TeamReedblog

2012-02-12T10:44:00.000-08:00

When I started flipping off the porcine survivors and calling them names I learned from Joe Baker, I knew I should stop playing Angry Birds.

I'd resisted the game for a long time. Alison had loaded it on my phone and iPad as soon as she knew I could connect to the silly thing. I rolled my eyes and let her. When she got her own iPad the birds were among her first e-purchase. She rattled on for days about the Mighty Eagle that was going to elevate her Angry Birds experience.

More eye rolling from me. I don't know why I tried it the other day. But I did. My version should be called "Happy Pigs" instead of "Angry Birds". It's soooooo frustrating!!!! The pigs laugh at you when you don't blast them to smithereens. Even if you give them black eyes, they still laugh at you unless you kill them dead.

Aside from my foray into the world of electronic malcontents, we've been settling back into our normal life since our trip. We got lucky and scored a pair of Ogdens last night, with Hannah dropping in first and Alex coming along sweaty from a basketball game.

I've known Hannah since she was in pre-school. She's so close to a grown up now it's almost heart breaking. At dinner there was a tiny moment when she said something or did something that made me think I was seeing a freeze frame flash-forward when she'll be a young woman.

She was talking about a little girl who'd had her first acting experience in Hannah's acting group. The little girl was struck silent when she was called on to perform and Hannah's impression of her was classic. Her blue eyes grew to the size of her dinner plate and you could just see the terror.

It was so hilarious, it made Alison emit more than laughter. And then, of course, she had to share, "I once farted, sneezed and laughed all at the same time."

Hannah's eyes got plate-sized again and she gasped: "I have always been afraid to do that because my Dad said if I did that I would EXPLODE!!!!"

We all dissolved into a giggle fest. When we could talk again we got back on the subject of stage fright, which prompted Alison to try to explain her spider phobia. She claimed she was once trapped in a bathroom and Alex had a spider he was trying to throw on her. I cried foul. That was my story and it involved a snake and my brothers.

"Were there two of him?" I asked her, squinting at her suspiciously. Hannah laughed because she knows my trapped-in-the-bathroom story, too. You could almost see the wheels turning in Ali's head as she tried to put out the fire on her pants.

Alex came in right about then, saving Alison from having to explain herself. The three of them entertained themselves until bedtime and then chased each other around this morning until Karin came to take them to church. I haven't seen them since.

They apparently came home while I was at the gym but Jeff was in the shower and didn't hear them come in. Ali and Alex decided to be spies and try to sneak in and out without alerting him. She did leave him a note to tell him she was at Alex's doing homework.

While she will depart from the literal truth for dramatic effect, she's a pretty good kid. Her grandfather sent her a Valentine with a $10 bill in it. She caught it as it fluttered out and said, "I know just where Mr. Hamilton is going."

I thought she had a iTunes gift card or candy in mind. Jeff was certain she was thinking of her portion of the iPad she still owes him.

"I'm going to give this to Hoops for Hearts," she said. It's an annual drive at school for heart research. In years past, she's jumped rope for hearts. Fifth graders get to shoot hoops. I'm sure she'll be hitting up some of you for donations, but she's seeding it with her first valentine of the year. How great is that?! Sure she might tell a whopper here and again, but she's got a good heart.

Later today, she will make cookies for her valentines at school. Her decorating expertise has been called to service by her friend Madison, who wants her to also help decorate cupcakes for the other 5th grade class. They're trying to turn it into an overnight, but I have no official confirmation of it.

Should it occur, it will be fortuitous for the mister and me. We'll celebrate 14 years of wedded bliss on Tuesday. OK, maybe every second of those years hasn't been exactly blissful. But we haven't killed each other, so that's something. I'm still hoping he'll keep me.

But let's not get mushy.
I have pigs to kill.

Donuts

2012-02-05T14:05:00.000-08:00

I've had worse things in my mouth than Alison's donuts.
* Dirt.
* Beans.
* A hickory nut worm

The worm was a trick played on me in my childhood. And you didn't believe me when I said I was raised by wolves. It was my father who tricked me.

Seriously, though, the donuts weren't bad. As Uncle James called it, "baked donut = tiny cake."

And they were very, very pretty.

A good day's work.

Time to make the donuts

2012-02-05T10:19:00.000-08:00

Uncle James, you might be in trouble....Alison had decided to take on donuts.

I'm not sure what put her on the trail, but this morning, she came up asking where her recipe book is. She's got an assortment of smoothie recipes, something called Hobo Lunch and omelettes from her week of cooking camp. She apparently thought it needed bulking up.

I have yet to find a good spot for all of our cookbooks, which used to live on shelves beside our old refrigerator. The new one has eaten up that space.

So we found her book so could organize and add to it. She had her earbuds hooked onto her iPad and was writing down recipes. I didn't have the heart to tell her just to bookmark them. She was so into it.

She had even found for a recipe that would make healthy donuts. Or healthier, I guess. This version calls for baking the donuts rather than deep frying. And, um, no lard, either.

Today's culinary experiment has involved one trip to the store for castor sugar and more flour already. Instead of full cream milk, we used 2 percent and fat-free half-and-half. But real butter.

I'll update after the taste test. And probably another trip to the store for icing decor.

Right now, the dough is resting in the fridge. I'm fairly certain I've never had a baked donut before. I'm betting that I won't have to worry about the points value.....

Can you say "Super?"

2012-02-04T09:34:00.000-08:00

It's been a busy few weeks. Good. But busy. Even Super at times.

Jeff and I went to Puerto Rico on a long weekend work trip. (Yes. I know. And yes, it was just as great as you're thinking.) Ali spent four days with the Ogdens while we were gone, who achieved a whole new level of friend for their good care of her and their willingness to just let her slide into the family.

I asked my notorious eater how it was. Mostly, it was terrific.

"But Mom. There was ONE thing."

"What?"

"I had to eat chicken Pot PIE!!!."

"No!" I shared in her agony because it's a dish she truly hates. "But you ate it, right?" I asked.

"Oh yeah. I ate it," she said. "Blech."

That's a testament to how much she loves Karin.

In Puerto Rico, we had so much fun I forgot I had the camera along. And yes, I wore the two-piece. No one vomited within my eye-sight.

Since we've been back, Jeff has had that procedure all 50-year-old men should have. Alison was fascinated and talked about it for days. It's a perfect conversation starter for the 10-year-old set. I would relay all of the conversations we had over dinner, but Jeff has asked for discretion. (He's just fine, by the way.)

As you might expect from Christ the King School, the kids pray daily. Alison apparently was more concerned about her father than we'd realized. Alison told Jeff that Mr. Feeser had gotten curious. "Alison, you've asked to remember your dad and his surgery a few times now. What exactly is happening?"

"My Dad says I shouldn't talk about it," she said, regretfully. I think she relayed the conversation to prove that she'd really followed his wishes and was hoping he'd let her do the full reveal once it was over. No luck there, but a good try.

It's Superbowl weekend and Indianapolis has been going more than crazy over it for a a while. It's been fun to be here. We went down to Superbowl Village Wednedsday and like many other irresponsible parents, we kept Ali out a little past her bed time. We didn't see any celebrities but the crowd was amazing and it's just gotten bigger every day.

Jeff would have moved downtown and stayed there, I think. Once we realized we'd never get through the que for the zip line, Alison hopped around looking for superbowl logo images that were scattered throughout the party area. She found most of the teams but she liked the IMPD horse patrol better than everything except maybe the Xbox exhibit.

Alison asked me to straighten her hair for school on Friday. Taming the curls is an ordeal every day; actually eliminating them is an involved process. It generally takes at least an hour plus touch-up the next day. We haven't done it since the first day of the school year, and I was game. I started with the hair dryer and a pile of product.

A few minutes into it, I hear, "Uh. Mom. Does that hair dryer have to be so loud?"

"Yes. Ali. Yes it does."

She was happy with the final product despite the loudness and heat of of the tools.

I kind of owed her the attention because earlier in the week I'd had one of those days. And here's where having a great husband and great kid can save a person. Jeff took care of dinner and I crawled into bed.

Alison, a compassionate soul, crawled in next to me and read me Angry Bird comic strips from her iPad.

Now THAT was super.

Reading is Fundamental; Romance is just Fun

2012-01-22T09:50:00.000-08:00

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, my oldest sister caught me reading a Harlequin Romance at one of my brothers' Little League games. I'm guessing at the age, but I remember that Donna had already moved out of our house and was married. So I was at least 7.

I was sitting near my mother on the wooden bleachers on the third base side when Donna asked my mother if I wasn't a little young for that particular book. I don't remember what my mother said. I don't remember the score of the game, and I don't remember the name of the book, but I do remember that my favorite Harlequin writers were Ann Mather and Janet Daily, so it was probably one of them.

How did a second or third grader come to have favorite romance authors?

My mother and her mother were romance novel queens, and Harlequin was their publishing house of choice. They’d buy Avon carrier bags full of books at a used book store in Linton, read them and exchange them for more when they were done.

Other than the Bible, there weren’t that many other reading options at my house, so when I was done with whatever I’d scrounged from the school library, I turned to Harlequin and was quickly hooked as deeply as they were. In the summertime (baseball season) there was no school library, so there you have it.

I never saw my other grandmother read anything but the Bible and religious propoganda, but she did let me watch her "stories" with her and I was addicted to all of her CBS afternoon soap operas where the bad guys generally died (at least once) to clean up a story line and the good girls always ended up (for a time) with the man they wanted after an appropriate series of trials and tribulations, of course.

Could the soap operas and Harlequins have contributed to my poor early performance in real-life romance? Maybe. I'm certain they're part of the reason I never subscribed to princess fairy tales as a child? Fairy tales seemed too clean for me.
There were similarities. In both cases, the prince always, eventually, came. (Though admittedly in somewhat different manners.)

In both literary efforts, a central figure usually died and love triumphed over evil. But the fairy tales were all so quick and neat. The villains were pure evil. The princesses were always paragons of virtue. They didn’t curse or doubt. And in the fairy tales of my youth, they didn’t rescue themselves.

I had brothers. Mean brothers. Brothers who would have brought those Grimm pretenders to run home crying to their mommy. Worse, my parents were Pentecostal. That’s hard core, man. You deviate from that path and you burn in hell – literally or so they informed me in living color about 12 million times – for EVER.

So I knew from an early age that any rescue of mine would be up to me.

I fell away from both Pentecosts and the Harlequins. The books went earlier, I think. Probably about the 76th time my mom forgot to pick me up from something. I always blamed it on her getting lost in a Harlequin on the couch. In all fairness, it could have been anything -- from the trivial to the really-couldn't-be-helped. I was the 7th child for goodness sake. I'd have tried to forget about me, too.

After I set about having actual romances of my own, I learned more cruel lessons. Sadly, you can't just kill off a bad boyfriend like they did on As the World Turns. And the villains in my adventures seemed to win an awful lot of the time, unlike those Mr. Disney spun. Perhaps I wasn’t as full of virtue as those blemishless, tiny-waisted ladies. Perhaps…

It was a rocky decade or so while I was buffeted about in the mating maelstrom. After a time, as you all know, my best girlfriends held an intervention and finagled a way for the captain and I to find our way. While it's true he wields a might sword, our story probably isn't Disney worthy.

It might be worthy of the genre I discovered years into our marriage. What I read now would make Misses Mather and Daily blush. I tell myself that I’m nothing like my mother and that my books are more sophisticated than the formulaic bodice rippers of her day. They're more complicated plots, to be sure, and often the women are as heroic as the men. So that’s nice.

Jeff stopped questioning my literary choices a while ago after, I suspect, he discovered that a happy wife full of steamy romance can have side benefits. I am, shall we say, much less friendly when I read books that make me cry than I am when I’m fresh of a vampire-huntress who saves the world and discovers a randy sidekick along the way.

So, don’t pity the husband/mate of the romance novel reader. Envy is more in order. At least at my house.

I think I have the Harlequins as early reading on my mind today because I have a new book that I'm trying to save for a short vacation next week. It's the latest in a series by Marjorie Liu. I stumbled across her when I read a book that includes some scenes in Paoli, Ind. They're silly but the characters are funny and flawed and would be people you'd love to hang out with.

Also, Ali and I went to Disney on Ice Saturday night with Jaime, Rachael, Aleasha, Brittney (Jaime's friend) and Lauren and another Alison. The other Alison was about 6, maybe, and she and my Alison became joined at the hip. My Ali took on the role of big sister and was holding her hand through the mall and the sidewalks as we moved from dinner to the show.

They sat on one end of the row and I on the other as the princesses started gliding out in the show, which took three Disney princess stories, shrank them and put them on ice. My princess issues aside, I have to say the show itself was amazing. I can barely skate, let alone dance and the costumes were just amazing. I glanced over every so often to see if my Alison was enjoying the show. She's not been a huge princess fan. Like me (shocking) she prefers the princesses that have a say in their lives and their rescue.

I was really proud of her one day when I had country music on and Little Big Town was singing about a girl who wanted her boyfriend to take her down to the little white church. Alison, not a country fan, impatiently turned to me and said, “Why doesn’t she just take her own self down to the church?”

At intermission, I glanced over. She was reading a book to the other Alison.

No, it wasn't a Harlequin. It was Franny K. Stein, though, and perhaps not appropriate for a 6-year-old.

Franny is a mad scientist who lives in a pretty pink house with lovely purple shutters at the end of Daffodil Street. A loner, her lab is in the attic and her best friend/lab assistant is her dog, Igor. She creates all kinds of things, gets in trouble and gets herself out. She once discovered the other girls played with dolls so she created one of her own, trying to fit in. Unfortunately, Franny's doll liked to eat the heads off the other, princess-like dolls.

I love Franny. The other Alison seemed entranced by Lunch Walks Among Us. I'm probably going to have to apologize for nightmares.

But hey, it could have been worse. I had my new romance novel in my purse...

Life can be hairy; you don't have to be

2012-01-15T09:48:00.000-08:00

When I write my book, my superhero will be tall, dark and handsome. He'll be strong enough to cry when it's appropriate; smart enough to know when that is (and isn't); and he'll be willing to wield tweezers and attack the chin hairs that escape my scrutiny.

Yes, I said it. I have unwanted chin hairs, and if you're honest, ladies, you do too. You may have other unwanted, albeit natural, growth in other areas as well, but that's your business. Because I love you dearly, I wish for you a mate like mine: in my case a man who for all his flaws, will alert you to, perhaps even help battle the kudzu-like growth that will eventually set in if it hasn't already.

For those of you with more testosterone than estrogen, I appeal to you to heed the call you may first have heard when Edwina met her love, H.I. McDunnough: "Turn to the left!"

That's right: check out the ear hair, man. And rely on your partner, who if he/she loves you enough, will address the situation for you. And if you have Joe Kernan eyebrows, don't fear trimmer; embrace it.

Here's what else I wish for you.

I wish for you a mate who will:
1. Squirrel away notes and momentos from your life together -- even it if means you have unwanted clutter taking up space in your basement.
2. Not just make love to you when you're not at your best physically, but actually WANT to make love to you because you're you.
3. Make you so angry you could do bodily harm every once in a while.
4. Have a past. A past that involves other lovers and adventures you have never undertaken so there's a comparative.
5. Have a past that can't compare to your present and future because you've both learned what really matters.

I could go on, but it'll just devolve into maudlin crap. Please, I beg of you, don't discount the tweezers. They're going to be important in your life. There may come a time when you're trapped in a hospital bed unable to take care of those little buggers yourself.

Sure, Ward was happy to clasp June's pearls. And it's handy to have help with troublesome jewelry, zippers and the like. The real test of love and endurance is the facial hair.

Why am I waxing hirsute-ical? Because this weekend, Jeff and I went through a bunch of old stuff to contribute to an e-cycle effort. We had old electronics but they were taking paper, too. A torrent of memories -- some great, some awful, some sweet, some kick-ass funny -- came pouring out. Love letter, advice to the love lorn, old cards and notes.

I found a box of clip files and speeches I'd written for politicians long out of office. Jeff found legal papers that sprung him free to meet and steal me away from a former love, the congratulations note he found in his locker when he tried out for the high school basketball team and an encouraging note from his coach the next year.

Most of it was fun and we kept more than we should. I'll apologize to Alison now for the detritus she'll have to deal with one day. But for today, I'm happy for that look back and my peek (fully supported by the man) into my husband's life.

Life can be hairy in more ways than one. Lucky for us both, we're stronger than the follicles. Here's hoping we all are.

Time Traveler

2012-01-08T09:40:00.000-08:00

Alison and I took a walk into Broad Ripple this morning and she spent the "to" portion telling me about her DragonVale adventures. It's a game she plays on her iPad, which began on mine, so she has a double dose of dragons for whom she has strategic breeding plans (no actual copulation is involved), food production and revenue streams.

I could recount to you the types and monetary value of her 35 dragons and dozen or so habitats... OK. I know you're fascinated, too: There are sky dragons and water dragons, earth dragons, swamp dragons and fire dragons and ice dragons and.... Names run the gamut of Gusty (wind dragon) to Rubble (he's a mountain dragon) and my favorite, Tsunami (a water dragon.)

It's a mile into Broad Ripple, ergo I know a mile's worth of dragon lore. Don't you wish you were me? :)

Part of the deal with breeding dragons is that you have an incubation perior that can last from minutes to days depending on how exotic your dragon is. Back when my iPad was her only path to the world of dragons, I'd often find the clock was off. Sometimes by days. It was really annoying. I'd reset it only to find it off again next time I checked in.

And then I discovered that Ali was time traveling. She started doing it when she was playing another iPad game called PocketFrogs. Turns out these critters have an incubation period, too, and Alison was manipulating time so she could hatch her batches of frogs in record time.

She'd tried it with DragonVale, but it turns out that dragons are smarter than frogs and they smack you around if you try to hatch a dragon out of the proper time sequence.

"You're kind of tricky," I said.

"No, I'm smart. There's a difference," she explained, quite seriously.

It was funny to me that we were talking about time travel because it's the subject of my latest Book Club book -- 11/22/63.

The book itself is fascinating, depressing, uplifting, often hard to put down, but sometimes difficult to keep at.

If you could change history, would you? Should you?

I know there have been times in my life that I would love to have a do-over because I did it so badly in round one. But, with apologies to Darius Rucker, it was the mistakes (and some right calls) that brought me here to this.

"This" being a long walk hand-in-hand with my daughter on a cold winter's morning. Sure, my mind might have wandered a bit during the detailed dragon descriptions, but my heart didn't.

It couldn't. A little, gloved hand had a firm grip on it.

I wouldn't take a trip back and risk missing that.

Snippets from the season

2012-01-01T09:47:00.000-08:00

We celebrated Christmas early with my family. It was a lot of fun at "the big house" as we're calling Donna's new abode. It's just outside of Coalmont and it comes with a neighbor who Chevy Chase would envy. I'm sure it'll take that guy until Spring to get all the outdoor decorations put away.

I brought a box of old photos rescued from my parents' house. I'd share them with you but I'm afraid my family would kill me. Somehow no one thought they looked good in the 80s and early 90s...

