That's My Daughter

My little girl will be 6 years old in 14 days. And every day she asks me "How many days until my birthday?" Every. day.

She knows she will be six yet her age varies with her mood. For example she was playing with her dolls yesterday and said she was their mom and she'd taken Sophie (her doll) to the Pink Poodle (a hair salon in St. Joe that caters to little girls) because it was her birthday. Sophie turned 6. When I asked Flynn how old she was, since she was Sophie's mom, she replied, "Eighteen."

Which just about gave me a heart attack.

Other days Flynn's content to be five for the time being and she doesn't want to be six.

I know exactly how she feels. Some days I don't want to be 40, but I am. I just can't help it, especially since my birthday was last Monday and I said "Adios, 30's, it was nice knowing you."

So.

It's become something of a tradition for me to make a mix disc for birthday party favors and Flynn and I have been mulling over the choices for her upcoming party, one of which is Loudon Wainwright III's "Daughter" from the Knocked Up soundtrack (I haven't seen the movie, but love the music from it).



After hearing this song, Flynn asked "Can you do that Mommy? Can you get me everything I want for my birthday like the daddy in the song did?"

Uh, no.

But I wish I could pull down the moon for my daughter.

Shame On You, CNN

OK, so I'm at the gym this morning doing my thing on the elliptical machine; huffing and puffing away and I glance up at the bank of TV's on the wall. The Price Is Right briefly held my attention (somebody should tell Drew Carey that he needs a haircut), I forget what was on the tube next to that but the third one over was tuned to CNN. I was reading the closed captioning and the headlines scrolling along the bottom of the set when they showed a clip from Michael Jackson's memorial service yesterday.

You probably know the clip I'm talking about; Michael's 11-year-old daughter, Paris-Michael, addressed the assembled crowd and millions of people watching around the world. She said she loved her Daddy and missed him very much, then collapsed in tears.

God, how that little girl touched my heart. I know her pain; I know she will have to accept that some questions will go unanswered and she will hurt for a very, very long time. I was amazed she had the wherewithal to speak at all. I did not speak at my father's memorial service; I did not trust my voice.

So after that clip of one distressed, very brave little girl the anchor asks for a CNN poll: "What was your favorite moment of the Michael Jackson memorial?"

That pissed me off and struck me as incredibly crass. Like this memorial service was supposed to be entertaining? It was a tribute to a dead man; a way of honoring his life and a way for his family and fans to say good-bye. Would anybody answer "My favorite part was witnessing a little girl's heartbreak at loosing the only parent she's ever known"?

Did CNN poll viewers for their favorite part of Princess Diana's funeral? What moron would answer "Watching her children cry?"

I did not watch the Michael Jackson memorial, so I don't know what all happened. I've only seen the bit of Paris-Michael. But exploiting this child in the name of a viewer poll is beyond shameless. Her brief statement brought some clarity to this loss. Yes, the public has lost a popular entertainer, but Michael Jackson was more than his public persona. He was a son, a daddy, a friend. My heart goes out to his children.

So, shame on you CNN. Shame. on. you.

Hit The Road, Lady

This time a week ago I was on the road with my mom and sister headed in a southeasterly direction.

My birthday is less than a week away and this is one of those milestone birthdays; one that begins with a four and ends in a zero. So to commemorate the occasion, we decided to take a road trip, something the three of us had not done together in well over 13 years (and that was a weekend in Cincinnati for a family wedding).

Originally, I wanted to go west to San Francisco's Napa Valley. But after pricing airfare, car rental and hotel accommodations, I decided something within driving range would be more cost effective and we'd have money left over to do stuff like eat somewhere other than Burger King or McDonald's.
After some research, I settled on Asheville, North Carolina home of the famed Biltmore Estate. The Estate has its own winery so that sealed the deal. My husband is allergic to wine so this trip would not have been any fun for him, so it's good that he stayed home.

The Biltmore may be THE attraction in Asheville, but the town is nice enough on its own. I really dig its artsy/artisanal/conservationist/organic/locavore vibe. Several locally owned eateries use ingredients that are either made/grown in and around Asheville or North Carolina in general. And that includes liquor and ice cream. I am now a fan of the French Broad Chocolate Lounge and Posana Cafe. People in Asheville give a damn about their food. And their jewelry; I scored a very cool necklace made from old nickles, a bracelet made from old soda bottle caps, and another bracelet made from old watch faces and dimes.

