decided we should try the Dish for satellite TV. For one, it's cheaper then cable. And secondly, it's cheaper than cable. Two very good reasons to try something new. l confess to calling Dan frantically yesterday b/c I couldn't find Oprah. And for those of you who guffawed at that comment, I watch her about once a month if I'm lucky. Besides, I mostly get my fix on Sesame Street.

Speaking of which, I have completed this second half of my blog with Morgan on my lap. And she is currently begging me to watch Sesame Street by threatening me to "push buttons". *sigh* She knows how to push my buttons alright.

Crazy Cashier

I had quite possibly the most strange encounter with a cashier I have ever had.

Dan and I made a run to Meijer last night. As I put my groceries on the conveyor belt, the cashier was muttering something under her breath. I couldn't make it out, so I said, "I'm sorry. Were you saying something to me?" She looked really irritated. She said, "What?" I told her how this was one of my first times at this Meijer. "Did I do anything wrong?" I said.

Her response was bizarre: "Do you have a guilty conscience about something?" (Enter Twilight Zone music here.)

Huh?

"I'm sorry? Look, I was just asking if I'm doing things correctly." I was a bit confused at this point and considered that my cashier may not be working with a full deck.

"You're fine." she said. But her body language was telling me otherwise.

I should have stopped there, but I'm a glutton for punishment and asked if I could purchase Aurora trash stickers. She didn't know what trash stickers were. "I'm not from here," she offered.

No, no you're not. Tell the mother ship hello from Earth.

Box

Good news. I just now found a box of stuff that I was supposed to find on moving day. Yippee. Sort of.

Poo

Success!

To all you squeamish non-parents, avert your eyes from this posting.

Over the past weeks, Morgan has pooed regularly all over her clothes offering her opinion of her changing situation: a new home. But today, my daughter pooped in the potty!! Do you know what this means? This means, dear readers, that she is accepting her new abode nicely.

I smell victory!

Boyfriend?

Today Morgan was sad. My mother asked her why she was sad.

Morgan responded: "I'm sad because I miss my ex-boyfriend."

Ex-boyfriend? I don't think I've ever SAID that word. Grrrrrrrr. Who let her watch soaps?

Aurora House

We just got a dial tone today in our new house. Which means I just got online this evening. My trigger fingers were itching to get online. I've got a real habit, I'm afraid. Gotta have my fix.

About this time is where I'd like to read a passage in the Bible where Jesus had to pack and unpack a house. I mean really-- move boxes of Strong's Exhaustive Concordance (surely HE had those) and photos of his million friends. I feel very unspiritual lately. I feel very materialistic. There are gobs of boxes tucked in random places around the house. I'm trying very hard to stay focused and to not get wigged out.

But the reality is that my Mom is flying back to D.C. tomorrow and I'm alone. Well, I'll have Morgan with me, but she doesn't count as a helper yet. She unpacks things that should not be unpacked. But she's three. That's expected.

I'm too tired to explain all the drama of the past few days. Besides, my husband is a better cynic than I. Check his blog. I'm sure he'll give his opinion out At&T. http://tinmandan.blogspot.com/

Purple Room Strikes Again

Morgan's new room in the Aurora house wrote her ANOTHER note this morning:

"Dear Morgan,
I like purple. Do you?
Love, Purple Room."

It came with a mini box of Lucky Charms cereal.

Purple room is on the up and up in her estimation.

A Tisket, A Casket

I saw something disturbing this evening. Apparently Costco (the bulk food place) sells caskets. As in funeral caskets.

On their home page, they have a "funeral" link. Considering that one associates Costco with bulk, I found it somewhat disconcerting that this button should be present on costco.com. I can't imagine what they were thinking. I know death is inevitable, but featuring it on a bulk food site was creepy. I can only imagine the discussion the execs were having when they sold this into their line:

Exec 1: "You know, Bob, considering that we sell bulk butter, cookies and soda, those folks are BOUND to die earlier than most."

Exec 2: "Good point, Bill. Where are you going with this?"

Exec 1: "I have this wild idea...hear me out, Bob. What if we sold... oh nevermind. It'll sound absurd."

Exec 2, intrigued: "No, go on. Go on."

Exec 1: "Well, alright. It's pretty zany, but I'm thinking we should sell caskets."

Exec 2: "Caskets?"

Exec 1: "Yes. And if we have people buy them in bulk, think of the savings for our customers. It's always about the customers, Bob. They come first. We could even throw in a box of cookies or something for the first 100 customers to show our appreciation."

Exec 2: "Cookies, huh? Alright. That sounds great. Get the ball rolling."

Exec 1: "You got it. I'm dying to see the new casket line. hehe. I crack me up... "dying"..."

or... even creepier...

Customer: "Hello? I'd like to order 5 caskets by Friday. I'm pretty sure 5 people I know are going to kick the bucket by then."