***

On the way home from shopping with Auntie Jen, Alison was lamenting how bored she was. She was so bored it was as if she was in a Civil War museum. "Grandpa would love to be in a Civil War museum; he wouldn't be bored there at all," I said.

"Grandpa was in the Civil War?" she said, incredulously.

***

Like Indiana, there wasn't much snow in Maine this holiday but we made the most of what we had. The morning we went sliding, we were the only ones at the golf course where last year there was tons of snow and the famous couch-down-the-hill sliders who let Alison climb on board. It was fun just being there by ourselves and not too cold, either.

***
On one of the flights home, there was a man with an infant in the seat beside Jeff. Ali and I were across the aisle. A woman with another infant stopped by to chat with the man by Jeff. They were siblings on their way home from visiting their parents. She was assigned a seat several rows back.

By definition an officer and a gentleman, Captain Reed offered to switch seats with the woman.

Alison, flashing back to last year's Spring Break trip where we were surrounded by a horde of screaming babies, hissed in my ear: "He did it to get away from the baby!"

***

James and David are wearing wedding bands, a fact that didn't escape Auntie Jen's eagle eye, although the rest of us were apparently in a coma. There should be a party soon to celebrate. We're all very happy for them. They may need a crash course in how to be a new couple though.
1. They refused to do a classic "hand" pose to show the rings.
2. David insists on wearing his ring on his right hand because: "I'm left-handed."

***

Alex came over the day after we got back home from Maine. After a week surrounded by only grown-ups, Alison was ready for some time with her peer group. It took us a while to connect and I asked Ali to help me with something in the interim.

"Sorry Mom, I can't. I'm waiting for the phone to ring," she said. I shuddered and sent up a prayer that I won't witness that incident with a different context anytime soon.

Thirty seconds after the "guess what I gots" the two pals were scrambling downstairs so Alison could show off her iPad and they could get to breeding new dragons on Dragonvale -- an artform she'd spent hours trying to instruct her grandfather on. (I don't think the lesson took...)

I set about dis-assembling Christmas upstairs. Before I could get to the first ornament, I hear the pitter patter of 10-year-old feet. "Mom, can we borrow your iPad?"

"I thought you were playing with Alison's iPad."

"Yeah, well, we think it would be better if we each had one."

Ah. Technology...It's not like I was using it anyway...

***

We spent New Year's Eve with John and Lisa and a nice bottle of Krug. Jeff found it on crazy sale a while ago. Like the Dom we had a few years ago, it's clear why it's priced so much higher than other champagnes.

As we marveled at the taste, I asked the boys if they'd pay for another bottle. Without hesitation and nearly in one voice came, "No."

"I'd buy five $40 bottles instead," said my favorite Republican.

***

Christmas is back in its bins. The house is spic and span from the obligatory cleaning that goes along with packing up the holiday and the zero-point soup is simmering on the stove. It's back to reality next week.

Hope your holiday was as great as ours and that 2012 brings about great things for you and yours. As for me, Ali has promised to train me on her new Kirby game.

"Don't worry, Mom. I'll start on a really easy level so you can learn," she said.

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-22T05:10:00.000-08:00

Some go over the river,
Some go thru the woods.
We’ll fly through the sky,
And be happy we could.

Happy Christmas,
No matter where you go,
You’re what makes our holiday glow.

Happy holidays, everyone!

Team Reed Indy

Drum roll please...umm nevermind...

2011-12-11T08:50:00.000-08:00

Why I capitulated I don't know, but I was in the school band from 5th grade through my senior year. It's not that I don't like music, I do. I'm just not musically inclined, as any of my band instructors or anyone who's heard me try to sing or play music, would likely tell you.

As part of the school band, you had to be in marching band when you got to high school. It was terrible. My mother, who insisted on my and all my sisters' musical participation, routinely forgot to pick me up from the practices and parades. So I'd be there after a practice I didn't want to attend, waiting and waiting and waiting for my mom to look up from her Harlequin Romance and remember to come get me. The instructors, who couldn't go home til all the students were gone, LOVED me.

And the parades. Oh the parades. Initially I was in the clarinet section. My sisters, in order, had played the clarinet, trumpet, trombone and flute. Last in line, I was awarded the vintage, recycled clarinet purchased circa 1965 and left behind my sister Donna who had escaped it upon graduation.

In high school I staged a mighty rebellion and moved to the percussion section. What a bad idea. I'd been beaten with sticks my whole life by various family members, but I'd never actually wielded them myself.

Happily, the snares were occupied, so rather than learn how to execute an actual drum roll, I was paired up first with the bells. Apparently you need to know how to play piano to understand the layout of the bells. I tended to flail around making noise.

So it wasn't long before I was paired up with the bass. This is a fine and noble instrument. It's the heartbeat of the music; it's a beacon to the other instruments, sounding out the pace of the work. Well, that's the idea, I'm told.

For parades, nearly all of them carried out during the height of Indiana summer, the marching band was swaddled in wool uniforms and hats that looked like six sheep died to provide each towering Marge Simpson design.

The bass drum is roughly the size and weight of a tractor tire. It's carried in a metal Baby Bjorn on the bassists' chest. It might surprise you to know that I was no taller in high school than I am now.

That frickin' bass drum took on the proportions of a blue whale. It was wider than I was tall and I had to tote down the street. In front of people. While keeping step and remembering to bang on it every once in a while.

Full disclosure: that photo is of my sisters, Debbie and Nancy, also volunteered by my mother for the Shakamak High School band, but likely better musicians. At some point in my marching career, the school switched to slightly less hideous hats, but when I have flashbacks (parades and other gatherings of big crowds bring them on) I envision this rockin' look.

To this day, I hate parades. And it is on that hatred that I blame my latest discovery of how bad a mother I am.

Alison and her 5th grade class attended A Christmas Carol at the Indiana Repertory Theater this week. On the way, she'd passed by Indianapolis' Monument Circle, which for the past forever is turned into a giant Christmas tree thanks to local IBEW workers and a ton of lights and string.

She was entranced by the giant nutcrackers, candy canes and associated holiday decor. Yep. We've lived her her whole decade of life and I've never taken her to see the "tree" lit up. Not for the ceremony and not after. Why?

1. It's not a tree.
2. It's cold enough in Indiana in December to make you pine for that high school band uniform. (but not the hat; for temperatures cold enough to make you want the hat, you have to go to Antarctica.)
3. The idea of going to the annual tree lighting (attended by thousands religiously; considered a rite of passage for toddlers across Central Indiana) makes me think of going downtown for a parade. Huge crowd. Parking issues. Someone hits the lights. Wahoo. Back to huge crowd. Parking issues. In the cold.
4. Did I mention that it's not a tree?

Anyway, Alison had a dentist appointment downtown on Friday. So Jeff and I carpooled to work, he picked her up and took her to the dentist, then picked me up at work.

We planned to do a little shopping, have dinner downtown and see the "tree" in all its glory. Lucky for us, we were able to bring Ali's friend, Amanda, along. They wore matching minion hats and had their usual good time, oblivious to the cold and soaking in all the holiday fun the city sidewalks had to offer.

I need to take off my Grinch hat and embrace their spirit, I think. I might even have to reconsider my parade phobia. I am not, however, wearing that hat again.

PS: As a 5th grader, Alison is eligible to play in the school band. She has declined and I am not going to make her. Some traditions need to end.

It's apparently Christmastime...

2011-12-04T12:13:00.000-08:00

I'm going to have to edit my list of the "best days of my life."

The morning was kind of crisp and cold, but it didn't really matter because I had a bunch of indoor chores to accomplish. Ali was finishing her home work project so she could get to my iPad. Jeff was working on the outdoor Christmas lights, I was shopping online and getting a little organized for the holidays.

Ali and I went shopping together that afternoon. It was warm enough that my LL Bean vest and a turtleneck and jeans were all I needed. I convinced Alison to put on a jacket over her much-loved black sweats with one knee gone and her Justice sparkly tee-shirt. Neither of us had showered. Our hair was pulled back but not combed, and we both had our glasses on.

There's a little shop in Broad Ripple called Chelsea's that Ali wanted to go to because she wanted to get something unusual for Jenna this year (sorry Amer, your advice has been pre-rejected.)

Before got there, we stopped at Starbucks. Coffee for me, water for Ali, and then we strolled down to the store chattering away, laughing here and there and pointing out interesting things and people along the way.

It was one of those little slices of life that I hope to remember forever. The weather was just right. My daughter was thrilled to be hanging out with me. We we had nothing to do but be silly and buy stuff for people we love.

While it was lost on Alison (thank goodness) I remember Christmases past when the P.N. Hirsch in Linton, Ind. was a budget buster, so while we don't get crazy, it's a huge gift to me to be able to shop with a focus on making someone happy.

We called to each other across the stores -- "Ooh! Auntie Jen would love that! Look at all of these, Mom. I think Uncle James and David would like these."

We found a few things at Chelsea's including a Magic 8 ball that that Alison thinks Jenna needs. "Why this?"

"Well, I like it and I would LOVE to have one, so she should like it, too," reasoned Alison, echoing my own philosophy.

She tested it out with a question she made me swear not to repeat and then begged, "Please let it say no. Please let it say no."

We examined more than a few things at a shop I like even better than Chelsea's. Just down the street, the Bungalow has have fewer things, but they're more interesting, usually eco-friendly and the people are nicer. The Chelsea chicks seem to expect you to break things. At the Bungalow, I was juggling my coffee and wallet and a few trinkets and looking for more.

Suddenly there was a nice lady with a basket in her hands, telling me she thought I could use this. Sure, she wanted me to fill it up, but I was in similar shape at Chelseas and no one there did anything but raise her eyebrows.

Alison fell in love with some earrings and a little cat jewelry holder at the Bungalow. We couldn't verify the earrings didn't have nickel in them and while she was crushed that she couldn't get them (and act surprised on Christmas morning) she didn't dwell on it or whine.

She'd loved the penguins and the scotties equally but couldn't decide and then agreed that it didn't really matter as she couldn't have them. (The nice sales clerk helped me pull a fast one so Alison should be really happy when she opens them.)

The earrings and cat holder came back up later after we'd seen a dog wearing a sweater, a dog peeing on a garbage can and another dog that rushed by us "Sorry. He just really wants to get to his store," said his owner en route to the Dog Bakery.

That led to a discussion of cat videos and Uncle James and David. "They're cat people like me," Ali said.

We went into a store I'd never been in. Turned out to be a frat boy's garage sale or something like that. We left fairly quickly but not so fast as to be rude.

Out on the sidewalk, Ali asked me if I'd disliked the store. I said it wasn't what I expected but that I hadn't really thought there was anything there we needed. "What made you ask?

"I can just tell what you're thinking sometimes," she said, catching my hand. "It's a mom and daughter thing."

This morning she made cookies while I made my zero-point soup. She likes to spice the soup. She does a pretty good job of it, too.

Her cookie decorating skills have gotten way better since the first time we'd decorated at Auntie Jen's with Grammie.

As we shopped Saturday, we had talked about what we might do in Maine this year and I said we'd probably have to check with Jen to be sure we could do cookies again.

"Mom. It's CHRISTmas. Of COURSE we'll go to Auntie Jen's and make cookies. It's like. Well. It's CHRISTmas."

Of course it is. What was I thinking?

Halls are Decked

2011-11-27T16:56:00.000-08:00

Alison's cousin Aleasha seranaded anyone who would listen on Thanksgiving Day from her repertoire of Christmas music.

"It's NOT Christmas yet. It's THANKSgiving!" exclaimed a horrified Alison, calling a halt to the tunes.

Not that 'Leasha will care, but Ali has been complaining since Halloween about stores that have Christmas stuff out and any other pre-emergent Xmas signs. She's like a little old lady complaining about kids in her yard. (She's literally working on her impression of that old lady. It's not a big stretch.)

But when we woke up Friday morning, the House of Merle Christmas CDs came out, the bins came up and Christmas exploded at our house.
We rocked out for most of the day. For the first time in the history of Christmas Decorating by A&C, we remembered to put the lights on the tree before the ornaments.

Ali has been using our Island of Misfit Toys collection and other assorted stuffed animals to decorate the tree. This year, we went straight ornaments, but heavy on Aunt Donna's candy shapes and Auntie Jen's misfit trees.

Jeff rescued a white ceramic tree from my mother's house and we're trying to remember where the green one came from. I normally scatter them throughout the house but Jeff and Alison were ahead of me. So we have a tiny ceramic forest shining from our dining room.

Let the Christmas celebrating begin!

In all sorts of stitches

2011-11-27T14:10:00.000-08:00

We are thankful at Chez Reed for many things this holiday weekend. Among those things:

Friends
Family
Health care

Let's start in reverse order. It had come to my attention (actually I knew about this but have been too lazy to fix it) that some people aren't on my photoshoot list on my laptop. So when I send the weekly update from upstairs, the people who live in my downstairs PC address book get left out. So I was trying to fix it while sitting at the kitchen counter.

Ali was cleaning her fish tank. Jeff came through and decided she needed to work harder. They were at the sink addressing the fish poop she'd left in the tank when she'd thought she was done. And then, a crash, a curse, a scream.

I twirl around to see Jeff holding a flailing, bloody, barefoot Alison. Approximately 1.5 gallons of fish poop-laden water and a pile of aqua aquarium rocks were rushing at me.

He was worrying (loudly) that she'd get her feet cut. She was panick-stricken and temporarily deaf. We got her out of the splash zone and I see what appeared to be a handful of slight cuts from arm to foot and a six-foot-long gash on her wrist. Maybe it was smaller, but I'm just reporting what I saw.

She was in the direct line of fire when the glass bowl had slipped from her hands and Jeff caught it quite firmly against the stainless steel sink. Hence, the crash, the curse and the scream.

My brothers have often used Super Glue for various cuts and scrapes, and we had some in the kitchen drawer, I opted, however, to dip into our health care plan.

Six Band-Aids, a bucket of tears and some terse exchanges after the fish bowl explosion, we were ready for a trip to the Immediate Care. That's when my cousin Lori showed up. We'd been expecting her. She was not expecting the reception. But like the good sport she is, she drove Ali and me to the Immediate Care Center while Jeff stayed behind to pick up glass and rock and fish poop.

Alison ended up with three stitches though she'd asked the doctor for "Instant Skin" instead. (She's been reading a lot of Harry Potter.) We'd told her she might not need stitches, but could instead have "liquid skin," a kind of FDA-approved Super Glue.

I'm sparing you some of the drama of how we went from flooded kitchen to stitched and wrapped wrist. It went on for a while. Hours after her recovery period in bed where she was resting her injury, she developed a distinct limp. It shifted from foot to foot as the evening wore on, so there was no follow-up trip to the doc.

This drama was preceded by a fabulous evening out with our friends Patricia and Patrick Jackson and followed by a fabulous evening in with our friends Duane and Kirsten Jasheway, all of whom we don't see enough.

The Jacksons get the prize for driving the farthest -- I first met them back in my Evansville news reporting days. Alison adores them both, and I suspect she and Patricia have some sort of mind meld.

We met for flatbread pizza at Napolese. If you haven't been there yet, you should go. Well worth the points, even on a holiday meal weekend.

So we laughed and reminisced well past Alison's bedtime.

On Saturday, Duane and Kirsten brought a sugar-free, fat-free chocolate pie that's been calling my name all day. I'm sure we had a lovely evening and talked about many sophisticated and silly things. But my mind is on that pie...

All this friendly frivolity, of course, was preceded by Thanksgiving. Team Reed doesn't often host because we rotate among my siblings and aunts, but it's always fun to do when we get the chance. I'm happy to report no trips to the Immediate Care Center were necessary on Thursday.

Jeff is still working a lot, so much of the day's planning and cooking fell to me. Always a risk. The gravy had more of a kick than it should have and the sweet potato souffles were better the next day, but it worked out and we had a great visit with most of my family.

Jeff deep-fried a turkey, I baked ham and turkey breasts. Yes, I confused cilantro and parsley, but the soon to be famous "green turkey" was kick-ass!

We all did miss our Aunt Joan, though, who passed away last week, joining Uncle Ed. You may remember him from previous posts that involved blowing things up with Jeff. They were two of our favorite people. Reportedly, their ashes are now resting side by side. His in a plain black box. Hers in a Depression glass cookie jar. Seems so fitting for the two of them.

We started the weekend on Wednesday with a visit from the Ogdens, and Ali just spent a few hours with them today. It's been a ton of work lightened with laughter and the warmth that comes from being with people who like you despite yourself. We're lucky to have all of them and all the ones we didn't actually see this week, but keep in our hearts. You know who you are.

And now, I think I'll have pie.

Life is a bowl of cherries

2011-11-20T16:02:00.000-08:00

Alison and I were talking about Thanksgiving. Team Reed is hosting this year, so I was thinking about stuff we needed to buy. Anti-chocolate, anti-cake, anti most traditional desserts, I asked her what she might think she'd want for dessert on the big day.

"Well, I might try pie," she said. "I've never had pie. I like cherries. I might like cherry pie."

Sad, isn't it? I'm sure her thighs and complexion will be the better for it, but who would have thought a child of mine would make it a full decade, and then some, without having pie pass her lips.

What's even funnier (to me) is that my sister Nancy is in charge of desserts. We were talking about what she might make and she said people will expect a pumpkin pie. She was worried because she's never made one before.

"Well who are these people with expectations? It's just us. If you don't want to make pumpkin pie, just don't make it," said I, the sane and reasonable one. (I don't really like pumpkin pie...)

"You HAVE to have pumpkin pie," frets Nancy.

I silently agreed to disagree with her and came up with this bombshell. "Hey, you know, if I was in charge of desserts, I'd just go buy a pumpkin pie."

"Buy one?" she mused. "BUY one. Yeah. I could BUY a pie."

And just like that, I saved Thanksgiving. But back to Alison.

Today at Kroger, I spied half a cherry pie in the buy-it-now-before-it-molds basket. "Hey, Ali, wanna try a cherry pie?"

Wrestling with an armload of cherry acai flavored yogurt, she looked at it from all sides. "It's kinda big. Think they have a smaller one?" asked my practical daughter.

We looked. They had individual (fresher) slices of pumpkin and pecan, but no cherry.

"Let's try this. It's on sale, and if you don't like it, we'll have to throw away only half a pie."

Life intervened and she didn't get to the pie until I came home a bit ago from seeing Breaking Dawn with some friends of mine. I'm glad I saw it. Silly, but fun with good friends.

So Ali has the pie out and greets me, "Hey Mom! Cherry pie is awesome."

She's getting out the ice cream and is going to have a whole slice. I'm not sure why I think this is great, but I like the culinary expansion. Heretofore, her dessert range has been sugar cookies, sugar cookie dough, sugar cookie and some cake icing, vanilla ice cream and frozen yogurt.

She dives in. The ice cream vanishes as if it was never there. "Uh. Guys. Does cherry pie go bad?"

"Well, it can be tart," we say.

She moves some cherries around. "Do you have to eat this part?" She forks the crust.

Sigh. Guess the people at work will like the pie tomorrow...

Maybe if I'd made it from scratch? Nah.

The way I see it, Alison's life is a big ol' bowl of cherries. Who needs 'em in a pie?

