Hello? Casey Kasem?

I'm taking a few minutes out of my madly procrastinated finals-and-papers weeks* to send out a couple of long distance dedications. I've been listening to my ipod while I work and can't help stopping to listen to these two songs when they come up, like my 12-year-old self stopping and rewinding and relistening to "Endless Love" over and over again. That I recorded from the radio, probably a Casey Kasem long distance dedication itself.

1.
I've been a bit obsessed with Adele lately. Anyone else? I love her bluesy, smoky voice--very Ella and Etta-ish. Her cover of "Feel My Love" is dedicated to (of course) G. Not technically a "long distance dedication" but I've been in a fog of obligations/stresses/mild-grade depression for the last...oh...let's be honest...two months and he's been amazing. Rather neglected and yet amazing.

Unfortunately, he won't get this because he hardly ever reads my blog. But there's no reason why you can't benefit! If you are looking for a new favorite love song, this might be it. (I choose to interpret it as very loving rather than slightly stalkerish.)

2.
I'm putting together a slide show for a program with the young women I work with at church. I've tried lots of different music for the background and finally decided on this one by India Arie--it always makes me feel better. So it's dedicated to my daughters and those young women (who don't read my blog) but also to my friends who are trying hard things. Playing big. Who struggle sometimes. Yeah, you. I hope you feel better, get through this, find some light, and know how amazing you are.

Tell me this doesn't do something wonderful for your heart:

She leaves my favorite verse out of this version:

The next time the radio tells you
to shake your money maker
Shake your head instead
And tell them you're a leader...

Okay, that's all. Kind of cheesy, I know. My melancholy is showing. Feel free to leave a long-distance dedication of your own.

______

*Dear Tufts President, Having finals in December, right before Christmas, is not very friendly to the moms who are students. Should I get and decorate a tree or should I research parent cognitions? Should I order/get presents for the children or should I prepare for my stats final? Should I study child development or see to my own children's Christmas memories? See the conflict?

Puppy Mugshot

When we got Louie I had this unspoken little vision of dog ownership.  A cozy, fuzzy-around-the-edges tableau of a family sitting at the table with a dog curled up on the floor at their feet. Another scene of me working at the computer with the dog--yep--curled at my feet, gazing at me adoringly when I lean down to ruffle the fur on top of his head.  Lovely fall walks around the neighborhood with the faithful pup by my side, sun filtering through the leaves.  Can't you just hear the theme music?

For some reason (I blame the dream) I decided that Thanksgiving weekend would be the perfect time to take down the gates that kept Louie permanently in the kitchen and to start letting him roam the house at will.  (Greg agreed and said "maybe it will help the kids figure out to put their stuff away or Louie might get it" with a little gleam in his eye.) But guess what? Louie is not cooperating with the dream!  It's like he has his own fond little dream of house ownership that involves free range grazing!  Like he's one step closer to world domination.

Just now I heard him run upstairs so I got up and followed him.  By the time I made it to Maddy's freshly painted, newly decorated bedroom he had pooped.  Right there.  In the corner.  Louie!!!

We're a veritable sit-com.  It would be called Louie! (italics and exclamation mark essential).

Perhaps the worst moment of the weekend was Saturday evening.  He had been lying on the floor of the family room while we all read and lounged and played.  (Ahhhh.  The dream.)  Someone said "where's Louie?" Lauren went into the front room and came back with a frightened look on her face and a piece of metallic plastic in her hand.  

"Ummm....Dad?"

"Hmmm?" (G was reading.)

"Did you leave your blackberry in the front room?"

G glanced at the piece in her hand and leapt up.  "Where is he?!!"

(This was asked not in the way of "where is that little rascal, I need to find the rest of my blackberry" but more in the manner of "if I had a gun I would use it right now" or "anyone know of a good farm in the country who could use a good furball puppy?")

Yes, Louie had chomped on his new, work-purchased fancy blackberry.

It's operable but barely.  Maybe a couple of keys don't work anymore. 

It might be that the back battery panel is too mangled to work.

Things are not looking up for that daddy-doggy relationship.  

I didn't think it was the best time to remind him about his put-your-stuff-away-or-Louie-will-get-it doctrine.  I'm perceptive like that.

In the interest of full disclosure, we did have lots of great times with him this weekend.  He loves to be where we are and plop down at our feet, watching us with devotion and (I'm interpreting here) love.  He comes right when you call him--I don't get that kind of response from anybody. He and Sam have great times playing fetch or soccer or keep away.  He's a great cuddler. His puppy ways are diminishing and he really can be trusted most of the time.  In a household of equal adult:teenage ratio (soon to be outnumbered in a few years) it's refreshing to come home to Louie's enthusiasm and pure joy at seeing me.

But having a puppy really is like having a toddler all over again.  Well, a toddler with stellar jaw strength (seriously, how did he mangle that blackberry so quickly?).  A toddler you can (thankfully) put in a crate when you need to. 