Well, I'm done with my rant. I'm going to hit the sack now. Note that I said hit the sack. Not kick the bucket.

Cake Walk?

I dedicate this blog to a certain individual who shall remain nameless who thinks that being a stay-at-home mother is a cake walk. (This person is NOT Dan. He is very understanding.)

This morning, amidst packing and laundry, my daughter took all our fresh kitchen cloths- and I mean all of them- and dumped them in the sink of water. It's not even 8am. Serenity now.

Gonna be a big laundry day.

Tactics

Morgan found a note this morning in her room with a mini box of Trix cereal. The note read:

"Dear Morgan,
I can't wait to see you on Friday!
Love, Purple Room"

That's right. Morgan's new bedroom to be (aka "Purple Room") wrote her a note.

Morgan's response: "The purple room can't talk."

Change

I'm hiding. Here in the basement I'm safe from the "no-likey-change" 3-year-old daughter of mine who is currently wailing that I packed some of her room. *sigh* So Dan is calming her down.

I took her bed down so that she can only sleep on the mattress. I was trying to be efficient, but also aware of her little needs. We are moving in 4 days, after all. I made sure I tucked her stuffed animals around her for comfort. My efforts were not recognized. Morgan told us what she REALLY thought through loud wails and cries so loud you'd think we broke her little heart.

When Morgan throws these fits, Dan and I have this good cop/bad cop routine we do. Dan says soothing things to her to lure her through her bedtime schedule and I threaten all manner of evil. In the end, she does what we want. I'd like to believe that my hard-nosed efforts pay off but if I were her, I would prefer Dan's approach to mine.

The trait I love most about Morgan is that she is sensitive. The trait I love least about Morgan is that she is sensitive. This darling girl will share a last bite of cookie with a friend and the next instant complain that the friend gave her a mad look. And with her sensitivity, the slightest change throws her off kilter. I guess I should be glad that she isn't doing more than messing her pants in this topsy turvy time of life for her. Don't our lesser-evolved friends, the monkeys, take to THROWING poo in the face of danger? That'd be impossible to live with.

Well, the tears seem to be quieting down. I say a quiet thank you to my husband for his Job-like patience. And I pray for strength in the days ahead. Morgan is about to see a lot more change.

Photos of Life at the Dykstra House

A few photos of the living room in the Aurora house.


Morgan after a tired day of packing.



A hobo lunch is a lunch that you tie in a sack and put on the end of a stick. Morgan loved having lunch this way.


This is our friend Annelise. Morgan loves to "mother" her.


*sigh* Our first house.

When Life Gives You Lemonade, Try to Sell It

Morgan joined her friends Celeste and Sophia this weekend in trying to sell pink lemonade at our yard sale. Boy was it a hoot.

Morgan was pretty good at getting business. She went around to "customers" (her phrase) and asked loudly, "Who wants to be my first customer?" She asked this of everyone, which made everyone feel special, but she certainly does not know the meaning of the word "first". Anyway, the "customers" would reach inside their pockets, find the dime they swore they couldn't give me ("I only have 25 cents. Will you take 25 cents?") and order a lemonade.

I think my favorite lemonade transaction was when a little old lady asked Morgan for a cup of lemonade and Morgan benevolently offered this woman her half drunk glass. The scary part was that this lady was about to accept it. I intervened in time before these two were nearly joined in holy matrimony because they shared a cold drink. Whew! That was a close one.

There were also cookies at the lemonade stand. When a "customer" would request one of the two selections (chocolate crinkle or chocolate chip), Morgan would often touch the cookie they wanted with her nubby, dirty fingers and ask, "This one?" After another sanitary lesson from Mom, Morgan still didn't really catch on. She just liked the importance of her job.

After a full day of life learnings and friendly play, Morgan squeezed in an evening nap. She awoke groggily and wept bitterly, "Where are the customers? Where did they go?"

Morgan, you'll make some boss very, very happy one day.

Yard Sale

Today the brooding sky threatened to rain on my yard sale. I wasn't looking forward to today's potential rain clouds. So I did something that I've been doing a lot more of lately: I prayed. And I did something else which sounds ridiculous. I invited God to our yard sale.

I'm really not trying to sound trite. If it's coming across as "Chicken Soup for the Soul"ish- that isn't my intent. It's just the truth.

The reality is that I need to have the yard sale today or else take ALL this stuff with me to either a) our next house or b) a friend's house who would host a rain date yard sale. The work alone from moving the stuff would probably cause me to not have the yard sale at all.

So in the wee hours of the morning, I looked into the warm but gray sky and asked God to intervene.

The weather was beautiful. I think I remember two VERY mini rain splashes and then it was done. The temp was in the mid 60s and a light wind made it feel slightly fall-ish. About mid-afternoon, a kindly old gentleman came to me and said, "This weather is beautiful; God cares for you." I looked him in the eyes, "He certainly does."