She Shoots, He Scores

2011-11-12T13:55:00.000-08:00

Yesterday on the way home from school, we passed a school friend/neighbor on a walk with her mom, brother and a friend of his. I had Ali and Amanda in the car because we were going to a party at Amanda's house later.

The girls lean out the window to say hi and learn the group is headed to the park. Ali and Amanda are invited to go, but they have to change first. The group keeps walking. The girls and I head in.

Deh. Deh. Deh.

I've never let Alison walk to the park by herself. Or with a friend. Yeah, it's less than a block away and I can catch glimpses of her from my window if I was inclined to spy. I can even see parts of the park from my backyard. If I was inclined to spy.

She's 10. She's with Amanda. They're going to the park where another mom will be there. Jeff just looks at me like I'm a mad woman. "They'll be OK," he says.

Deh. Deh. Deh.

They dash outside before I can change my mind. I watch them go down the road. I spy from the window to be sure they actually get to the park. It's a beautiful fall day. One of the last we'll get for a while. They're out in the crisp sunshine.

My heart is pounding out the Jaws rythm.

"Hey, honey. Want to go for a walk with me?" I ask, batting my eyes.

It worked for about a quarter second. But like the good man he is, he shrugged into a jacket. We strolled down the street. I saw her little red hair flaming in the sun as she played tag, yelling and screaming with her friends.

We turned the corner and kept on walking.

This morning she brought back up again a subject she's been on for a couple of weeks. "Hey Dad, do you think you would want to go to the Y with me and practice some basketball?"

As loud as my heart was beating yesterday in fear, I think his was pumping about to burst with pure ecstasy. But he kept it on the down-low.

"Sure, honey. I think I could do that."

Now, Jeff's in the middle of a pretty big case at work. He's been burning the midnight and weekend oil for a few weeks and there's more to come. But nothing was going to get in the way of his working out with Alison. And I mean nothing.

I dropped them off at the gym and went to the grocery only to find them an hour later still at it. Ali was sweating. Jeff was just shining.
I think he fell in love with her all over again.

If she's smart, she'll ask him for a dog again today.

R&R for 2/3s of us

2011-11-06T15:27:00.000-08:00

It's been a great weekend. We did the bare minimum to survive. Well, Jeff is having to work overtime still, so it's been Alison and me acting like sloths. We've read a few books, watched the Harry Potter movie collection and generally laid around like dogs.

I did manage to bag a few leaves, clean off one layer of grime in parts of the house and get few errands done. Ali vaccumed, took care of her fish and other chores. But there was a lot of doing nothing.

In the midst of it all, I realized I'd forgotten to take pictures of her in her Ginnie Weasley costume. So my 2011 Halloween photo is of the cookies we made last week for the school celebration.

Trust me to say that while Ali's costumer wasn't to Aunt Donna's level of sophistication, she still made a great junior witch. Her friend Amanda came dressed as an Island girl and we ran rampant through the neighborhood. It would have made a cute photo.

Amanda hadn't been trick-or-treating before. It took her a while to realize she was really just begging for candy and that the people she approached actually wanted to be solicited. It didn't take her long to get into the spirit.

So, after Halloween, Jeff went back to the grind. Ali and I have been having a lot of fend-four-yourself dinners. That means I might have cereal and she might have Ramen. We've occasionally had real meals, but June Cleaver's spirit has been missing from the house.

We did, finally, have dinner as a family Saturday. Actually in the dining room, sharing a meal and conversation. It was great fun. And we took a moment to recognize it.

Tomorrow we'll be back to the grind. Grr. I was liking that sloth routine...

It's good to be king

2011-10-30T11:23:00.000-07:00

Jeff demanded that we not make a big production of his birthday this year. I'm not sure if it's that he doesn't fully embrace this particular one or if he's just so preoccupied with work that it wouldn't matter which birthday it was.

We've had mini-celebrations here and there all month. Jeff and I went to a couple of concerts -- Matthew Sweet on on a school night (!) and local bands, The Love Me Nots and the Vulgar Boatman -- earlier this month. Matthew Sweet played his "Girlfriend" album, which turns out to be the album every divorced or ditched man in America (JMR included) has used to get through the rough patch.

The LMN and Boatmen also have a connection to the former Mrs. Reed. She introduced him to the boys in the band. Interestingly, Jeff has maintained great friendships with them all, and they all seemed happy to see him at the venue.

Said former Mrs. Reed was at the last concert. I have never met her, though based on all the stories, it seems appropriate that it was October when I caught my first glimpse.

She was not friendly. I was prepared to be polite. OK. I was prepared for a cat fight in the bathroom and a little disappointed that I didn't even get a chance to miaow.

I will admit that I was never so glad to fit into single-digit jeans than I was that night. I had new, high-heeled boots on and I might have also had good hair, but I'm never sure about that. All I know is she hugged a table all night and I, well, let's just say I had something more malleable in my hands...

With those same two hands yesterday, I made Jeff birthday brownies. they are anywhere from 4 to 5 points. They would have been three, but I added Ghiardelli chocolate chips and walnuts. It is his birthday... and no, I didn't have one.

Ali described him alphabetically and with art. He is: "Amazing, Best, Creative, Dangerous, Entergetic (sic) Funny, Great, Helpful, Independent, Jeff, Kind, Loveable, My Dad, Nice, Outstanding, Protects Me, Quite (not), Really Awesome, Stupendous, The Best, Under 60 Years, Very Cool, When does he not help me never), X-treme, Y so Tall, and Zany."

Sadly, Jeff spent most of his birthday at work yesterdy and he's there again now. It'll be this way for a couple more weeks, so we might celebrate some more if we can remember what he looks like by then.

It has, for the milestone that it is, been a bit unspectacular. Until Andy came by and made my sporadic mini-celebrations fade to a dim ember, that is.

Jeff is now the Bourbon King.

So I guess it was a successful birthday celebration afterall. Long live the king!

A Tip re: Hats

2011-10-30T10:28:00.000-07:00

We were killing time at Marshall's waiting for Justice for Girls to open.

I spied a display of hats and asked my stylists for their opinion. They're not ones to sugar coat it.

Ali: "No offense, Mom, but no."

Jen: "Heh. Heh. Uh. No."

"What if I put on some lipstick."

"That's not gonna help."

Once in Justice, where they were hoping I'd open my wallet for them, I tried again thinking their desire for new stuff would outweigh their discerning eyes.

"Uh. I don't think so, Miss Cheryl."

Alison slunk to the other side of the store.

Would you buy this book?

2011-10-30T09:54:00.000-07:00

If only I had Jenna more often. The book -- I'm considering this title: "Why Mothers Eavesdrop" -- would come much faster. We snatched her for the first day of Fall Break. Her father wanted her for the second or we would have kept her.

While they do have their own little world, which means I lurk in the corners a lot, I am still needed for snacks and shopping money. And, in a stroke of great luck, they asked me to play with them in the pool for a while. You can bet I jumped right in.

Best quotes of Fall Break 2011:

Ali and Jenna discussing allergies. Ali rattled off dandelions, nickel and cats. Jenna had nothing until: "Well I don't know, but I certainly HOPE I am allergic to broccoli."

***
Ali, Jenna and I were on our own for dinner. I suggested Mexican. "Nah. We've farted enough today."

***
Packing for a day trip the next day to visit my aunt and cousin 90 minutes away by car. Ali: "I'm gonna need another bag. Like you said, it's gonna be old people. I will need entertainment."

***
Jenna, a dental asst and I were talking about how Ali is tall and we are short. I said good things come in small packages. Jenna: "I'm not that good. You know me."

***
Ali: "When I grow up and am allowed to curse freely I am going to create an alphabet of curse words and post it on YouTube."

No means no!

2011-10-23T14:00:00.000-07:00

So last week there was near universal agreement that I am a sleep-over pushover.

I'll take that. It's true.

I don't know if it's the idea of last week or what but I was much less agreeable this weekend. Ali had a sleepover Friday with Amanda, and they switched it up Saturday to be at our house.

Jeff and I had gone out Friday (after a Tuesday night date) again to Radio Radio for a concert. It was fun, but as we all know, I'm pretty boring and two concerts in the same calendar year, let alone week is way beyond the envelope for me.

Saturday, Ali had a belt advancment test at taekwando, I had a baby shower in the afternoon and Jeff had to work. That evening, I had a surprise birthday party and a last minute opportunity to see good friends who'd gotten sideswiped by summer and kids. Then, we had a request to have another child over on Sunday.

So I started the weekend a little bit worn out. The threesome of Alison, Amanda and Dominick is a good one, though it is generally fraught with sporadic fights and appeals to a higher being. And demands for candy. Lots of demands for candy.

Jeff had to work. It was a lovely Fall day, so I left the kids to the Wii and television and mowed the back yard. They had zero interest in seeing the Prodigal Sun.

I'd gotten the front yard done on Saturday and had no gym time at all, so I was happy to get outside. Afterward, I built a fire in the chimenae and settled in for a cozy read.

Two chapters in:

"Mo-om, can we go to Snappers?"

"No."

"Can we go to a bounce house? No! Laser Tag!"

"No."

"Mo-om, can we play in the car? We're bored. There's nothing to do."

"No."

Somehow Alison ends up in the car. Amanda and Dominic pound on the windows. "Miz Reed, will you unlock the car?"

In my head, I'm shouting, "Reading here!!!!"

In my voice, I say, "Alison, get out of the car."

The alarm starts blaring. I sigh. I go save the neighbors' hearing.

"Mo-om, can we roast marshmallows?"

"Sure. Go get them and the skewers."

"Where are they? I can't find them. Mo-om."

"Miz Reed, where are the skewers. Can I have some water?"

Then a game of tag ensues with the marshmallows as the prize. Finally, they start roasting. Which was hilarious. Many marshmallows were sacrificed.

I give up on reading. I suggest a walk into Broad Ripple to feed ducks.

"Nah. We don't want to go outside."

I leave them to their Pixos, TV, lap top and Wii. I check the paper. I check Facebook and email. I check on why Amanda suddenly fled to Ali's room, left Alison to referee the fight between the other two and denied requests for candy.

Later, bored again, they decide that walk would be a good idea afterall. I see them in the front yard and check downstairs. I force them to return to the family room, turn out lights, the TV and pick up three or four hours worth of crap and dirty dishes on the floor.

I grab the loaf of bread intended for the ducks. Alison wants to carry it. Dominic whines that he wants to have it. Sixteen steps onto the Monon Trail, Dominick informs me that it's too heavy. Could I carry it?

"That would be a negative," I say, shooing him along. He has one hand on the bread and the other holding up his pants. I shake my head. A third of the way there, I make him switch with one of the girls. They fight over who has to take it. Then, they fight over who gets to have it last.

Three-fourths of the way to the ducks, Amanda asks me when it's my turn to hold the bread. "That would be never," I say.

We get to the ducks. Dominic is afraid of the geese. Alison claims she'll protect him. Dominic eats some of the bread. Then says he needs some water. I tell him he can hold out til we get to Kroger. There's probably a water fountain there. (Turns out there isn't...)

We get to Kroger. They ask if we'll buy candy. Can we rent a movie? Can we get doughnuts? No. No. And no.

"What do you want for dinner? They shop. Dominic can't decide. I tell him the clock is ticking. We buy sweet Italian sausages for grilling. Dom is still pondering his culinary fate. I inform him that I can take him home and he can have dinner there.

Dominic discovers there's no water fountain. The girls try to hide from him in the store. Which means I can't find them either. I hate that game.

I get just enough food to feel my muscles flex. We set out for home. Dominic remembers that he left his jacket with the ducks. I sigh. We go back to the canal, retreive the jacket.

"Do we have to walk all the home?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Can we have sno cones?
Can we go to BRICs?"
"No. We're going home to have dinner, remember?" I say.

"Will dinner be ready when we get home?" Amanda asks me.

I took a deep breath, swung the bag of groceries that contained most of said dinner.

"Remember when we went to Kroger and we decided you'd have sausages and we bought them and put them in this bag right here?" I ask.

"Oh. So it won't be cooked, I guess," she said.

"Right."

Actually it was a fun afternoon. They're more hilarious than they are annoying. And I was happy to have them here. In between the piles of boredom, they seemed to have a good time.

I, however, am exhausted and will soon be finding my bed, my book and a remote. Should anyone want anything else from me, I have one word...

Hoark vs. Hike: you be the judge

2011-10-16T16:59:00.000-07:00

Alison greeted the weekend on or about 12:30 a.m. by puking up our pasta dinner. I found her in the middle of the hall between her bathroom and bedroom. I encouraged her to get to toilet but she looked up at me, mewling, frozen there in the glow of her nightlight.

I'd rushed to the sound of her crying so I didn't have my glasses on. When she continued to resist my efforts to get her next bout contained in porcelain, I squinted a bit to see she was surrounded by vomit.

Yep. Puke to the left of us. Puke to the right of us. And more bubbling to the surface.

It was, shall we say, a tricky manoever to clear a path without succumbing to it all.

Jeff got up and helped with the clean up, but she spent the greater part of a couple of hours with pillows and a blanket in the bathroom. About 3:30 we moved to the couch. At 7:30 Jeff traded me spots.

Ugh. I'm glad that's over. Sunday dawned bright and warm and all traces of Saturday were done. She did a little gymnastic routine on the kitchen floor to convince me we could talk to the Ogdens and voila, a hike was born.

I have to say the end of the weekend was way better than the beginning.

Thinner but Boring

2011-10-16T06:55:00.000-07:00

So I'm at a crossroads in a part of the country where I never thought I'd be and I might need some guidance.

Weight Watchers says I've reached and maintained my weight goal to the extent that they gave me a little gold key and pronounced me a Lifetime member.

I don't know quite what to do with myself now. I wonder if mountain climbers who reach the peak get up there and say, "Well, hell. What now?" like I'm doing right now.

I know it's not enough to reach this level. I have to stay here. I know full well that I have the capacity to backslide into the culinary sins of fried food and full-fat ice cream faster than a felon just released from prison where he discovered Jesus.

I'm tempted to set a new, lower goal because I've gotten used to my somewhat restrictive diet. I've perfected my whine. I am so used to trying to lose that the idea of maintaining scares the, uh, pumpkin out of me.

Most people at work don't even try anymore to convince me to try the yummy treats they bring in. (For this I am deeply thankful.) Jeff's been great and for the last three weeks has been a WW believer. He's so into it now (dropped 10 pounds in three weeks) that he's teaching me stuff and shopping for low-point stuff like a lo-cal champion.

Don't tell anyone, but Weight Watchers is not all that restrictive once you get past the desire for foods that, truth be told, aren't really all that great.

Sure, it's nice to think about pie and chocolate cake and piles of ice cream. Pizza. Lasagna. Al Fredo sauce. Pumpkin rolls.....ahhh pumpkin rolls... Donna's yeast rolls and butter. Bread sticks...

Sorry. Got distracted there for a minute. Sure I fantasize sometimes and breathe deep when someone's having fried chicken. But there are few things I've learned from my 22.5 months of Weight Watchers membership.

1. I like being thinner way more than I enjoy chocolate. I know! I wouldn't have believed it myself two years ago. But it's true.

2. While I will occasionally indulge in a Dexatrim when I will be faced with great temptation (parties, traveling, vacation) chemicals aren't the answer. There's no quick fix. It's eating less and exercising more until you get to a point where you don't dread shopping for swim suits or when you finally get to the point where you're just not going to go up another size.

3. I've never been addicted to drugs or alcohol but I do think sustained weight loss has got to be something close. And like other addicts, no one can make you decide to really kick the habit. You have to do it. And you have to do it for yourself.

4. The gym is not a torture chamber. Well, if it is, it's at least one you emerge from better than you when you entered. And once you get to a point where you don't flinch when you pass the mirrors, you're home free. Don't tell Kelsey Taylor but I get cranky when I don't get to go to the gym.

If I can just stay in my WW world and focus on eating, or not eating, I don't have to work on other areas of my life that could need improving. So here's where your guidance comes in.

I might be thinner than I've ever been in my life, but I'm B.O.R.I.N.G. and I need help to overcome it.

I need to develop an interest in something that will energize all of us in the TeamReed family, not eat into the gym time and not expose me to too much culinary temptation.

Temptation lies in bars, wine festivals, beer gardens and street fairs where there's more grease per square inch than oxygen. (See why I'm boring?)

It's getting colder, so hikes and bike rides will be getting scarcer. While I can drag Alison with me, she's even less inclined than I to brave the cold. She has inheirited, I fear, my exultation in the couch, a book and snacks.

Music is great. But it usually comes with beer. Maybe I start there. I'm taking Jeff to see Matthew Sweet this week for his upcoming birthday.

Maybe we should go to a concert every month. My smart friend Angela has season tickets to the local theater. It forces a date night. Maybe that? Both will involve wearing grown-up clothes and makeup, getting a sitter, a little 5-hour-energy.

I think I need an after-hours coach. I'm good with school stuff, work stuff, yard work, working out and getting through the dinner hour. It's the prime-time viewing hours and the weekends when I want to stay home and veg out.

If this keeps up, I'll be a thin old lady with no friends who's only activity is running out to catch the leaves when they fall on the lawn.

Is there a class for boring people?

Sleepover Weekend!

2011-10-11T17:13:00.000-07:00

We had an all-Jenna-all-the-time-weekend, so it's taken me a little bit of time to get things back in order. We got her Friday afternoon and reluctantly gave her back on Sunday evening. We would have LOVED to keep her longer. Although I'm not sure I could keep up the pace.

Sleepover Itinerary
* Friday pickup at school -- Jenna first so Ali could show her off at CKS.
* Ali was waiting in the 2nd floor window overlooking the parking lot when we got there.
* One block from home, I let them stand up in the car and poke their heads out the sun roof. You would have thought they were Princesses in the Indy 500 Parade.
* Papa John catered, Roderick from the Wimpy Kid amused and there was no need for me in the family room.
* Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful for Jenna's soccer game. We attended. Jeff paid attention and gave Tom a great play-by-play text, complete with pictures.
* It's possible that Alison and I might have read during times when Jenna wasn't on the field. It's been a while since Saturday and my memory is foggy.
* Sadly, the Azetecs were felled by the Falcons which meant we had all afternoon to play together instead of one of us having to focus on a white ball and all kinds of confusing rules.
* On the way home, we stopped in at the Farmer's Market and come home with pulled pork BBQ, mums, apples, pear tomatoes and pumpkins.
* We get home, snarf down the BBQ and some apples.
* We get on the bikes to feed the Broad Ripple ducks and visit Broad Ripple Ice Cream (BRIC)for dessert.
* Jeff makes us bike to 86th Street before he'll give the girls ice cream.
* On the way to ice cream, we spy a school of fish as we cross the river. At one point I thought they might actually have been rocks, but they did move around. We even saw some turtles splashing around and a hawk overhead. It was a brilliantly blue fall day -- the perfect temperature, Jenna claimed, for bike riding.
* We get home, just in time to get dressed again to visit the Jordan YMCA for swimming (girls and Jeff) and a workout for me.
* Jeff visited Kroger after I rescued him from the pool.
* The girls and I set a record tossing her giant tennis ball without dropping it --
171 catches. The lifeguard was not impressed.
* Back home again to find dinner and Harry Potter.
* Girls crash on the couch and don't move until Sunday morning dawns.
* Jeff trots off to basketball. Ali and Jenna are head to head on the couch watching something horrible or obsese cats on the laptop. Breakfast is unnecessary.
* I have coffee, read the paper and plant mums.
* Breakfast gets taken care of without me.
* By noon, we're back on the bikes bound for BR Nails and a pedicure courtesy of Miss Amy's suitcase surprise. "Are you sisters?" the pedicurist asked. "No. We're friends. Well, we're best friends."
* Properly pampered, we go back to the ducks with leftover cookies to share. To escape an aggressive goose, we move downstream. Our plan goes awry and inspires a mass migration from the flock when they figure out there are still cookies to be had. (Go west young duck!) The sky was full of feathers. It was pretty spectacular; well deserving of another visit to BRIC.
* Once home, the girls break out the paint and glitter and set about turning their pumpkins into a vampire and a black something or other.
* After lunch, the girls decide they need one last swim.
* When informed we'll be making another trip to the Y, Jeff informs me that we are not compelled to grant their every wish. I'm still mystified by that. It was a sleepover weekend! Someone needs to explain the sleepover rules to him, I guess...