Oh yes he did

We were in the kitchen on Monday night, getting the table set and dinner ready.  Greg came home from work and we were chatting about our day.

A: "Mine was good but tiring.   I got up late so I couldn't shower before getting the kids off to school and then I had to leave for my class and I promised myself I would go to the gym after class.  But I didn't.  So all day I've felt so off.  I finally hopped in the shower but I still feel so..."

G: "...dowdy?"

A: "...tired."

I hear Lauren, across the room, suck in air between her teeth.

A: "Um, did you say dowdy?"

G:  Silence.  Looks a little deer-in-the-headlights.

A: "Do you think I look dowdy?  Cause I don't know if I would say dowdy.  I mean, that's like what I would use to describe the Queen Mother [rest her soul]."

Lauren:  "Oh, Dad..."

G: "Didn't you say you felt dowdy?  I could have sworn that's what you said earlier."

A: "Um, no.  I would never say I felt dowdy.  I don't think I've ever said that.  Wow.  I feel kind of bad about the dowdy comment from you!"

Lauren: {laughing}  "oh, this is so great.  You guys are totally funny to listen to."

* * *

I remember my mom telling me about a woman of a certain age that she worked with who had a funny relationship with her husband.  One day this woman, Margene, told her husband, "I saw you downtown today.  I waved at you; didn't you see me?"

"Yeah, I saw you," he said.  "but I was kind of embarrassed.  I was with my friends and you weren't looking very good." 

"Oh, I'll make sure that never happens again," said Margene (I imagine a little coldly, don't you think?).  So Margene went out and bought not just a new outfit but a whole new wardrobe.  To make sure she didn't ever embarrass her husband again.  And he couldn't say a thing.

* * *

Thankfully I have a gem of a husband who would never say he was embarrassed of me.  And I do feel kind of bad for him for his slip-up (although not more than I feel bad for me!) But don't you think that little Freudian slip entitles me to a grand, anti-dowdy shopping trip?  Just wondering.

It's a boy's {pretty great} life

Spending a day at our friends' ranch yesterday,

the girls left to help with a wedding

while the boys (and I) stayed put.

playing football with Dad +

riding on (and, for the first time) driving a four-wheeler up the canyon +

more four-wheeling + kickball games +

cooking out in the fire pit +

telling scary stories around the fire & watching the moon rise 

= one happy 10-year-old boy &

one out-of-commission Dad the next day.

We've hit the point of the vacation where we need to recuperate and relax after all this fun. Greg's coming down with some nasty bug and the kids are dragging and crabby on too little sleep + too much stimulation. I'm not sure if we'll even leave our hotel tomorrow!

Home again, home again, jiggity jig on Tuesday.

p.s. I'm experimenting with a wider format and larger photos.  Hopefully my photo skills (and, someday, a better camera) will eventually live up to the HUGE size. I searched high and low for the Blogger codes to make this happen and I'm happy to share.  If you want to know the codes for this format edit, send me an email and I'll give you the links.

Peace + quiet

I spent a precious 33.5 hours alone at home this weekend. Not that I'm counting or anything.

I've been trying to finish up a big project for months, my first solo program evaluation of a nonprofit organization. It's been a long and interesting (but only to me...I'll spare you the details) process but with the kids home full time it's been difficult to do the final data analysis and write the report.

The shadow of this expectation started looming large but my hearty procrastination skills rose to the challenge and I kept thinking "I'll get to it tonight, after everyone's in bed"... "I'll get up early in the morning"... "once I read up on this statistical procedure I'll be ready"...and so on. Some projects are just too huge for the usual multi-tasking, chipping-away approach! {Or at least that's what I told myself. Also, I really think I might have late-onset ADD lately. I cannot manage to quiet my brain but flit from project to project, thought to thought without much productivity. Please advise.}

Enter G {husband + father extraordinaire...dadadaDA} who kissed me on the forehead, packed up the kids, and headed to Vermont to camp and cook over a fire and tube down a river. As soon as they left, I decided my fridge needed scrubbing {curse you, productive neglect!} but after that I sat down for seven hours, went to bed, woke up and sat down and worked for eight more. Take that, Procrastination Vader and ADDish bright-shiny-object chaser!

Last year sometime I wrote about my great Grandma's philosophy of occasionally packing up and "going to live with the bears" (or, in my case, sending everyone else to the bears). I think we all need that now and then, whether it's to finish something up or to get a new perspective or to recharge. Even if it's just an hour. Or fifteen minutes.

p.s. It must be in the air right now. Once I resurfaced I read about a couple of others who are taking peace+quiet project vacations, too. I love what Brene says about taking the time and fighting the "who-do-you-think-you-are" thoughts (and I just had an almost identical conversation about success with some of my friends in my PhD program...I'll have to post about that another time). Tara the magnificent also rocked the home quiet while her kids lived with the bears elsewhere for a while.