We stayed at the super cool Grand Bohemian Hotel. I would stay there again in a heartbeat. And their spa was on our floor, just down the hall and around the corner from our room. The massage/body wrap/facial I received was heavenly.

The tour of the Biltmore was pretty neat, if not staggering on a grand scale. It's just massive and completely unexpected and beautiful. The gardens, of which we only saw two, were gorgeous and the aroma of the lavender separating the rose garden from the medicinal garden was heady and intoxicating on the warm, sunny Summer day.We decided not to return home the way we had come; the only other city of interest on the way north is Nashville, Tennessee, a place I'd never been.

The three of us are not fans of country music. Oh sure, when I was a kid my mom took us to Bluegrass concerts (I probably saw Alison Krauss at some point) but contemporary country music (you know, artists like Taylor Swift, Keith Urban, et al) are not my cup of tea. There's not a lot to do in Nashville if you don't like the music issuing forth from every.single.bar on Broadway Ave. Other than shop and people watch.

Our hotel, the Hutton, was almost the antithesis of Asheville's Grand Bohemian: sleek, modern, linear. Very chic. A nice welcome to the city I wasn't sure I liked to begin with. The vibe in Nashville is very different from Asheville. Like the difference between C-U and Chicago. Nashville is harder, grittier, not as forthcoming as Asheville, and there's a whiff of desperation in the air there that was missing in the mountains of North Carolina. Or that impression may just be because my mom, sister and I witnessed a shoplifting at the convenience store while I was getting some cash from the ATM within the first 30 minutes of entering the city.

We did the touristy thing: go down Broadway to the entertainment district. And we were entertained, but not by the folks you'd think. We ate BBQ at Rippey's (it was OK) and had an ice cream at Mike's. After a couple of hours of avoiding hustling doormen and skanky ladies we retired to our hotel. The next day we visited the Parthenon replica at Centennial Park, which is surprising and awe-inspiring. It gave me hope for Nashville; that it isn't just the glitz and grit of Music City, that it has depth. Shopping was on our agenda and we did just that. All day. Then had dinner at the tres fab Germantown Cafe.

Sunday was an all-day drive home. We were exhausted but very happy. I can't think of a better way to spend time with two of my life-long favorite people: my beautiful mother and sister. I am blessed to have them as family and, possibly more importantly, as two amazing friends.

We're already planning the next excursion: Mexico in three years to celebrate Mom's turning 70 and Katy's turn at becoming 40. I should start my passport renewal process tomorrow...

Until then, I'll sip a glass of wine from the Biltmore's winery and relive those good times.

Boldly Going

I've had something in the works recently that I chose not to write about until now.

About three weeks ago, while reading the church bulletin after Mass, I noticed that the local Catholic high school was looking to fill two full-time teaching positions in their English department.

I ain't stupid. I know when Unseen Forces Are At Work.

After talking with Frank, Evan, Flynn, my mom and sister and various friends, I came to the conclusion that it was time for me to return to teaching full-time. Or at the very least try.

So I began the many-hooped process of seeking out a teaching job in the Catholic Diocese of Peoria and sent off a cover letter and resume to the high school's principal.

Last week I went in for an interview and came out with a fire in my belly and a desire to teach I hadn't felt in a very long time.

Yesterday I was called in for my second interview to meet with the school's chaplain (who is on his way to a new assignment) and again speak with the school's principal and vice principal.

When he said, "If we don't offer you the position, would you consider substitute teaching here? We really like to have certified teachers as subs." I thought, "Uh-oh." And I came home feeling not nearly as confident as I had the week before.

Boy, am I glad my intuition was wrong.

I am now the Junior English teacher. I was offered the position this morning, which I very gladly accepted (then did a Very Happy Dance).

"I knew you'd get it." said my pleased-as-punch son.

Now the real work begins: putting together syllabi (I'll have 2 preps: regular & honors American Lit.), devising writing assignments (BelleNoelle, I may be seeking out your hubby's advice), making contact with my department members, finishing up the application process for the Diocese (which involves making sure they receive a copy of my teaching certificate and some other paperwork), and putting together a school wardrobe. And purchasing a laptop.