And now we breathe

2011-10-02T13:16:00.000-07:00

A hundred years ago, I was a news reporter covering the cops beat. Sometimes I had to go ask people questions after tragedy had struck, and it was the worst thing ever. More for them, I'm sure, than me.

I think that's when I learned to compartmentalize. I'm pretty sure the mental health professionals would say it's not a good thing to do. But I'm a black belt at it now, and I'm too old to stop putting fears and tears and thoughts of foreboding into their own little closets in my head.

Take the last couple of weeks, for example. Jeff had hurt his knee playing basketball and had finally gone to the doctor. I suspected a muscle or meniscus tear. Something painful but fixable with time and frozen peas. "Baby," he said, calling me after the doctor. "Don't freak out."

So of course I freaked out. Silently, because I was at work. But yeah. The loop was thrown.

"There was a strange shadow on the Xray. It could be nothing. It could be cancer. I'll need an MRI to know for sure."

I'm not exactly sure that's what he said because it all went to Charlie Brown's teacher speak as my mind spun into how Ali would deal with being half-an-orphan, how I'd deal with widowhood and whether he'd be buried in Indiana or Maine.

I mumbled something I hope was comforting as he ended the call saying we'd talk more at home. I shook my head, built a new mental closet with a really big lock and slammed the door.

I dealt with an employee resigning from my already too-small staff. I dealt with last minute details with my upcoming work trip that would end the day the MRI was scheduled. I might have talked to my boss and co-workers. Hell, I might have been interviewed by CNN. Who could say?

I'm not sure how Jeff made it through the next few days. He apparently has a few closets of his own.

Long-story short, the shadow turned out to be a bone spur. Probably has been there since his little bones first formed. That news was clearly delivered and received. Can we all say, "wahoo?"

So anyway, it's Sunday, we're all as healthy as we can be. I've deconstructed my latest mental clost -- no need for that box of worry to take up any more space.

Ali and Dominic are upstairs, waiting for Jeff to get back home with Amanda in tow. I'm downstairs.

I hear the creaking of the floor underneath my husband's heavy tread and his booming voice. He's home. My daughter is squealing as her friends surround her.

My little world is perfect.

Model Behavior

2011-10-02T11:26:00.000-07:00

I was sitting on the couch the other day, minding my own business and occasionally wondering where my daughter was. We'd been joined at the hip since I'd gotten home late Tuesday night from a 4-day work trip that had robbed us of our weekend, but all of a sudden, she'd put down her book and disappeared.

Then, I heard a clunking noise coming at me. I looked up to see the child formerly known as Alison coming at me. "Hey, Mom. I've been in your closet. What you do you think of my look?"

When she was a toddler, Alison was forever wearing her dress up clothes, which consisted mostly of frilly skirts and silky tops with my cast-off heels and maybe even a hat or two. She'd drape herself in beads and trip around, more often than not forgetting that you could see her Dora the Explorer panties under her sheer net skirt. She'd dress up to go climb the tree in the front yard.

She's had had an interest in my jewelry closet for a while, but mostly as storage space for her collection. This was her first actual foray into my things.

I was, in equal parts, horrified and over-joyed.

I love my little tomboy.
I'm not sure I'm ready for a real girl, certainly not one who is so close to actually being able to wear some of my stuff.

Several of my heels fit her perfectly. The length on some of the skirts and dresses was actually nice. Unlike some of her girl friends, adolescent hormones have given Ali only a passing glance, so none of the dresses or blouses were form fitting. "If I don't hold on tight, you can see my junk," she said.

Wearing a little black dress with a bit of a plunge, she said: "Mom, why are their fake, uh, things in here?" she asked, clutching at the bodice.

"Well, sometimes a girl needs help," I said.

She's been wondering when she'll see some development, but the idea of "help" resulted in a big, "gak!"

She ended up calling a halt to the dress-up when her little Ogden friends called offering a sleepover. Jeff had gotten home by then and his reaction was 100 percent appalled.

"You know she's not that far off from actually wearing stuff like that," he said, as if he was a Navy Seal revealing government secrets to al Queda.

"Yeah. I know," I sighed. Happily for us, she returned in torn blue jeans and tee shirt, happy to kick a ball around in the yard with Alex. She hit the friends-over jackpot when Dominic called, so she's been tearing around with him for a couple of hours. Soon, Amanda will be here and I'll be needed only for food and drink.

But it'll be fun to hear them being silly kids. I'll get her back later and I'll snag every second I can.

The Scales of Justice

2011-09-18T16:55:00.000-07:00

We had Bunco on Saturday night so I knew I'd better get a good work-out in before I met up with my long-time buddies. I sandwiched a trip to the YMCA between errands, so I was gone for a good bit of the morning.

About 12:30 I called Jeff with a Kroger question and decided to make sure I had all the things Ali needed, too.

"When are you coming home, Mom?" she asked.

"Soon as I'm done here," I said.

"So, five minutes?"

Probably more. I need to get through check-out and then drive home."

"So, ten minutes?"

"Probably more than that. Why? Do you miss me so very much?"

"Well, yeah," she said. "You have been gone a long time."

The shine on the Kroger tile had nothing on my face as I smiled and my heart soared. She loves me!!! I thought. And then came this: "And, well, I was kind of hoping you'd come home soon because I really would like to have my lunch and I'm not exactly sure how to make it."

My laughter woke up the security guard and I'm sure identified me as a kook. You know how annoying it is to be shopping and have to endure the conversation of your fellow Kroger shoppers? I was annoying and loud about it.

I did, in fact, go home and make her lunch. We had a good weekend. Alison made another cookie creation, this one was supposed to be a house but we gave a wall away to the neighbor girl who had a birthday. So it's more of a tent, but it has a dog and a boy, and Alison did 99 percent of it herself. She even used a paint brush like the Cake Boss crew does all the time.

On Sunday, we convinced Jenna to come over. After a while, the girls decided they wanted to go swim at YMCA. It seemed like a perfect opportunity to entertain them and work off the decadent breakfast Jeff and I had. (Weigh-in Wednesday is going to be ugly.)

Going back to the Y also promised a chance to get to listen, uninterrupted, to new music Jeff had put on my iPod. So it was a win all around.

Kids aren't supposed to be in the Y work-out room so I sent them off to the pool and told them I'd come get them in an hour. Three minutes later, I was two Pistol Annies songs in only to look up to see them dripping next to my ellipitical trainer.

Now, there's a lifeguard on duty poolside, and I can actually see the pool when I look up. But apparently, unless you're 12, you can't swim without having a parent poolside, regardless of whether you are an excellent swimmer or a novice. Both Jen and Alison are fishes. Their presence in the pool would have doubled the number of swimmers. So I can understand how much extra work they would have been. (not)

Anyway, I really wanted to work out, and I hadn't brought my suit. I don't usually flout rules around Alison, but I was trying to get at least 30 minutes in. So I let them try out the treadmill and elliptical trainer even though they're not supposed to be in that room. That bought me 10 minutes.

Then, I told them they could go to the kids play area, knowing good and well that the rule there is you have to be 11 to be on your own.

I called Ali over, looked her in the eye and said, "You can be 11 in there, OK?"

She grinned because she knows that rule, too. "OK!"

Jenna, of course, was listening. "Hey! That's not fair!"

"You can be 11, too," I said.

"OK!" she said.

The little lawbreakers ran off, happy as clams. I had a moment or two of guilt. But I weighed it against what I'll have to face on Wednesday. Don't tell anyone at the Y.

Cookie Boss

2011-09-11T19:11:00.000-07:00

We've been watching a lot of Cake Boss lately. Cousin Rachael turned us on to it a while ago and Alison has DVRd every episode she can find.

Ali can credential everyone who works at the Cake Boss -- Buddy's -- shop and she's committed several of the episodes to memory. She told me the other day she might need to go live in Hoboken and work for Buddy as a means to learn her new future job -- cake and cookie decorating.

This morning, she must have been plotting her future again when my friend Carey came over.

Carey reminded me of her upcoming fundraiser for Melina Kennedy, and because it's during the week, I asked if I could bring Ali, who'd just emerged from the family room and her beloved television. I told her what we were planning to do.

"I can make cookies!" she informed Carey, who, good person that she is played right along. But Ali was serious.

She trotted over to give her potential client a sampling from last weekend's batch and told her how much her friends like it when she makes them cookies.

Carey nibbled, pronounced it great and agreed to let Ali bring a dessert.

After much debate, the Cookie Boss decided on flags because it's a government event; stars because there are stars on the flag; and a girl because Melina is a female candidate for mayor of Indianapolis.

Avowed chocolate hater, she even agreed to use chocolate for the hair and eyes to accurately depict her honoree. (She's watched a lot of Cake Boss; I was mildly shocked that she didn't suggest doing model donkeys out of fondant and modeling chocolate.)

Later, as she was decorating, she looked up, icing dripping on the counter instead of the cookie, she looked at me and said, "Hey, Mom. Am I gonna get paid for this?"

I explained to her the concept of an in-kind contribution. She wasn't sold.

"So basically, I'm being kind but not getting paid?"

Yes, I laughed. Out loud. But it was a nice laugh and I tried again to explain the various ways one can show support for a candidate even before you vote. Despite her disappointment over the compensation plan, she didn't waver in her work. And she seems excited about going to the event.

I've been on political sabbatical for a while now, but I really like Melina. I'm not trying to turn Alison into a little political junkie but she's seen more than her fair share of Power Puff Girls episodes. She needs a little better image of a mayor and some real-life girl power, if you know what I mean.

Truth be told, she's going to the even to show off her wares rather than to learn about how city government could/should be run. But it can't hurt her to see a room full of vibrant women who want to make their community better.

So anyway, if you're in town and you want some kick-ass cookies, or if you want to hear from the woman I hope is our next mayor, let me know, and I'll let Carey know.
I'm pretty sure she'll let you come.

You'll have to work out your own in-kind contribution...

Cutting deep

2011-09-03T17:22:00.000-07:00

It was a very long week and we had a lazy Saturday. Oh, we got our usual chores done, but that was it. Ali managed to get a few of her chores but she had a few treats between reading on the couch, playing computer in her room and watching TV.

At one point, she was about to receive another small favor and I remarked that she had a pretty good life.

"I have a good Mom. There IS a difference," she said.

Little suck-up.

Earlier, we were discussing what we will do tomorrow when Drew and Jenna come over. All of Ali's ideas were good, though most involved my credit card, but they were very girl-focused. I kept reminding her that we needed to think about what 12-year-old Drew might like.

"I do not understand the species of boy, Mom," she said in frustration.

I stopped myself from revealing that she never would....

When I dropped Ali off to play at Jenna's Sunday afternoon before the big sleepover here, Alison was plotting ways to torture Drew and Jenna was plotting a way for him to NOT be involved in HER sleepover. Drew, I'm sure was upstairs in his room on his knees praying to avoid both the girls.

Turned out, everyone got their wish. Tom devised a plan for Drew to be his own man and the girls have been here whooping it up.

They wanted to sleep outside in the tent but didn't last beyond 30 minutes. Used to be, Alison was a backyard nature lover. Last night she got spooked by a car alarm and the memory of a guy in our neighborhood walking to his car with guns. I didn't stop to see if they were real, and he isn't a regular so we were hoping he was a grandson now long gone. In any event, she decided it would be best to sleep indoors in case his visit was longer and he was out at night.

Today has been cookie decoration day. In between rolling them out, cutting them out and decorating, we had an interesting coversation about the girlfriend code. They were making me listen to rock-n-roll music and "Jessie's Girl" came on.

I felt compelled to inform them about the girlfriend code.

"Mom. I've known about the girlfriend code since first grade," Alison said.

"Really? What it is?"

"You can't go out with your friend's boyfriend," she said.

"Who told you THAT?" I asked, a bit outraged at having my role usurped.

She sighed. "You did."

"I did? Really?"

"Yes."

Man, I'm ahead of the curve, I thought, wondering what had prompted it then. And then, I'm the one learning:

"You know, Miss Cheryl, if he's moved on and she's moved on, you can date your girlfriend's OLD boyfriend," Jenna said.

Moved on? Moved on? What does that mean?

"But what if she still loves him and he's the only one who's moved on?" I asked.

"Well. "You know, if it's over," she said.

I almost turned them around and them look me in the eye. "The code says you can't date your girlfriend's boyfriend. Period. That's it," I said. "That's the code."

Without even seeing them, I knew they were rolling their eyes.

"Why are we even talking about this?" Alison asked.

"Because it's my job to teach you stuff. Like the code," I sputtered.

Jenna laughed. "Yeah. Like she learned her code back when she was a girl. Like back in the fifties!"

I'm still trying to get the last bits of blood off the floor. You know, the ones that dripped when I removed the knives they were sticking in my heart. My old, fading, barely beating heart.

Mall Rats

2011-08-28T14:38:00.001-07:00

After a bit of a stressful week at work, I was really looking forward to the weekend.

It got started off right with a bit of community service. No, we weren't wearing orange, and we weren't chained to each other. Instead, we stood outside Lucas Oil Stadium and asked Packers and Colts fans to give a little bit up for Claire's Comfort for Kids.

It's a great program inspired by Claire Helmen, daughter of Jeff's boss and sitter of Alison. Claire has curly red hair, is long and lean, and when she Alison out and about, everyone thinks they're sisters.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm the worst person to ask to raise money regardless of the good cause. If I ever find myself on a street corner with a cardboard sign, rest assured I'll be dead of starvation in a week. It's just not my thing.

Joanne Joyce, another volunteer, on the other hand, is a pro. She was taking her collection bucket into the lines waiting at security, loudly implying that the Packers fans were showing up the home crowd.

Jeff and Ali were at one spot and I was at another with another woman and two boys who put me to shame. Their exuberance got me to at least call out to the crowd. When I took Ali off to a bathroom break, we were stopped by some scalpers trying to get us to buy tickets, and I got a buck out of each of them!

Further inspired, I went to work at my station. When I joined back up with TeamReed, they weren't doing too well. So I got Ali to follow my lead. "Wow, Mom, you can get people to do stuff!" she said.

I almost choked and told her I'd been shamed into by the boys. Instead, I told her she could do it, too. She's claiming to be shy these days. But with only a little push, she gave it a try and lo and behold, the dollars started coming her way. The more she collected, the louder and braver she got.

By game time, we were tired, but our buckets were much fuller. We'd collected some phones for domestic violence victims, too. We did so well, I thought we deserved a reward and the captain decided it would be to have Dairy Queen (gasp!) before dinner.

With Saturday came a pool party courtesy of one of Jeff's co-workers and then a sleepover for Ali, and dinner and a movie for Jeff and me. We almost pulled of a P.Jackson-squared dinner, but couldn't make the times work.

Sunday, while the East Coast was pounded by Irene, it was a beautiful, clear summer morning in Indiana. Karin took the kids to see the Keystone Towers implode. Jeff and I watched it from bed. And then I tackled the back yard and finished up my front yard chores.

Around noon, Ali came home and we got to keep the Ogdens for a little while. They would watch TV and play the Wii 24/7 if you let them, but I thought they needed time outside the house. Our healthy outing ended up being the Castleton Mall.

Ali had let her ear holes grow back -- I was more focused on her braces, I guess and had forgotten about the ears. So back to Claire's we went.

As we walked into the mall, Alison started channeling a drama queen and fretting over the coming pain. She was holding onto one of my hands and one of Hannahs and trying to find a way to hang onto Alex. Then she started squeezing.

"You do know that's my credit-card signing hand," I said.

"Quick, Ali, use both of mine!," Hannah said.

The redhead moaned and fretted and whined about the pain from the parking lot through the food court. At the main mall hallway, I debated aloud whether to turn left or right.

"It's this way, Mom," she said, pulling me toward the earring shop. Yeah. She's scared. So we go there in fine shape. Hannah kept a watchful eye over the care of my right hand.

Before it was over, we caught up on a late birthday gift for Hannah at Hot Topics and found an early one for Alex at the Lego store.

Thank goodness they took such good care of my right hand...

Yard work

2011-08-21T14:34:00.000-07:00

For a good 30 minutes today, Captain Reed had a rival for my affection.

I was out in the yard preparing to take advantage of Alison going to Godstock -- yeah, don't ask -- by declaring war on the weeds and the specter of a sweet gum tree. I told Karin Ogden, who was taking Ali to church and the aforementioned Godstock event, that I was communing with God outside. I think He'd see it my way.

Anyway, I had most of the tools I would need but I'd forgotten the spade. I heard Alison outside and asked her if she'd come help me. Silence from the smaller redhead. But this from the sweetest boy I know: "Did you need something Mrs. Reed?"

Alex Ogden had stayed over the night before in anticipation of the church event. He came trotting out to me, happy to help. In the past, he's been my No. 1 sympathizer/defender/protector against snakes, threats of snakes and sightings of snakes. And lately, he's just been extra helpful and just plain a joy to have around.

"I don't know where Ali is. I think she's hiding," he said before going off to get my spade for me. I'm pretty sure he'd have done whatever I'd asked -- even if I wanted him to pull weeds with me. I love that Alex Ogden.

A part of me is sad that he has no romantic interest in my daughter. But as she has none in him, it's a good thing. They are, instead, the very best of friends. The sleepover was in jeopardy when Karin discovered he'd not finished his homework, but we promised to do it before bedtime.

Alex was at the dining room table working away, research on the Aleutian Islands on the laptop beside him, the marker basket spilling all over and paper ready to be filled. Homework-free Ali had snagged my iPad and was watching funny cat videos.

When Alex had finished his flag, he moved on to his list of 10 facts and enlisted Alison in the exercise. They synchronized technology so she could help him find interesting sentences. I guess it was too much to think they could share the laptop.

They were using the New World Encyclopedia. At one point, I'd looked over a shoulder and saw a rather long paragraph on agricultural products. I thought that would be a good sentence to use.

"We don't want to use that one. Those people's sentences go on forEVER," Alison said. "But we like to use this site because they use big words and we think the teacher will like that."

Alex was writing about the archipelago and laboring with a stubby pencil and short-term memory loss. "Okay, now tell me how to spell that again," he called out.