I was also able to enjoy the sale with my friends Kris Wise, Ann Vandermeer and Stephanie Disselkoen. It was great. Additionally, my neighbors came and helped and blessed us with lunch for the kiddos, good conversation and they helped tear down. It was a great day of fellowship.

I think the highlight of our sales was when one little boy wanted to buy two golf clubs that my friend Susan was selling. She wanted him to buy the whole set, but he only wanted two. He asked how much it is. She said, "I'll give the WHOLE set to you for five dollars." The boy and his father looked amazed. They smiled, said thank you and paid gladly. It was nice to see one man's trash (literallly- the clubs were going to be trashed) be useful to another.

In the end we made about $110, which was pretty good. But the fellowship was worth a lot more.

Would I do another yard sale? Maybe. But we're pretty tuckered out. I'd have to wait a decade or so. ;)

Emily!

I'm up to my eyeballs in packing tape, important mortgage-rate-and-insurance phone calls and trying to mother when- out of the foggy blue Chicago sky I have a a thought- I like my name.

I like my name. Emily. Has a nice ring to it.

I haven't ever liked my name since I was a little girl. Unlike other girls whose name means "princess" or "beautiful" or "beloved", my name means hardworking. Not exactly something one likes to own up to.

Additionally, my name has a victorian flair to it. I suspect my well-meaning grandmother noted this when she endowed me with MOUNDS of ruffly shirts with lace trim throughout my childhood. She probably purchased them because my name sounds victorian. I really don't care for the pomp and circumstance of it all. Blah. Victorian.

In truth, I'm name after Emily Dickinson. I like her. A little odd, but it's kind of cool to be named after a poet.

So I've not liked my name because it sounded like a victorian workhorse. Not having too many fuzzy feelings about that.

But today, while driving hither and yon, I thought, "By jove! I like my name! I've finally grown into my name and I like it." Say it with me folks: Emily! Emily! Emily!

May Snow

Yesterday, in a dramatic effort to get my attention because I was on the phone (again), Morgan decided to pour a box of packing peanuts all over the hardwood floor. Abandoning my initial reaction (furiosity- yes it IS a word), I smiled at her. "You having fun in the 'snow'?"

That's all the green light she needed.

What followed next was a combination of dancing in the peanuts, making snow angels, throwing the styrofoam bits in our hair and laughing.

The peanuts? Still on the floor and starting to slowly spread into other rooms. The child? Happy. The mother? Not too glad about the mess but prefers this to poo. It's smiles all over.

Domino Effect

Morgan keeps pooping in her pants. It's really discouraging and frustrating. Dan thinks it's because we're changing her little world. In any case, there's a lot of laundry being done.

And I'm a little behind in laundry because we're packing and moving. Plus, Miss Poopie pants is contributing a little more than her fair share lately.

And because the laundry isn't done, we don't have any towels in the bathroom. I know this because at 1:45 this morning Morgan had to go to the bathroom and had a grand mal tantrum because, in her words, "I need a BIG towel. I need a BIG towel" in order to dry her hands. Nevermind that I provided a perfectly dry washcloth for her to rub her wet fingers upon. Her world was shattering.

Upon getting her back to her room, she freaked out because we put a fan in her room to cool her off. She thrust it on the floor and screamed "GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" Did I mention it was 1:45 this morning?

Morgan, like her Mommy, does not like change.

So if you compile all this info and summarize it in "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie" fashion, it would go something like this:

If you give a Morgan a new house, chances are that she'll start pooping in her pants.

And if she poops in her pants, chances are good that you'll be behind in laundry.

And if you're behind in laundry, she'll probably want a clean large towel in the wee hours of the night.

And if she's distressed in the wee hours of the night, she'll probably throw a Vornado fan on the floor.

And if she's frustrated enough to throw a Vornado fan on the floor, she'll probably poop in her pants again.

Surrogacy?

Dear Marc and Sara-

I noticed that you're kiddo is pretty darn cute. I'm not too keen on pregnancy, what with the swollen legs and all. Since we're like family, I was thinking that maybe you'd consider surrogacy. For us, I mean. Not you. Us.

Think it over. We can offer chocolate chip cookies, free babysitting and BP gas cards in exchange for providing us with offspring. It's a good deal. Think it over.

Love, Emily

Countdown

Ten days until we settle on this house and purchase the new one. Eeeek! I changed the utilities (I think) and got the mortgage stuff squared away. All my clothes are in random suitcases on the floor because Dan moved our bedroom furniture to the POD. I think we're ready-ish.

We're having a yard sale this Saturday. It's Cinco de Mayo which means nothing to me except that we may enjoy a libation or two at the sale. Margaritas, naturally.