So. Onward and upward I go.

3 In 2

My sewing machines had lain dormant since before Christmas and it was high time I busted them out lest they start feeling neglected.

And I had baby quilts to make.
First up was a little something for a family friend who recently welcomed baby #3 into her brood. This little babyman, joining two big sisters, will receive a very boyish blankie made from vintage reproduction fabric sporting cowboys & cowgirls lassoing ponies and white horseshoes on a red back ground. I complimented the 6" squares with 4-patches of a green bandanna print and mottled brown (I thought it looked a bit like worn leather). The quilt is backed in soft red fleece and quilted with embroidery thread in denim blue (to match the kids' clothing) and an orangey-brown matching the color of the ponies in the cowboy print.

Baby blankie #2 is also for a baby boy, also a #3 child (he has a big brother & sister). His mommy is the sister of the mommy of the baby I made the first blanket for (confused yet?). Yep, both sisters found out they were each expecting their third child within a month of each other. Each baby was a surprise.

Anyway, Baby A's quilt is made from 3" strips of three different fabrics: a Curious George print, a red with teeny white dots, and a mulitcolored stripe that I ran horizontally. It is backed in white flannel and quilted with green embroidery thread, to match the satin binding. I went with the Curious George print for two reasons: 1) I think it's cute and 2) I'm fresh out of Thomas the Tank Engine fabric.

SPOILER ALERT: Mommy, Queen of Everything do not look at the following picture as it's the quilt for your little princeling whenever he deigns to make an appearance. I hope he likes it (you, too).
I think this quilt turned out really well. The 6" blocks are made from a super cute owl print I scored at Hancock's or JoAnn's last year and from a pillowcase I had tucked away for quilt-making. I routinely use sheets for quilts and I thought this grey print worked well with the owls and the backing (the grey-dotted flannel). The coordinating 4-patches are made from a blue on white twig-like print and an orange & white check. The quilting is done with a steely-blue that matches a color in the owl print and an olive green that, again, pulls color from the owls.

Manly, yes, but soft enough for a baby.

So that's what I've been up to.

The next sewing project is pj's for the kids. Evan has outgrown the ones I made last year (Flynn's now wearing them) and he's begging me for new ones.

I hope I have enough fabric.

That's What Friends Are For

You all know how freaky the weather's been lately - cold, rainy/hot, rainy. Luckily, last Friday was gorgeous: not too hot or humid, sunny, temps in the upper 70's.

Perfect for heading to the pool.

Which the kids and I did.

I chatted with friends who happened to be there with their kids while mine splashed and cavorted. like the little fish they are. Evan was delighted when he realized one of his best friends was there and they immediately paired up to play.

Then I realized they weren't anywhere near me.

I didn't panic per se, but I was concerned. My son is a very proficient swimmer so I wasn't afraid he was in a part of the pool where he couldn't touch the bottom, but you never know who's at the pool, you know?

Then I spied the two boys over by the lazy river, headed up to the water slide. I was relieved and grabbed Flynn to go talk to my son, to remind him the importance of telling me where he's going.

I caught up with him and said, "Evan, next time you want to come over to this part of the park, tell me first before just walking off. I didn't know where you were and was a little bit afraid. It scared me to not know where you were."

His response?

"Sorry, Mom. I'm going to go get G so he can share the shame."

Apparently, This Is Me

Oftentimes around the dinner table my family and I quiz each other on either super hero and/or Star Wars trivia. Last night Frank asked Evan, "If Mommy were a Star Wars character, which one would she be?"

I was anticipating Princess Leia or Padme Amidala, at the least, though I'd say I'm more of a Mon Mothma.

What came out of my son's mouth was certainly not what I expected. "Sometimes, Mom, your attitude is like a rancor."

Great. My son occasionally sees me as a rancor, one of the most deadly and poorly-tempered beasties in the Star Wars universe. Not to mention, it isn't exactly easy on the eyes.

I wonder, though, if this idea of his will make him clean his room any quicker or remember to put his dirty clothes in the hamper. Maybe as a reminder I'll just have to say, "Don't make me go all rancor on you."

This could be a good thing.