"Dude. You were just here looking at it!" Ali said, but relented quickly. "OK. Are you ready?"

It was fun listening to them call factoids and spelling back and forth. The homework probably took about an hour longer than it should have because periodically, Alison would burst out in laughter, call Alex over and they'd double over watching silly cats.

It was hilarious.

So after the kids had gone off with Karin and her mom to church, I turned to face down the weeds. It's been a long, hot and dry summer and I've not been as attentive to it as I should have. Plus, sweet gum sprouts have nearly displaced the moss and crab grass throughout the yard and I've been needing to get at the remaining roots of that tree since we took it down last year.

A couple of hours into the project, I was filthy, my arms were aching and my thighs felt like I'd played catch for 16 softball games in a row. There were roots and weeds and sprouts and clippings piled like death pyres all over the place.

Jeff had emerged, roamed around a bit and then read the sports page. He hates yard work. Hates it. Hates it. Hates it. I like it, so I don't mind doing the majority of it. Usually.

I did enlist him to help me with a big root that wouldn't move for me. A few minutes later, he came out with his fancy ladder and decided he'd try to fix a leaky gutter we have.

I kept digging and bagging. Alison was supposed to be home at 12:30. She'd left at 10. I thought she'd be a good alarm clock, signalling an end to the yard work.

Jeff had finished his work, put away the ladder and his tools and I was nearing the end of weed work, dreading the idea of now having to actually mow the damn yard. I'd made a few passes to the back yard and noted that it was just as overgrown and in need of some love as the front. I'd managed my work stations by moving to a different chore when I couldn't stand the pain of squatting or pulling anymore.

I was back on my knees when I heard the dulcet tones of a lawn mower. Jeff was nowhere to be seen and the house was blocking my view but I could have sworn the noise was coming from my own back yard.

I displaced a few hundred crickets and two enormous, wriggly earthworms, but the mowing continued. I shook my head. Jeff hates yard work. He'd done his handyman duty already. Must be the neighbors, I mused.

I pulled a root, which fought back and sent me slamming down on my butt. I heard more mowing, closer to me. "Nah. Can't be," I said.

But yes indeed, God had rewarded me for my morning worship at the church with the open roof. A miracle had happened and Jeff Reed was captaining the lawn mower. He did the front and back yards both!

This unselfish, unsolicited act bounced Alex right out of the No. 1 spot in my heart.

And yes, I am fully aware that I'm channeling Rosie O'Donnell -- you know that scene in that awful Exit to Eden movie? She's undercover looking for criminals on an island getaway when a manservant in a speedo tells her he's there for her pleasure. That he'll realize any fantasy she could possibly think of. "Go paint my house," she says.

Anyway, there's more than labor that factors into my love of the captain. He's a great dad. He's a great cook. He mixes a mean cocktail. He does laundry. He grocery shops. And he'll rub my feet sometimes without asking.

I am poking a little fun today, though it's true I do love Alex Ogden. But I got super lucky when I met Jeff Reed. I still tear up a little bit when I think about our date last Saturday. I do some of my best thinking in the yard.

While I was sweating in yard today, I realized a few things. We weren't in real danger Saturday at the Sugarland concert, but we were on the cusp and we were witness to true horror.

And while I was in a daze trying to figure out how to respond and if we could help, Jeff took charge and got us to safety.

That, my friends, is what my father would say a real man does. I know it's a bit of a throwback. I've not lived my life waiting to be rescued, and I'm not raising my daughter to be a shrinking violet, either.

But sitting there in the dirt, with my sweat-soaked shirt and grubby face, hands and knees, I realized that I was totally "the girl" last weekend.

Good thing for me, my date was on it.

I guess Alex didn't really have a chance afterall.

School Daze

2011-08-20T13:14:00.000-07:00

After 10 years of embracing her curls and the wild look, Alison wanted to straighten her hair for the first day of 5th grade.

Maybe a decade is too strong. It did take her a while to actually have hair. Anyway, she's been accepting her femininity in fits and starts lately. Sometimes I want to help her get there. Other times I want to keep my innocent tomboy just as she is.

Fifth graders wear either skirts or uniform pants rather than the jumpers she's had since kindergarten. Last year she declined to wear her jumpers in favor of pants, and while I insisted she get one skirt, she's starting off this year in pants, too. She's still putting off a trip to the hair salon for a real hair cut, and she's now a brown belt at taekwondo, so she's more tomboy than girly girl. At least this week.

She said she wanted straight hair mostly to give her classmates a shock her first day back at school. Another tomboy kind of thing, right? I pondered what else was motivating her, but decided to just let it lie.

Then, she suggested she might need another spray tan like we'd gotten for Jen's wedding, but darker. Yeah. I think she's been watching a little too much iCarly or something. She wants to look cute!!!! That's a GIRL THING, dammit!

She doesn't ask for a whole lot, though, and it seemed like a fun thing to do. I always take the day before school off work, and we had to start our day with a visit to the orthodontist. That first day of braces tightening is painful, so the idea of a spray tan and some bona fide girl time seemed like just the way to bounce back from that.

We had an opportunity to swim at the Riviera Club with a bunch of her school friends, too so that was just icing on the cake -- albeit icing that ate into my carefully orchestrated plans. You can't spray tan and then swim or you lose all your color. I'd planned for the spray tan to be sandwiched between the orthodontist and lunch.

But Ali's mouth was really hurting, so she had some Tylenol, tomato soup and TV at home while I took care of a bit of work. We didn't get to the pool until after 1. It was 5 before we left, and the salon closed at 6:30. So we dashed home, we got her showered and I slathered her hair down with straightening solution.

We got her sprayed down and then came home to blow out the hair. Then out came the flat iron and another straightening product. An hour later, it was like we had a different little girl. She didn't seem quite so little. And she seemed way more girl than I'm used to.

I did take the opportunity to actually see her hair to trim it up evenly. When it's curly, it's like trying to measure a barrel of snakes. Not that I'd have any part of that, but still, it's hard. The only good thing is that it's so curly that you can't tell how raggedy it is.

School got off to a good start. Everyone oohed and aahed. Not that I got the full scoop -- she was a little too cool to really dish with her mother.

This morning, she wanted to snuggle on the couch and watch TV and read. I might have gotten to the couch before she did. We got caught up in Cake Boss and that led to wanting to make cookies. Then she decided we should make one for every kid in the 5th grade. We cut out boys, girls and school bells, but she was the decorator, and she wanted to make each of the kid shapes to match her classmates.

At one point while she was decorating, she ran in to show me she'd started one for Jordan. It already had hair, eyes and a mouth. Sht told me she was going to use chocolate icing to show his skin tone. I remarked that she maybe should have started with the skin first.

She shrugged, trotted off and said, "Eh, live and learn."

It's going to be a good school year.

Sugarland

2011-08-14T10:39:00.000-07:00

When you're in a situation where people die or are hurt and you are not in danger yourself, pretty much anything you have to say is meaningless. But here I am, still reeling from watching that stage rigging collapse at the Sugarland concert. And I can't seem to stop thinking about it.

Going to the show was my birthday splurge. Jeff spent a lot of time and a fair amount of money getting seats that would make it great: not in the Sugarpit because I wanted to wear big-girl-shoes and wouldn't want to stand that long in them; not in chairs on the ground because I'm too short to see over anyone standing in front but not so far away so we couldn't see anything. Being old, short and lazy were good things last night.

We were in Section 5 -- nearly dead center and just 18 rows up. We were actually 17 rows up but another couple was in our seats, so we agreed to take theirs, one row up. Then, the couple next to us at the last minute, found a way to go lower so we actually had four seats on the bleacher with a railing in front of us. Room to kick off my shoes and dance around if I wanted. There was a fence between the grandstand and the track, with the stage beyond that.

We were close enough to see everything but the detail work on Sara Barellis' dress (opening act) but far enough, as it turned out, to be out of danger. We were also out of reach to get through to help after the steel fell.

Jeff noted the lightning off in the western distance before I did. I was hoping the weather predictions were wrong and refused to acknowledge it at first. I love Jennifer Nettle's crazy big voice, and I wanted to witness Jeff coming into the fold. Kristian Bush is an amazing guy and it's always a happy surprise to hear his voice because he's great, too, and I think people sometimes forget that.

The stage was huge. I counted at least six semi-tractor trailers that were parked behind the set up along with buses and other big vehicles. Just the carriers took up huge room. We talked about how elaborate it was and how much work it would be to set it all up.

Anyway, we were waiting, me less patiently than Jeff, for the band to take the stage. Jeff was watching the weather. I was watching the Indiana State Police guys who seemed to be on patrol. I idly wondered if they were looking for some criminal because they seemed on edge and watching for something. But I knew I had no outstanding warrants, was pretty sure Jeff didn't, and I was focused on the band.

There was an announcement that bad weather seemed to be coming and they were hoping the crowds would wait out the rain in buildings nearby should it come down. People all around us in the grandstands were filing out to try to stay dry. No one down on the track seemed to care. I think those of us who stayed were all just hoping so much to hear the band that we ignored our good sense.

The nice man left the stage. The lightning got closer. The sky darkened to a color that was deeper than indigo but not quite purple. There was a slight breeze, which was nice after the heat. And then, all of a sudden, it wasn't.

We watched as what we thought was a wall of rain come whooshing at us. But it was dirt from the track, not rain that was blowing at us with the force of a freight train.

We saw the rigging tilt to the east. I remember grabbing Jeff's shirt and saying, "Jeff, I think that's going to fall. Those people there." And then, as if we were stuck in a silent, slow-motion movie, the rigging creaked and kept tilting until it all crashed onto the ground.

Jeff grabbed me, told me to get my shoes. He dragged me down the bleachers, skipping the walkway 28 seats to our left. It wasn't chaotic as much as shocked in our area. No one shoved or screamed or was crazy. We all made room for those in wheelchairs, and everyone exited in the ways we'd come in. As we came to the stairs down -- away from the track, I looked over for a way to go left and get down to help hold up the rigging as I could see folks on the ground were doing.

But there was no way to get to the track. In my head, I knew we'd be in the way and that a barefoot, short girl wouldn't be much help even if we could have gotten down there. But I wanted to.

Instead, thanks to my taller, stronger, smarter husband, we got out of the way and didn't add to the confusion. As we ran for our car, parked on the infield behind the staging area, the wind kept blowing. I think I have State Fair dirt embedded in my scalp. It was like being in a sandstorm in the Gobi.

We live only a few miles from the fair and I've been in and out of that thing for years. But I don't think I could have gotten us out of there. The phone lines were jammed. The one thought that did get through was that Alison was at the Ogdens and she might see news coverage. We were headed there when Jeff's phone went through.

If Ali has a bad dream, it's usually about Jeff or me dying. She worries about it a lot. We talked with her on the phone, she said she wasn't worried anymore but had wanted to hear our voices. After we talked, she was OK and wanted to keep with her sleepover, so we went home.

It was hard to settle down. Liquor helped a bit. But as the news coverage of the collapse rolled out, our fears were confirmed, and it just got more and more sad.

My heart goes out to the families of those who lost loved ones, and to the Sugarland family, too. I was at the gym this morning, cycling away and listening to the Incredible Machine album. I heard Jennifer Nettles sing, "Stand up, stand up you boys and girls. Stand up and use your voice." and I had to fight back tears. It was so awful.

I just kept pedaling and telling myself "There's no crying at the gym. There's no crying at the gym." But it's so sad. So awful.

Thank you for all the check-in phone calls and posts and texts and tweets. We are so thankful to have been out of the line of danger. But so terribly sad for those who weren't.

Oh. Deep breath. Keep Indianapolis in your hearts, everyone.

Randomness

2011-08-07T10:24:00.000-07:00

Ack! Ack! Ack!

Amy Tokash, deep into the night Saturday is waxing poetic about something and digs deep into the jalapeno peanuts I brought home from Scottsdale. Mild taco sauce is a walk on the wild side for Amer. There are brands of ketchup too zippy for her. Remember that scene in Big when Tom Hanks tries caviar and then tries to clean his tongue with a napkin? I thought Amy was going to rip out her tongue. Hilarious.

You Might be a Redneck...
Waiting for Denise McFadden at the Elbow Room, I'm next to a bunch of overweight white guys on their office break. One of them says to his friends: "Yeah, they told me at work I can't bring my gun anymore. But you can betcha I've got it in my car. Heh. Heh. Heh." Dude: this is not Kabul. It's Indianapolis. You work in an office and lunch at the Elbow Room. Idiot.

Creepy or Cool?
Alison went to a birthday party at Xsite laser tag. It's a fun place with a small arcade where you play games, win tickets and redeem them for stuff your mom ordinarily wouldn't want in your house. We are over-run with plastic frogs here at Chez Reed. Anyway, I go to pick her up and she's still trying to use all of her tokens. We're on a schedule so I urge her to finish up.

The kid at the redemption counter must have just gotten high, laid, or was on his last day of work before school kicked in. Ali was coveting a lava lamp labeled 2500 tickets. She had 700+ tickets. He asked what she wanted. She told him, but admitted she didn't have enough tickets. "Heck, you really want that?" "Uh-huh." "OK then." And home she trots with a lava lamp. Best goodie bag ever, though. She's been trying to filch Jeff's lava lamp since he got it.

Sky-High
Last week, we picked Ali up from Camp FlatRock. Among the highlights of the week was climbing this monstrosity. It's 50 feet at the top. I thought Jeff was going to vomit just looking at the thing.

SSSSSSSSS...
Some of you may remember that coming home from Greene County a while ago, we ran over a snake on a two-lane country road. I was a passenger, so my admittedly over-the-top reaction of horror was mostly funny and not a danger to anyone. No one believed me that there are ways those things can get into the vehicle and that running over them doesn't necessarily mean they're flattened. They might be wrapped around the frame, plotting for their invasion. But now, I have proof of the wiliness of the serpent. How these folks kept the vehicle on the road, I don't know. Regardless of the seat I occupied inside this vehicle, there would have been mayhem. Possibly death. Certainly a multiple-care pile-up on the interstate.

Wanna see what I've got?

2011-08-07T07:30:00.000-07:00

We've had a great long weekend with James and David here. I'm not even dreading Weight Watchers Wednesday, it's been that much fun.

They got in Thursday afternoon so Jeff and I took them to Santorinis for lunch where the portions are huge, the food is good and the service is great. Jeff had doubleheader softball so Ali and I took them to Pei Wei for dinner. Did we need to eat again? No. Was the food great? Yes.

Friday, it was opening day at the Indiana State Fair, and we got to take Jenna with us. We love Jenna, and it's always a blast to have her. This move, however, was high strategery because Alison loves fair rides and even with four of us, we knew we needed a ringer.

We got to the air before the Midway opened at noon so we saw a fair sampling of the animals. We even saw dog racing, a sport I don't normally condone but these were tiny dogs, there was no gambling and the guy running the show was a former champion frisbee dog guy. So he's got to be a nice guy who's good to dogs, right? I hope so.

We invested in all-you-can-ride wristbands for the girls, and before we left in the 5o'clock downpour, the ISF was paying them to ride.

If you are waffling on whether the wristband is a deal, we missed the super bargain early purchase opportunity so paid $25 a piece. We tried for the $17 version but our store was out by the time we got there. By my count, we would have used 92 tickets had we paid by the ride. The tickets, bought in the bigggest increment were $60 for 55.

For the first time ever in our fair-going history, we had two ride delays for vomit clean-up -- none from our group.

Before we could have any fair fun, we had to break Jenna out of her summer day camp. As always, the girls quickly took up where their last conversation had left off whether that be months or days apart. And just as quickly, they lost interest in me as anything but a chauffer. So I did what any normal mother would do: I turned off the tunes and eavesdropped.

From the backseat:

"Ali, did you watch a gross tape in 4th grade?"

"No."

"I did. It was gross."

"Oh. I think we have to see that in 5th grade."

"Do you know what it was about?"

"Yes," says my daughter who disdains personal conversations even with her best friend who revels in them. "You don't have to say the word."

"You mean puberty?" asked Jenna.

"Oh. No. I thought you were going to say 'sex,'" says Alison, opening the door.

"We see that one this year. Last year, the girls and the boys watched the puberty one separately. This year, the boys will watch the girls' tape and the girls watch the boys' tape."

"Aaack! What kind of school do you GO to? I do NOT want to have to see boys' junk. And what kind of BOY wants to see a GIRL'S junk? Blech."

Jenna dissolves into giggles. "I know! Right?"

We get home a few minutes later.

"Hey, Jenna. My Uncle James and Uncle David are here. Want me to show 'em to you?"

"Yeah!"

Off they trot. I heard later that proper introductions were made, but the novelty of having her uncles in did not diminish. The next day, Amer came at dawn to drag Jenna off to soccer practice. Ali comes out to say hello.

"Hey, Miss Amy, my Uncle James and Uncle David are here? Want to go look at 'em?"

Amy held herself back until that evening when everyone was upright.

I hope the boys had as much fun as we did last night. All our friends are ready to move to Maine just so they can hang out with them more.

Summer Camp, Boot Camp and random thoughts

2011-07-24T14:56:00.000-07:00

We're childless for another week, and once again she had no trouble sending us off on our way from her old friend (Helen) and her newly found friends with whom she'll share a Kickapoo cabin at FlatRock River Camp.

I know this is a good thing. I've encouraged her indendpendent streak. I even like it. Except when I don't.

Before she went, I asked her if she thought the boy she'd gone on a "date" with to the weekly camp dance would be there and if she thought she'd go with him again and if she thought he'd try to kiss her. She informed me that she didn't know if he'd be there, she has little interest in kissing but if she did, she wouldn't tell me because "You'll just blab it on the Internet."

She doesn't read this blog, but some of her friends do and they tell her about it. I told her that if she tells me it's a secret, I never share -- not here and not anywhere. She seemed to accept it as believable. I'm hoping so because I'm fairly certain her opinion on boys and romance is going to change. She actually brought a skirt and fancy top in anticipation of the dance, and she's lately been interested in shopping.

I've actually been encouraging the "no romance, no how, no way" concept. But I know it's only a matter of time.

I reminded her today that when she gets back from her sleepaway camp, she'll have rock climbing camp at the Jordan Y but on Wednesday she'll skip it to go to Raccoon Lake with Elizabeth and Traci. This on the heels of a week with her cousins in the country and a week in Maine.

"This is the best summer EVER!" she chirped.

Indeed. You could do worse than have the life of Alison Reed.

Next week, I've committed to a boot camp exercise class at work that I couldn't normally take and pick Ali up on time from her day camp. We normally split delivery and pickup, and Jeff's work arrival is later than mine, so he's generally the one who delivers her to wherever she's headed in the morning. I asked our fitness instructor, Kelsey, who is my friend (unless I'm in agony and cursing her) if I should plan on doing my usual Monday strength training as well as the boot camp.

"Um. Probably not," she said.

The Angie's List garden needs more weeding. "Think I'll be in good enough shape to weed after the class?"

"Um. Probably not," she said.

Great. Can't wait for that....

Random stuff:

The heat wave claimed James and David's pool in Maine. If you've ever wondered what it would take to melt super heavy duty plastic, it's several weeks of 90-degree heat in a row. Ali and I, who covet their pool, had a moment of silence.

A hawk has moved into our neighborhood and sometimes hangs out in the trees in our yard. One day, it was playing tag with another hawk from our yard to Debbie's next door, across to Jason's and back again.

I thought perhaps it was a love match, but I haven't seen Hawk No. 2 since then, so now I'm wondering if I witnesses the early stages of raptor-i-cide. Who do you call to report on that?!

Karin and I witnessed a woman yesterday who was wearing black tights that were so wrongly sized that her panties make them look like control top panty hose. Except that you knew they were panties. I've committed my share of fashion sins, and I'm sure there are more to come, but please. Even though they're called "tights" your circulatory system shouldn't be jeopardized. And panties are UNDERwear. They should be under there, not out there.

I had book club Friday and we talked about The Paris Wife -- a book about Ernest Hemmingway's first wife and the craziness that led up to their divorce. It's got me on a Hemmingway kick and I'm being encouraged to read Loving Frank, about his mistress. I'm fairly certain I'm going to need a vampire book in between. They may be biters, the vamps, but they're loyal to their mates once they find them....

Hot Child in the City

2011-07-17T16:24:00.000-07:00

We have one more week with Alison before she flies off on another trip without us. She's going back to Camp Flatrock with her friend Helen.

When we left her at Jaime's last weekend, she waved us off without a bit of care. I knew the extraction would be difficult, so I jumped at a chance to bring Jenna with me when I picked her up. That may have been the only thing to get her unbarricaded from an upstairs bedroom.

Her time "in the country" as she calls it, was one of the best weeks of her life, she claims. Horseback riding, midnight blockbuster movies, the pool, the trampoline, the lake, even the theatre was all just magnificent. One day they made these super cool tie-dyed shirts. Ali loves hers so much she won't wear it to camp tomorrow because she doesn't want to get it dirty.

She loves the cousins, Jaime and Lee, and she's ready to either have them here or her back there just as soon as it can happen. I just hope they let her come back.

At the last party of the week, Alison was pulled into a conversation with a girl who was a year ahead of me in high school and who is grandmother to the birthday boy. Apparently my little drama queen kept going on and on about how much she loved the country -- it was so quiet and pretty and just so peaceful.

"Where in the world does she live?" Jamie was asked.

While there are few spots in Indianapolis that could be mistaken for the fabled concrete jungle, Jaime explained that while we do live in the geographic middle of the city, we have a yard, trees and even have a park nearby. I think Ali had them thinking she lives in the ghetto and is sung to sleep by the sounds of gunfire and police sirens. Oy!

We hadn't yet gotten out of Jaime's driveway when Alison whispered loudly and somewhat shamefully to her BFF, "My family listens to country music."

Jenna nodded, rolled her eyes and pointed to her iPod, which she'd plugged in when WFMS started playing about an hour into our drive. We'd had quite the discussion before then.

Suffice it to say that their 10 isn't the same 10 as mine was. Um, Amer, you might want to call me. I swear I didn't reveal anything new. Or much of anything new. Or. Uh. Well. Yeah, maybe you'd better call me, Amer.

When I finally got Alison home from her Saturday sleepover (she has quite the social life) she walked in, looked around and said, "I missed my house."

She then sequestered herself for a few hours in her bedroom where she unpacked, spoke to her fish and energized up the laptop. She later found Pink Bunny,. the first stuffed animal in her collection, and snuggled up with her beanbag and family room television

It's been good to have us all home. I'm soaking it up while I can.

Home alone

2011-07-15T16:09:00.000-07:00

I'm home alone. Can't remember the last time that happened, but I have to confess that I'm kind of enjoying it.

We spent most of last week in Maine where we climbed a small mountain, went to a beach and, oh, yeah: we helped Auntie Jen get married. (more on that later.)

We got home Sunday afternoon and left from the airport to deliver Alison to her cousins where she could barely be bothered to say goodbye she was happy to be with them, their trampoline and pool. Jeff was most dismayed to see the pool because Ali has been wanting one here and I think he's afraid she won't come home tomorrow.

So it's been date night for us since Sunday. Except for last night when he left me for work and softball and more work after that. Tonight he's with Andy at a Steely Dan concert. I don't know if I'll ever see him again.

Last night, I rode my bike to and back home from work, then decided I had nothing to do so I kept on it past my stop off the Monon Trail and biked up to Nora where I signed Ali up for camp at the Jordan Y next week and then went even further to Justice for Girls and bought a birthday gift for the party she'll go to tomorrow.

All in all it was a little more than 20 miles on the bike. So I was, shall we say, ripe when I finally pedaled into my driveway.

But then, I saw all the weeds in my front yard and decided I was already dirty so I should clear a few and water the parched flowers before I showered and settled in with the Bravo network and whichever housewives were one. My neighbor Mark stopped by and I made the mistake of asking him to identify these really tall plants that were taking up some significant real estate.

"Well, those are weeds," he said, pointing and looking around.

"Are you sure? They're so big," I said, confessing that I don't remember sometimes what I plant in the fall. "I keep waiting for them to flower."

"Nope. They're weeds. And so are those. And those. And these here, too," he said. "And some of those over there."

It was after 8 o'clock before I got to go in and enjoy my night alone. I love Mark. And now I can see him and his wife Jerry if I look East. Two bags of weeds will clear a lot of air space...

So tomorrow I'm to pick Jenna up, go get Ali where I hope she'll be separated from her cousins, and deliver them both to Breanna's sleepover birthday party. Yeah. It's another date night for me and the mister. I can't imagine what we'll do. It won't be yard work, I promise you that.

But back to Maine. It was fabulous. I know it was hot here, but there it was glorious every day, and we got to spend time with almost everyone. Jen and Ali and I had a lot of girl time, and Alison was a wonderful bridesmaid.

When the bridal party was announced to the reception, Alison went first. She walked through those double doors like Heidi Klum on a runway and then channeled Princess Kate, giving a royal wave and grin to the room. Everyone else just tried to keep up.

We're so happy for Jen and Peter. The wedding was lovely and the reception rivaled one I was involved with about 13 years ago. It really was a great party, and Jen was still talking about my friend Amer, who sent her a gift AND a card to celebrate the blessed event. They've met twice, I think, but they were both memorable. How sweet was that?!

I have more photos and hopefully we'll have good ones taken by the pros soon. I'll find a way to share. Meanwhile, I should clear something up.

While en route to the beach, Ali was riding with Jen and Peter and telling them all about her plans post-wedding, which involved the cousins. She apparently felt the need to explain that while the girls are her cousins, Aunt Jaime isn't her aunt at all. She's really a cousin because Aunt Donna (who is really her aunt) was only 17 when she had Jaime and had to get married. And then Jaime was really young when she had her kids. That's why Aunt Jaime (who isn't really an aunt but is really a cousin) has kids so close to Alison's age who are also her cousins.

I'm told the saga took up a lot of the trip but at least everyone's clear on that. Except Donna wasn't an unwed mother; she just married shortly after high school (at 18) and had Jaime about four years later. Donna's 10 years older than me and I just got a late start on the family planning stuff. So. To recap. Donna is an aunt but was never an unwed mother or shotgun bride. Jaime married young too, but also no unwed motherhood or shotguns involved.

(Oh sure I have shotgun stories, but none directly related to these weddings.)

OK. I have more stories and more pictures, but this is my last night home alone. I'm sure there's some fine TV awaiting...

Holey Moley!

2011-07-04T16:46:00.000-07:00

We've been having a lazy weekend and it's been great. I'm having technological difficulties with transferring photos, but it's the worst thing that's happened in the last few days so I'm OK with it.

Alison woke us up at 6:40 Saturday morning reminding us that it was finally time for her to be able to take out her starter ear rings. She was soooooo excited. So up I got.

I had forgotten how much gunk and gore gets stuck on those things, and she wasn't prepared for it either. After we got over that, we cleaned them up and tried to put in a pair of earrings she'd bought weeks ago. The holes weren't quite ready.

So we let her ears go unadorned for a few hours and startd to put the originals back in -- not the best idea. It seemed they'd already started to close, but we got them in after only a bit of squeals and groans. That was me. Ali cried a little bit.

But we got through it and today she's been practicing with my Lia Sophia hoops. They don't have backs to stick on -- plus she thinks they're super cool. I figure anything metal holding those tiny holes open is good. Plus, it's practice for when she goes raiding my jewelry box for real.

We're also super excited about this weekend. Jennifer Reed becomes Jennifer Chase on Saturday and Ali and I are as ready to help her down the aisle as we can be. Jeff's figured out (heavy sigh) that he'll have to wear long pants twice -- twice I tell you -- on the trip. But we're all excited to see the family and officially make Peter a part of it.

Send all your good karma to our friend Eric, who's recovering from double transplant surgery this weekend. It's a good thing: he's been on the list for way too long. We'll be anxious to see him when we can.

I'm sure we've all shared good thoughts for our Armed Forces -- wherever they are. It's a good country we have -- we're lucky to be living here.

Cross your fingers that I can figure out the photo issue -- it's kind of a key part of the weekly shoot....

Happy summer!

Full disclosure

2011-06-19T09:55:00.000-07:00

It's a rainy Fathers' Day here in Indianapolis, which is great because I don't think I can have one more bit of fun and still make it to work tomorrow.

I had Book Club Friday night, Jeff played poker and Alison slept over at the Ogdens.

The book was bad, but we had two bottles of champagne and other wine, one pregnancy announcement, one run for state senate announcement and one member's near miss of a threesome when she hopped across the border on weekend of her misspent youth. (I brought the champagne, not the announcements...)

Saturday morning, Ali and had what was my final fitting for our dresses for Jen's wedding. Alison's dress is nearly finished, she'll have at least one more fitting.

That afternoon, Alison had Jenna's 10th birthday party and Jeff and I went to Annmarie's 50th birthday party that night.

But first, there was The Discovery.

While she waited for Miss Julia to adjust her dress, Alison went looking for my phone in my purse. "Hey Mom, what's this?" she said, holding up a tampon.

I sighed. I knew it would happen one day, and I was happy to talk about it with her...but not in the tailoring shop. "I'll tell you in the car, honey, we're almost done here."

"But what it is it?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Why? What is it? Is it for a shot?"

"No."

"Is it medicine?"

"No."

"Is it candy?"

"No."

She followed me into the changing room. It was my fault we were lingering; I had some other clothes to adjust as well as the bridesmaid dresses.

She kept firing questions at me. Now, I'm not usually one to hold back, but I really didn't want an audience for this one. There was an older gentleman in the outer room, I'd heard the bell announce another customer, and there was also Miss Julia. None of the rooms in the place were actually rooms -just thin walls that didn't hit the ceiling.

"Is it a game?"

"No."

"Is it a gun?"

"No."

"Is it candy?"

"No. I. Will. Tell. You. LATER."

"Geeze! Is it a weapon?"

We get in the car.

"Are you sure you want to hear this?" I asked, rememering her admonition that she wanted to hear the sex talk only once. "It's kind of gross."

"Sure. What is it? Can we go to Taco Bell? I'm starving," she said.

I give her the scoop on the item she had found as well as its companion item, the whys and hows and that it will be something she'll have to deal with sometime soon.

"How does the blood get out of you?" she asked.

As Taco Bell came into view, I went into more detail.

"Huh," she said. "You know Mom, that's not all that gross. I mean, it just happens once, right?"

"No, it happens every month for a long, long time."

"Well it's just once a month, right? I know something that's way grosser than that," she said. "Wanna hear it?"

"Sure," I said, bracing myself.

Her story involved a guy who once ate so much spaghetti that it couldn't fit in his stomach and he had to scoop it out OF HIS OWN THROAT!!!! I had to admit that the pasta story was pretty gross.

Happily, the debate over crunchy, soft or double decker tacos changed the subject. She hasn't yet returned to it. I feared for a while that she'd bring it up at Jenna's birthday sleepover. I could just hear her saying, "Hey, guys, guess what's going to happen to US?!"

But I trusted Amer to spot a flock of seagulls or gazelles or something. I'd gone over there prepared to go to the gym on my way home. My hair was scraped back, I had on workout gear and no makeup.

Before the gymn, I stopped in at Kroger and was lost looking at gift cards when I hear my name. Susie (Ann's sister) and her friend, Mary Ann, who turned out to be super fun, were there, too. We chatted a bit and I said I'd see them later.

I did shower before the party. I even had my hair down, some makeup slapped on and the magic bra that, well, was working some pretty magnificent magic. I spied Mary Ann and went to say hello. She looked at me blankly.

I said, "We met at Kroger..." She took another look and said, "You look different."

At the time, I attributed it to my hair being a crazy mess. But now, I'm thinking it was the extra cup sizes I was carrying. I think I could be a spy with that thing on.
I think anyone who wears one of those things on a first date is asking for trouble. It's really false advertising. And, bonus: there's no backpain with those puppies.

But that wasn't the only Father's Day gift Jeff got.

Alison had a couple surprises, including her trademark greeting card with singing gerbils or squirrels or some sort of furry creature. She settled on some father-daughter metal collar tabs from The Red Envelope and a sweet book, and we took him out for a late breakfast. I think they have some Mario Kart or Donkey Kong in their plans.

As for me, I'm going to finish downloading the photographs that have been living in my phone and camera and then go find a newspaper. I've unloaded enough lately...

Advancing the cause

2011-06-13T16:55:00.000-07:00

It was such a big weekend that I didn't have the energy to sort through all the fun stuff. Alison and her Auntie Jen helped -- and hurt me -- today in that endeavor.

Jen started it off by wondering via email about whether she should change her middle name to keep her maiden name when she gets married next month. (I did that and found out later that Miss Manners totally approved.) The mere discussion sounded like a TeamReedblog entry to me, and it just got better. Of course that pushed back all the other stuff held captive in my camera and my memory, but a good story trumps everything…

I gave my opinion about Jen’s future name, and then when I picked Ali up from camp, I asked her what she thought about it. She opined that Auntie Jen's premise was without merit.

"Why doesn't Uncle Peter change his name?" she asked, truly puzzled.

We asked Jeff about it over dinner. He really wanted me to change my name when we were preparing for our wedding, and I waffled for a long, long time. I ultimately gave it to him for a Christmas present in the guise of a brass door knocker for the home we were to move into the following month.

"Back a long time ago, honey," he started.

"You mean back when we were still slaves in the olden days?" she asked, frowning in direct reference to her outrage that women didn’t always get to vote and have jobs and everything she takes for granted.

It was a fun conversation. Suffice it to say Jeff didn’t win her over.

I think Jen is taking Alison’s advice into consideration, and I totally want to be there when Peter hears about it…
Weekend highlights:

Jenna and Ali had a sleepover. They're like old women just gossiping and giggling and having fun every time they get together no matter how long it's been. At one point I had them at Huddles yogurt and they were scarfing down frozen loveliness. I skipped it because I was at my point limit.

"Is your mom still on that diet?" Jenna asked.

"Yeah," Alison said. "I don't really like it. She's not as good a pillow as she used to be."

Alex Ogden was over, too, and he got to come down to Greene County with us for a surprise party for my niece and cousin. (That's two different people for you folks who think the country is full of interesting gene pools...) We went down to one of our favorite places, owned by the family of one of my closest friends from high school. My brother and Lea Anne Blanton were destined for holy matrimony -- I could have sworn it. Every time I see her I think of him and that summer... oh my!

But anyway, we went down for the party and Jeff put on a fireworks show that only set us back a couple of paychecks. (You're welcome, Tom Vielee) We kept Alex for a little while longer Sunday when we got back. But eventually, we had to give him back. On the way home, Alison was asking when we could have both him and his sister Hannah back over.

She sighed. "I like the Ogdens," she said.

I'm sure there's more. I'm going to have to download the camera.

Three Little Rats

2011-06-05T15:12:00.000-07:00

Alison came home from her last day of school with a grocery bag and a backpack full of stuff to go through. I like to keep a little bit of her work each year but even winnowing it like I do, I still end up with tons of masterpieces.

Among the keepers this year is My Poem Book. My personal favorite is what was supposed to be a limmerick. In case you can't read it, it is as follows:

The Three Little Rats
By Alison Reed
4th Grade

The three little rats are all ghouls,
Ice water down my neck; Not cool!!!
They like pranks and pies.
And then there's the lies.
They're my cousins on April Fool's!

I told Ali I thought she'd just written my blog for me.

"The cousins don't read that, do they?"

"Aunt Jaime does."

"Well be sure to say, 'Alison was just kidding.'" she said.

I laughed and asked why would I have to do that? Alison loves "the cousins" Rebecca, Rachael and Aleasha. She's spending a week with them this summer if she can behave herself from now until then.

"Because they might want to kill me!!!" she said.

They might want a little revenge. But I think they'll let her live...

White Bread

2011-06-04T05:30:00.000-07:00

Alison was channeling Mel Gibson yesterday.

"Freedom! Freedom!"

Alright. Maybe the call for freedom in Braveheart had bit of a different context, but Alison's was no less passionate. Summer vacation is here and she is thrilled.

***

The Ogdens got sprung a week earlier and Hannah, proud graduate of the Safe Sitter program, was in charge at home alone this week. Ali got out at 1 p.m. Friday and we picked up the Ogdens en route to the Jordan Y pool.

"So, Hannah, how many times did you call your mom while you were in charge?" I asked.

Her tart response: "It's not how many time I called my mother. It's how many times my mother called me!

Hannah was apparently dodging calls from two aunts, her grandma and father as well as Karin. I'm not sure how much time she actually got to be in solo charge, as opposed to the tele-sitting, but both she and Alex were in tip-top shape.

***

Alison rarely gets into trouble at school, but we usually ask her for a conduct report at the end of the day. While she escaped her last day without even a hint of need for discipline, there were some shennanigans involving some of the boys in Alison's class. "What happened to them?" I asked. Ali's teacher, Mrs. Zinkan, isn't known for her benevolence.

"Oh, there was a little bit of this and a little bit of that and a whole lotta conduct cuts!" she reported.

***

Weeks shortened by a holiday are always bad for me at work because I get all caught up in trying to cram 5 days of work into 4 days. This week was complicated by my taking part in a little field trip for Ali and her early release from school on Friday.

So if you had the misfortune of working with or around me this week, I apologize profusely. Please forgive my shortness, abrupt or incomplete answer, non-answer, oblivian or general bitchiness. I'll be better next week, I promise.

***

Going on the field trip was fun. Picking her up from school was better. The chatter between Ali, Alex and Hannah is better than Bravo TV. It's just silly and fun.

"Hey Alex, what's invisible and smells like carrots?"

"I don't now."

"Bunny farts."

Doubled over giggles.

"Hey Mrs. Reed. Did Ali really eat a light bulb when she was little?

"Well, she had a piece of glass in her mouth but I don't know that she actually ate an entire bulb," I said. "Her father was on duty. I wasn't even in the house."

"Yep. That's how it happened," Alison said solemnly. The incident was one that scared the bejesus out of Jeff. Who was in charge. I was not there. Ali claims she remembers it. I don't think so. But it makes a good story.

Along this vein, we learned that Hannah once pushed a popcorn kernel up her nose and ruined her mother's Saturday night. Alex ate a penny. "It came out in my diaper."

More giggles.

***

So a few years ago, Alison came home from Jenna's house raving about her breakfast.

"Mom! Miss Amy makes the best toast. It's soooooo good. I had five pieces."

Toast? She makes toast?

"Yeah. I don't know how she does it. It's the best thing EVER."

So of course I had to call. It's white bread. Plain white bread. Probably not even a bunny on the bag. Put it in the toaster, press the lever and voila! The best breakfast ever.

So not fair. We live in Broad Ripple. We embrace diversity. White bread sneaks into our house only when I forget to tell King Rib that we don't want the white bread that comes with our ribs.

We have whole grains. Piles of fruit. We eat vegetables free from the goo of melted cheese or Ranch dressing. Maybe a little spray butter. (I do shave my legs religiously. We're health conscious, not crazy.)

Anyway, last week, I encouraged Jeff to pick up a loaf of white bread to surprise Alison. (How sad is it that white bread can be a surprise?) She's been loving it.

Last night, the Ogdens were here after the pool and buckets of Huddles frozen yogurt. They were all hungry, but Team Ogden was committed to a dinner with their neighbors. I didn't want to ruin their dinner.

"Hey guys. Want some white bread toast with butter?" Ali suggested after I said I thought mac-n-cheese would fill them up too much. I brought them grapes and bing cherries.

"Oooh. White bread? Yeah!!! That would be awesome!"

(Karin's a whole-grain girl, too, apparently.) So they scarfed down the toast and everyone was happy.

Alison even cooked. Sort of. "Mom, how do you turn on the toaster? How do you set the time?"

No, we don't have a fancy toaster. This is just proof that Alison could be more in charge of her own culinary destiny...

This morning, she asked for more toast, but allowed that I could make it for her. She was on the couch downstairs with cartoons ablazing.

"You could put some of that butter on it, too," she called. "You know, that creamy kind you make?"

That would be unsalted, Kroger brand butter, melted just a tad so it spreads easily.

Clearly, I'm every bit the top chef Amy Tokash is....

Pierced!

2011-05-21T19:25:00.000-07:00

The second attempt at getting her ears pierced proved the charm for Alison. Stephanie is her new best friend, and I'm sure they'll be seeing each other in exactly six weeks from now when Ali can take out her new starter earrings out and shop for new jewels.

My offer to photographically document the experience was firmly declined or I'd show you Stephanie -- the certified piercer at the Castleton Square Mall Claire's location. I highly recommend her should you need a hole in your body, or that of a loved one.

She remembered Ali from her first try at the chair. Sure it was less than 24 hours since our first visit, but still. She greeted Ali like a long lost friend, asked if she still wanted the blue daisies, and was really great with her throughout the process.

God knows if I had the same job there would be countless ungrateful brats with uneven holes in their ears and maybe a few other scars. And I'd be in prison. But thankfully I don't have to deal with other children.

Ali is thrilled. As we pulled into the driveway, two neighbhorhood girls were in the drive across the street waving wildy. Ali leaned out the window, yelling, "Maddie, guess what I just did!" She was shouting the answer out the window as Maddie and Melanie came running up the drive. I thought she was going to leap out the window. I'd barely gotten the Subaru stopped before she out the door and showing off her sparkling ears.

"It didn't hurt hardly at all!"

It's truly a sea change for her. After we left Claire's, we ran around the shops looking for princess dresses for Angie and me. It's the annual Angie's List derby and we're on team Mario Kart and we have to dress up. Angie is Princess Peach. I'm Daisy. I'm on finding the dresses duty.

We ended up at TJ Maxx looking for clearance prom-like dresses. While I flipped through the merchandise, Alison bounced a 25-cent ball from the gumball rack, losing track of it every other bounce. She spent a good portion of her time crawling under the racks looking for it -- that's the Ali I know.

She hates to shop. Unless its for video games or ice cream. She'll spend a good amount of time in a book store, but she's never had much interest in clothes, or makeup or jewelry or girly things.

After battling her way from beneath a rack of maxi summer dresses, she asked if she could go to the girls' section. Not five minutes later, she came running back at me with six hangers of clothes she thought she might need and before we left, she was simpering down the aisle trying on a pair of stiletto heels.

I bought her a few tee-shirts with glammed up cats on them. The heels went back on the shelf. She didn't spare a glance for dresses or mini skirts. Yet. Eeek.

I only wanna learn this once.

2011-05-21T12:29:00.000-07:00

Alison announced this week that she wants to get her ears pierced.

After I got up off the floor and righted my chair, I said, "Really?"

To-date her interest in all things girly has been below zero. When she was little she loved dresses and was often found in the front yard magnolia wearing her mesh tutu and dangly little top, Dora the Explorer panties exposed to the world.

But for the last two years it's been pants, pants, pants. She has to be cajoled to bathe, and she continues to have zero interest in grooming her own hair. Or any other body parts for that matter. She likes snakes and can't wait for the day at overnight camp when they play in the mud all day long.

As for romance, other girls are always whispering about their latest crush. Ali wants nothing to do with that kind of behavior. (Her father is openly thrilled at everything but the hygiene parts of her wants and desires.)

So she might as well have told us she was joining the circus or hatching a tiny dinosaur when she hit us with the ear piercing thing. Jeff isn't happy about it but he agreed to surprise her Friday with a joint pickup from school and a trip to the mall and the ear-piercing gun.

She was so excited, but truly nervous about the pain. So we get there. She gets in the chair and asks to see the gun. She gulped. Her little hands got sweaty. She got tears in her eyes and it was over.

We'll go back when she's ready. While milling about at the Broad Ripple Art Fair today and viewing some pretty swanky earrings, she declared herself ready to face the chair again. She talked it all over with a lady who sells earrings and two ladies who sat across from us while she had her chicken strips. She's very earnest when she interviews these random strangers. "Does it bleed when you get your ears pierced? Does it hurt? How long does it hurt?"

She's asked me to keep her in the chair no matter what. "I'm gonna suck it up and just do it, Mom. Let's do it."

Cross your fingers. There may be an update to this saga...but first...

While still reeling from the specter of a pierced child, I heard Ali ask Jeff what 'hump' meant. They were at the dinner table and I was in the kitchen getting a jump on dinner cleanup.

I know when to stay out of things. So stayed put.

He tried the "it'a bump" routine. I knew that wasn't going to work but I discovered a spot of pasta sauce that needed scrubbing so I stayed where I was.

"No. Dad, the other meaning," she said.

The artful dodger, he's not. "Where are you hearing this? Who is using this word?"

Of course it was kids at school. I thought about rescuing him only to hear him take a deep breath and say, "Well Ali that word sometimes is used as slang and means when a mom and dad try to make a baby.

"You mean S-E-that-letter-that-comes-before-Y?"

I could just hear his heart fall out of his chest. I'm pretty sure he fainted for just a little bit.

I came back to the room, laughing just a little. "Do you mean sex, honey?

She blushed and said yes, but reminded us that she's only in fourth grade and didn't really want to know any details about, you know, "that."

I reminded her that it would soon be covered at school. She nodded and acknowledged that she wasn't thrilled about the impending lesson.

I took my own deep breath and said, "Well, do you want to learn about it at school or from us?"

There was no hesitation. "School,"she said. "I only want to learn this once."

Urban gardening

2011-05-15T13:19:00.000-07:00

Ali and I spent part of Saturday working in the Angie's List Garden. Ali likes to go because she gets to play in the gym when she gets bored with the dirt. And when she's really lucky, she finds some of the stray cats that have been adopted by the company.

The garden is a fun project led by Kelsey Taylor, our wellness director/trainer. She's not exactly what you would call a country girl, but she's serious about health and is dragging a bunch of us along with her.

She's the person who re-introduced me to my muscle tone and keeps me focused when I want to wander off the work-out reservation. I figure I owe her a few hours in the garden. I may have saved her life Saturday when she picked up a wire that was hanging from the electrical power lines and was encroaching on the garden plot. Well, I didn't exactly save her life. She ignored me when I warned her that she could get zapped if she touched that thing. And it didn't zap her. I still think it was a bad idea to touch it, and I think I might have to ask the Facilities crew what the heck it's doing out there...

Anyway, we dug the garden for the first time last year. This year, we have a bumper crop of Garden Club members, and we had it whipped into shape in record time. It's a little strip of green between parking lots on the edge of Indianapolis' downtown within the Angie's List campus. It always seems like such a little space. Until we get the shovels out. Then it grows by an acre or two.

The first photo is the beginning. Ali and I had to leave before the final box was installed, but this is fairly good look at where we left things.

I'll update you as it goes along. If you're in town this summer and need a little healthy snack, stop by. We might let you snag a little snack. Kelsey might make you do a push-up or two, but it'll be worth it.

***
We had dinner last night with Judy and Ken Beech, two transplants from Trinidad and parents of Amanda, Alison's best girlfriend at school. They are a hoot. Judy rules her kitchen and watching Jeff worm his way into an apron and manning a skillet was a lesson in covert operations. Another guest who's known them for years was in awe. He just kept saying, "Nobody cooks in Miss Judy's kitchen but Judy."

I spent 90 minutes in the gymn this morning trying to work off the chocolate cake, fried plantains and a rice dish that was the most amazing grain that ever slipped into my mouth. I asked her how she made it and she said, "Oh it's a bit of spices in the pot and some raisins and some corn."

I glared at her. "You don't have a recipe, do you?"

She laughed. "Oh no. I just put this in and that it. It's how we do it."

So I'll never have that rice again unless she invites us back. I'm hoping Jeff's encroachment was actually received as well as it seemed and that Kevin's repeated "Nobody cooks in Miss Judy's kitchen.." was not as life-altering as it seemed to him.

Alison stayed over with Amanda and has yet to make an appearance back here. While she was to have attended church, there was some indication that Miss Judy was taking the girls to the mall. Wish me luck that she'll actually come back home.

Miss Judy has more tricks up her sleeve than her fabulous cooking, and I suspect she may have a genetic connection to the Pied Piper...

Party Central

2011-05-08T19:14:00.000-07:00

We've had two straight days of partying here at Chez Reed between Mothers Day and Alison's birthday, most of it overseen by Godzilla.

The inflatable monster was actually a wedding gift Jeff and I got from Eric and Tracy Yocum, who I think were cleaning their garage when they said, hey, let's add this to the pile! (They gave us an incredibly generous "real" gift, as well.) We use the All Clad more often than we let Godzilla out, but Ali loves the silly thing. She found it once in its original box downstairs and I think he's come out at every birthday since.

She likes to position it at the front door to greet people.

The poor thing has a slow leak, so sometime before she went to bed, Ali put the couch cushions under its head as it wilted on the living room floor.

So we've been serving up nothing but straight fun for 5 days now. Alison's birthday was Thursday but Jeff had to work so we had her dinner on Wednesday; she opened her family gifts Thursday morning followed up by her annual "It's-my-birthday-have-a-doughnut!" extravaganza. She shares with her class and some extra teachers and friends. Most kids bring in cookies or cupcakes but she doesn't like them. So she brings in yeast doughnuts. This year, we expanded into half of them being chocolate iced because so many of her friends like chocolate.

So we get the sugar to school and I go off to work. She and I laid around like dogs that night, resting up for a Friday sleepover with her friend Amanda and then her party at Laser Flash Saturday. It turned out that a handful of her party friends came over after, (some came early) and Amanda slept over again. I tried really hard to resist the Dairy Queen blizzard cake, but failed miserably. There's still half of it in the freezer downstairs next to my Costco box full of Skinny Cow ice cream. There's a reason "skinny" is not part of the Dairy Queen brand.

I'm not sure how I'm going to trick my taste buds into liking the Skinny Cow stuff again. But that cake has got to get out of my house.

Sunday brought Mothers Day and another pile of presents, including the new Sookie Stackhouse book, high-class coffee and an iPad.

Jeff had agreed to spend part of his Tuesday (Election Day)off work finishing up Alison's birthday shopping. Instead, he called me at work to tell me he's messed up our computer network at home and needed all my passwords again to fix it. He said he'd been trying to fix the thing for hours. I don't remember if I relayed my frustration to him, but I hope I kept it to myself.

Because, as it turns out, he was lying his butt off and calling me from the Apple store where he was loading up the iPad. Our plan is to give Ali the laptop, which she steals every chance she gets. But we can't do that until I figure out how to get my photos from the camera to the iPad.

What do you think I'll read first -- Sookie or the iPad book?

One Fish, Two Fish...

2011-05-01T18:24:00.000-07:00

Our very good friends Duane and Kirsten Jasheway agreed to take care of Alison's fish while we were on our vacation in paradise over spring break. Duane was such a good fish fellow. He came by. He probably had conversations with Cody, the Betta who has refused to give up the ghost.

Cody came to us about three years ago and despite my over feeding him, chilly Indiana water and a few weeks when his tank didn't get as clean as it probably should have, he swam happily, albeit silently, around in his little circles. Ali had a book about a kid who trained his fish to jump through a hoop. She claimed to have tried that. The best we got out of Cody was he'd sometimes laze around on a plastic leaf Jeff got talked into buying. Like a fish needs a hammock...

Actually for the first years of Cody's life with us we called him Grace and thought he was a girl. I don't know how we discovered he was a boy and needed a name change, but one day Alison insisted that she was a he and thus deserved a male name.

So there was Duane keeping his vigil. And on the last day of our vacation in paradise, poor Duane went to visit Cody to find him belly up. This is a trick Grace/Cody had pulled on us a time or two. But he wasn't fooling around with Duane. Fancy hammock or no, he had checked out.

Duane was beside himself. He confessed via phone. Jeff got the news at the airport, less than an hour before we would have found the corpse on our own. He may have shed tears. He was really concerned about Alison's reaction. She did cry, and she was truly sad for a little while.

I removed the fatality from her room but didn't know if I should give Cody a solitary, swirling good bye without her. For all I knew, she'd insist on a burial and a color guard. So I did what any good mother would do: I put him in a Ziplock and stashed him in the freezer.

Informed of his whereabouts, his owner was outraged. Initially I thought she was annoyed on Cody's behalf. He was a tropical fish, after all. The deep freeze was kind of not his scene.

Apparently I'd given my daughter more compassion credit than she deserved.

"Mom! That's totally gross. I don't want a dead fish in the freezer with my pizza rolls and tater tots!" she said.

"Well he's in there with a lot of other dead meat," I said, defensively.

"Nice, Mom. Reeeeeel nice," she said.

So Cody, still securely zipped, went into the trash, and that was that. For her birthday, we're thinking of getting her a small aquarium where she can have a couple fish. We were at The Reef checking things out and the nice lady there was pointing out her heartiest crop. Alison liked the most colorful, which, as you might expect, aren't the most hardy of the lot. The lady was delicate in her description.

Jeff interjected. "Honey, what she's saying is those fish are going to die quicker than these. Do you really want those?"

"Uh. Maybe not," she said, looking at the longer lasting ones. The good news is that we'll be able to get two fish to frolic together if we get a big enough tank and if we're careful about the type of fish.

Later, we were in the car and I was telling Ali that we might have dinner soon with Team Jasheway and I reminded her that Duane was still concerned about her. "Oh Mom. It's OK. I know he didn't mean it and Cody was an old fish. Besides, I might be getting new fish," she said.

She later put those thoughts into a little note for Duane just to be sure he knew he was still in her favor. And for that, I take full credit. Witness, if you will, the conversation she had with her father just after she'd expressed her forgiving nature.

"But Alison, you're missing a great opportunity. You could probably pretend you're still sad and get Mr. Jasheway to give you all kinds of stuff," he said.

"Dad!" she exclaimed. "For a lawyer, you're not being very honest. You're trying to get me to bribe him!"

I advised her that it was more akin to extortion. Jeff suggested blackmail, which led to a discussion of definition.

All Ali knew was that her father was up to no good. One of these days I'm going to define "lawyer" to her...

Just slightly ahead of our time

2011-04-24T18:08:00.000-07:00

Like most people I've had more than a moment or two of silly indulgence thanks to my credit card, and Jeff can shop for days on end. But for the most part, I've always thought of us as fairly frugal people. We don't get carried away with clutching coins, but we don't toss them in the streets either.

I like the reduction in stress that not living outside my means brings me. I live in fear of reverting to my early years of living on Tab, tater tots and Cheerios, or worse, having some prolonged catastrophic bad luck that that will land us living in the Subaru trolling for spare change in public fountains.

This week, I learned that we're not frugal at all: we're just lazy.

My evidence:

1. Yes, we bargain shop for just about everything we buy, but we're still vulnerable to impulse purchases, good food and fine libations.
2. We try to remember to use the coupons that come to us in the mail but we don't scour the Internet sales flyers or find ways to double up or get free stuff. CVS will never have to shell out free stuff to me because I will never keep the receipt to cash in on that silly racket they have going.
3. I will buy overpriced hair care products at Kroger rather than taking the time to drive to a separate store and it was a happy accident of being below the E there one day that led to my discovery of discounts on gas if I used my Kroger card at the Kroger pumps.

But here's what shoved our laziness in my face. Jeff stumbled across the operating instructions for our microwave. It was copyrighted in 1984. The tag line Panasonic was using back then was "Just slightly ahead of our time."

Just for fun, we flipped through the booklet a bit. We learned that the Panasonic ANE0003X80AP will zap your food with a mind-boggling 600 watts of power. Standard today? 1,000 watts or more.

The operating instructions admonish users not to try to make popcorn in this model. You need the 18450 microwave corn popper for that. But there's amazing change on the horizon: "... special microwave popcorn is available in some ares of the country. This popcorn pops in its own package and does not require a microwave corn popper. It may be used in this oven."

Jeff acquired the microwave when his parents remodeled their kitchen. I don't know how long they used it, but he/we've used it for more than 15 years. The machine works just fine. Better, in fact than the dishwasher and refrigerator that came with the house. They're probably half the age of the microwave.

But they all work , see. And as long as they work, I'm not going to have to replace any of 'em. That's frugal, right?

Nope. It's lazy. The devices are probably all leaking more energy than the windows we had replaced last fall. But until they stutter or groan or start spoiling our food, we'll probably keep them around. Imagine the research we'll have to do to find the best reviewed and priced models. We might have to remodel the whole kitchen to get all the new stuff that'll come with the new appliances. We'll have to learn how this century's wattage affects food. Who has the energy for that?!

In other news, we had a great Easter gathering yesterday at Shakamak State Park where my sister Debbie and I would have won the first annual Easter Duck Scavenger Hunt but my nieces cheated. Damn kids.

Despite the drizzle, we had tons of fun. Alison's determined to spend a week with her cousins this summer, and it may be the week after we spend time in Maine that will work out for her. She wants to do that and go back to Flat Rock camp this summer.

"But Alison, that would be two whole weeks without your parents anywhere around you at all," I said.

"Yeah!" she said, dreamily.

While she was concerned that her braces would make this holiday "The worst Easter ever!" she ended up with some hard candy and lollipops she could actually eat. Coupled with two small new animals, her very first wristwatch, some Grandpa cash and payola from the cousins, she managed.

She also found this card for her father. Hilarious on some many levels. Hope your Easter was a good one, too!

Man, those cheetahs run fast

2011-04-17T17:59:00.000-07:00

Alison, Jenna, Amy and I spent a little time with Tony Stewart today.

We were at the Indianapolis zoo and I don't know where the Nascar hero was in person, but in voice and life-size poster, he was outside the cheetah exhibit. The girls and I spent 50-cents each to race the cheetahs as our friend Tony coached us.

"Man, those cheetahs run fast," he said about 75,609,890 times while we were there.

Amer, an Indy car stalwart, was so sick of hearing him speak that I wouldn't have been surprised to hear of a vandalism report. But I think we got away safe. Neither Jenna, Ali nor I were able to outpace the cats. Suprise, I know.

In my defense, I think I was hung over from my night at the annual Gathering of the Goddesses, an event created by my good friend Betty Cockrum to benefit Planned Parenthood of Indiana. I think I've been every year since it started, and this year's was way fun. Tina Noel and Monica Brase and I were a threesome and there were so many of our friends there it was like a high school reunion.

Someone described its a progressive prom, and that's probably more accurate because it was a dress-up affair. We skipped the dancing in favor of a stop at the Red Key Tavern and it was almost Cinderella time when I walked in the door.

Morning came pretty fast. I couldn't even tell you what Ali and I did after Jeff left and before Amy came to get us. I think laundry was involved. And this horribly complicated under-the-sea puzzle. I should have been napping, I'll tell you that.

But the zoo was fun and it was good to get out and around. While we can't run as fast as the cheetahs, I swear those girls are growing faster than the speed of light.
Jenna got her puberty lecture at school the other day and asked if Alison had seen it yet.

I considered saying, "Hey, look, there's a deer!" but instead, I said, no, not yet.
Poor Jenna was ready to talk but had no audience.

"Yeah, I really don't want to see it," said Alison, who shuns romance but loves fart jokes and has developed an unnerving fascination with private body parts.

Alison pointed out a baboon's "doodle" and there was much talk of their upper torsos. On the way to the zoo, we passed the American Cancer Society, which was draped in a string of brassieres to celebrate the annual Race for the Cure.

"Ewww! Look at that! Why are they all right out there?"

Amy explained the significance. They agreed to accept it as decor because there were no actual nipples also hanging out in the open. I can't say the same thing for the two of them when they were hanging upside down on the playground.

Sadly, they noticed it, too. Long gone are the days when they'd pull up their shirts to show their chubby little bellies. They still played, though, and skipped and squealed and were just plain silly.

Then again, that might have been Amy and me. I was hung over. I can't be trusted to accurately report...

2011-04-10T18:42:00.000-07:00

Last night at dinner, Alison was telling us about her day. It involved Greek mythology and was delivered as Jeff was telling me about the wine he'd suggested for us.

"Hey Dad, did you know there was a Greek god who liked to drink wine and get drunk?"

He said he was familiar with Dionysus, could that be the god?

"Yeah! And there was this other guy, too. Pan. He was a mix of a guy and a goat or a horse or something."

"Right! I think it was goat," said Jeff.

"Yeah! We saw a picture of him and guess what?! They had put in his doodle!"

"His what?"

"His doodle."

"His what?"

"You know. His thing. His AREA. His junk! You could SEE his JUNK!"

***

Later, she was trying to tell us other stuff about her day and she was telling us that at church the story was a parable about Jesus and a blind man.

"Yeah, so Jesus healed the blind guy," she said, apparently feeling that her summation told the whole story. Her father was hungry for more.

"So then what happened?" he asked.

"Uh, the blind guy could see," she said. "Period. The end."

***

We've been back home a full week now and we're still talking about how much fun our Spring Break trip. On our after Sunday dinner walk, Ali said she'd had a great time and would go back in a minute, but this was even better than Turks & Caicos.

"Here? Why? Because it was 80 degrees today?" Jeff asked.

"No. Just 'cause it's home," she said.

***

Speaking of home, as we were coming back, Alison was talking about how she was missing her house and her bed. "Hey, Mom," she said. "Do you think when we get back we can call Jenna?"

"Sure," I said. "Of course we can."

As the girls have grown up and gone to different schools, we haven't seen so much of Jenna. We've missed her and really enjoyed the times we've gotten to have her. So I called when we got home and it turned out that she could come over. It was so much fun.

Friday night, we had Bunco and Jenna hadn't been spirited away yet by her father and brother. They were planning a great night watching the national hockey playoffs. "Let's call Captain Reed and see where they are," I said.

Being the great dad he is, Jeff came over and swooped them up. Jenna stayed with us and then Ali went with them. They came back wearing best friend tee-shirts and hoping for another few hours together.

I was thrilled to have them together again, and so were they.

I can't help but keep thinking that when Alison was having her little home-sick episode, when she thought of home, it meant three things: her house, her bed and her Jenna.

I hope that never changes.

Just a few days in paradise

2011-04-03T11:58:00.000-07:00

This blog is dedicated to Gary Reed, father, father-in-law and Grandpa Extraordinaire who decided last year to invest in some family memories.

And boy did we make some when TeamReed, both branches, spent a week together in paradise. Literally.

White sand like powder. Breezes softer than the petal of a fresh-bloomed rose. Temps hot enough to warm the cockles of Ebeneezer Scrooge (or scrape the first three layers of skin from an insufficiently sunblocked Mainer). Amazing food and drink around every corner. The only shortage was enough hours in the day when you could stay awake to enjoy it all.

It was enough to make you want to immigrate. 'Course we'd have had to find a way to stay at the resort as guests rather than dishwashers and none of use did that. But I'd bet a gaggle of geckos that we each thought about it at least once.

It was amazing. If you need a break, skip Southern California. Miss Mexico. Meander past Miami and go to Turks & Caicos.

I turned off my phone when we boarded in Charlotte and didn't turn it back on until we got back to that airport. On none of the intervening days did I pine for its ping. I checked email a few times, but that was it. It might have been the most relaxing vacation I've ever had.

We sighted nearly 200 geckos if you trust Alison's counting; seven cats (I think there were actually three that we saw multiple times; apply that phenomenon to the gecko count if you're into accuracy...) and an egret or two.

Highlights:

We saw one tiny gecko that appeared to me to have been the victim of a hit and run housekeeping cart.

"No, Mom. It's guts would be right there if was dead. I think it's sleeping," asserted Alison.

**

Jeff and Jen ran on the beach most mornings. It took her only one morning to learn to run into the wind when starting out rather than coming back. Peter and I stuck mostly to the gym where he showed me a squat I'd not been doing. I'm contemplating how to return that favor...

***

We met a couple from Chicago who had two daughters. The wife had a couple of attributes that kept the Reed males hoping she'd come back. After Ali had disappeared with the girls to the water park, Jeff volunteered to go check on "the girls."

"I'll make sure Ali, Sophie and Olivia are OK, too," he said.

***

Auntie Jen and Uncle Peter took Ali to dinner one night so Jeff, Gary and I could go to the adults only French restaurant. The service took a lot longer than we expected. At some point she decided the night was over and informed Jen that it looked like she was having a sleepover. She assessed the bed options and said, "You guys can have that big bed and I'll take this little one over here."

By the time we stopped in to pick her up, she was fast asleep in the trundle.

***

Like all good Edens, there were swim-up bars everywhere you looked and when we skipped the pool for the beach, we parked ourselves with the sea to our front and a bar just behind us. We drank our way through bushwhackers, margaritas, mojitos, pina coladas, drinks of the day, various flavors of daiquiries and of course the island beer.

In the water park area, there was no alcohol served. Ice cream, however, was in plentiful supply. I thought Alison would never leave. "Mom!!!! You can have ice cream RIGHT IN THE POOL!!!!!"

***

Grandpa skipped snorkling, but the rest of us spent a good portion of Wednesday afternoon with our backs to the sky and faces pointed underwater. We saw a family of squid, sea turtles, a lion fish and various other sea creatures.

We were with a group and it was really hard to stick together. You could find Alison fairly easily if you just listened to her squealing and grabbing the closest body to point out a new find.

***

Ali and I met the Chicago family when she and I parasailed. Jeff had done it before and not found it amazing. Alison and I had the opposite experience.

"Mom. This is the best day of my life," she said. And that was before she got her gecko tattoo and spent the afternoon in the water park with her new friends.

***

There was music everywhere none of it country.

"I think you can take a break for a week," proclaimed my rock-n-roll daughter.

***

Coming home, we reflected on the best parts of the trip. It kept us talking for quite a while and as she often does, Ali summed it up best.

"We have the best Grandpa," Alison said.

Copping an attitude

2011-03-13T16:58:00.000-07:00

I don't know why, but it always seems that when it's time for Alison to study Religion, it's my turn to help with homework. This, if nothing else might convince me that there is a God and he/she has a twisted sense of humor.

It's been the Beatitudes. I know a bit about attitudes, but put a "b" in front of it and I'm less than scholarly.

Anyway, the assignment was to write down the original version and put it in your own words. Ali and I had already done this one, but Mrs. Zinkan had lost it and a few others so it was to be done again. While it seems to me that if a teacher loses a piece of finished work, it's an automatic "A" for the student who turned it in. Not so at CKS.

So Alison is parked at the kitchen counter, working on the translation document. I was cleaning up from dinner.

It was a stop and start kind of homework assignment with her getting stumped (or bored) and coming up with other things to do like coming over to the sink to repeat a movie quote or a line from the play we'd seen, or playing yet another version of When the Saints Come Marching in on her recorder. My job was to keep her focused in between trying to track down and actually wash, dry and re-put away the dishes we'd put away thinking Jeff had run the dishwasher while we'd been gone. (Yes. I saw the irony.)

Alison was on No. 8, "Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, For theirs is the kingdom of heaven," when she had an epiphany.

"Hey Mom," she said in what had to be her eight attempt to slack off the assignment. "I'm in No. 8. I have been persecuted!"

Now that'll make you stop fishing for dirty spoons.

"Really?" I said. "When was this?"

"Well there was this time at school when I pushed a kid into a snowbank," she started.

I turned around. "Um, who was persecuted?" I asked.

"Wait. I'm not done. I pushed the kid into the snowbank so he wouldn't get his split wide open with a ball someone was throwing. So I pushed him into the snowbank to keep him from getting hurt. And then, I got in trouble for protecting the kid! I was persecuted!"

While she was dreaming about which particular chunk of celestial real estate was coming her way, I tried to give her an example of how a debate-ably unfair punishment might stack up against real persecution. I find the Holocaust rarely fails to effectively show the disparity.

She saw the definitional difference and grudgingly agreed she might not actually fall under provision No. 8. She's still bitter, though. I'm pretty sure there's a Commandment or something that might guide her on when to let go of those grudges.

I might need to review that chapter myself...

We were doing homework on Sunday night because we've done nothing but run since Friday. Ali had a sleepover and play date Friday, which meant so did Jeff and I. Ali and I drove down to Sullivan County Saturday to see niece Rebecca in her her first high school play -- Beauty and the Beast -- and we'd indulged in a hotel stay so we could play in the pool.

I drove to Chicago and back on Friday so I'm just a little bit ready to end it all. I might have to pretend that I forgot to reset my clock in the morning...

Oh, wait. We studied the Big 10 along with the 8 Beatitudes and I'm pretty sure No. 9 is the one where you're not suppose to lie.

I just heard Alison bust Jeff on breaking No. 2 a minute ago. He's trying to get better at Mario Kart so he can beat her. It's not going well and he's been practicing while she's been out of the house.

I think I'm going to have to remind her about that honor your father and mother. I'm guessing Moses would say she should let her old man win a time or two...

The picture is Alison showing off her braces. She's been fairly good about getting them and keeping the gunk out of them. She's sad that she'd had to give up most of her candy collection. Folks at Jeff and my office however, have been thrilled...

GBCD. GBCD. GBCD. BGBA!

2011-03-07T15:36:00.000-08:00

We've been entertained for the last few weeks by the dulcet tones of Alison and her brand new recorder.

She started out with the old standards -- Mary Had a Little Lamb and Hot Cross Buns -- and has finally mastered Ode to Joy and When the Saints Go Marching In.

It's been a journey filled with squeaks and slurps and more than a little frustration. But enough about Jeff and my reactions...

Yesterday she reached a high mark. "Mom! Mom! Look! I can play all of Ode to Joy with my eyes closed!"

After the applause ended, I reminded her that she'd be marching in the Indianapolis St. Patrick's Day parade and it might be smart of her to try marching and playing at the same time. That kept her honking and squeaking for most of the evening.

It brought me back to my days of forced clarinet playing. My siblings were not so gentle listeners to me as I am proving to be to my daughter. I was invited (not so gently) to go practice my craft outside. I ended up down at the creek at one point. I can't remember if I dragged it up in the big maple tree in the front yard or not.

I read a lot of books up in that tree. Years later I was talking about that and looking fondly up at that tree, my dad started laughing. Seems that tree was the nesting place of a family of black snakes. I'm petrified of snakes and he knew it. I think he must have spent hours watching me in that tree just waiting for the day I'd look up from an exciting chapter only to come face to face with a serpent and fall right down.

It wouldn't have mattered if I'd broken bones or brought the snake down with me, I'd have been dead of fright before I hit the ground. Oh my god. Can you imagine me charming those snakes with my clarinet?! Ack. I guess I wasn't very charming, thank God.

Anyway, I've been encouraging the recorder practice and marching practice. I'll even go watch her, although parades and maple trees hold the same amount of attraction to me, which is to say none at all.

After years of marching with the clarinet, Shakamak High School had a surplus of the licorice sticks in my junior or senior year. I moved onto the percussion section where the boys were. When the band instructor discovered (right after the parade where I made my bells debut) that I couldn't play piano and therefore hadn't a clue how to bang out a tune on the bells, he was in a quandary. All the snare drums were taken -- not that I could make a drum roll to save my life -- but he did believe that I could count to four.

So he gave me to the bass drum. And yes, I meant that I was given to it. The bass drum is big. Really big. I was no taller then than I am now -- 5'4" on a good day.

I think Mr. Scott looked at me as comic relief more than anything. His testament to my musical career involved more of a dissertation on how many romance novels I read during band practice than it did my reed or stick work.

So throughout parade season -- the sticky, sweaty, Indiana summertime -- there I'd be: wearing a long-sleeved, long pants, wool suit, a goofy at with a plastic neck strap tasked with keeping the beat but totally without a speck of rhythm in my genetic code.

The drum would tip me forward so I had to lean back to keep upright and hope to high hell I was walking in the right direction. Looking down wouldn't have helped -- I couldn't see my feet for the drum.

It was actually good training for pregnancy. But I digress.

I'm sure Alison will have a much better parade experience than I. If anything, she'll be a little chilly if the weather doesn't break. If you need a little culture, I'm certain I know a little redhead who will serenade you. Let me know and I'll find you a front row seat.

Or you can meet me at the parade. I'll be the one cheering on any short girls attached to bass drums....

Class pig

2011-02-27T17:02:00.000-08:00

Most of the sticky candy and gumballs have been eradicated as we edge closer to Alison's potential 2.5 years of braces. She has brackets on her teeth. Wednesday we get her all wired up. She had four teeth extracted last week to get ready.

Her lower lip had swollen last week to what seemed like 100 times it size, but she's all good now. Other than her ban from popcorn, gumballs and Laffy Taffy, she's fairly excited about the braces.

This weeekend was a first for us. We babysat for the 4th grade class's pet guinea pig, Cocoa. It was an experience that I missed in part due to Book Club and Bunco (thank the Lord.) Apparently at one point, it pooped either on or near the girls. Later, on Captain Reed's watch, the pig was out and crawling on the girls, who were zonked out on the couch.

Alison and I changed its bedding (ick) today and let it crawl around on us a while. It did not pee or poop on us, although it did nibble on my book. We fed it a carrot and that was kind of fun. I'd had a piece of peanut butter toast (4 points) and I think I had a little bit left on my fingers because the little pig liked me a lot. It kept crawling on my lap and nibbling on my fingers.

Ali wants one now, of course. While we were buying the new bedding, I wondered out loud what kind of clear ball it might like if we were so inclined to buy one so it could roll around the house without fear of flinging poop and pee and fur. Alison was totally affronted. "Cocoa is not an 'it,' Mom," she said.

On Saturday, she and Madison broke out a little chemistry set I'd bought her a while ago. They made a beaker full of some kind of flavored bubbly water and some other concoction that involved sugar and vinegar. Then, they were inspired and came up to the kitchen.

"We're going to make a volcano," they informed me.

"Uh," I said. "Where's the recipe for that?"

Alison rolled her eyes and kept gathering equipment. "Mom. It's a classic. We don't need a recipe."

Lo and behold they did it. Ali dragged out the vinegar and baking soda and they erupted about 10 volcanos in a row in the kitchen sink. It was hilarious.

The previous weekend, Ali and Amanda made a wreck of the family room with Littlest Pet Shops. Alison hasn't played with her Pet Shop village in I can't remember how long. But they had a blast.

When we took Amanda home to her (I'm not kidding) palatial estate, she and Alison were both bemoaning the return.

"I'll trade you houses," she said. "Your house is so fun."

I know the sentiment was rooted in going into a home where she wouldn't have a friend along, but Madison later said something fairly similar. And I'm vain enough to take comfort in it.

Don't tell Alison I'm that shallow....

Life rocks

2011-02-20T07:02:00.001-08:00

I bought my husband a red velvet bag of rocks for Valentine's Day. Lest you look askance (as he did) at my selection for our anniversary/Valentine's Day celebration, I will explain.

The rocks are polished and etched on both sides. One side said, "I love you" and the other said, "because...." and gives pithy little reasons for said emotion. I grew up with a band of Pentecostals. They try to teach you how to talk to God; communicating well with the rest of the world is sort of left to you to figure out.

I remain a slow learner in this regard and I believe it's possible that my verbal expressions are sometimes interpreted as more strongly felt than is the case. In any event, I needed the damn rocks.

I'd been eyeing them for weeks. They're from Red Envelope and representative of the silly but sweet products the company often offers.

One Christmas, I gave Jeff a similar gift of metal collar tabs -- he'd been using the plastic ones that come with his shirts. These have little romantic messages, and it's one my all time favorite gifts to him. He's hard to buy for and this satisfied my desire for whimsy but met his need for practicality. (The hat rack I bought him in 2002 ranks high in my gift-giving infamy...)

In any event, I bring up the rocks only because they've got me thinking about all the different reasons for why I'm loving life these days. Here goes:

I love my friends because:

...We can disagree vehemently about immigration, whether country music rocks or not (it does), politics, religion and whether the need for good grammar has expired (it hasn't) and still love each other when the shouting quiets down.

...they know all of me and love me anyway.

I love my family (both sides) because:

...while they may shake their head from time to time, they haven't disowned me yet...

...they let an Indiana girl into their Down East circle and seem to want to keep me...

I love my daughter because...

...she is 100 percent herself, even when she sees that she could try to conform to fit in better...

...she likes hanging out with me and will even still reach for my hand on occasion...

...she makes me work harder to be the person she thinks I already am...

I love my husband because...

...he makes me slow down and appreciate the beauty around us and within that little girl...

...he is a wonderful (if somewhat discipline-fixated) father...

...he doesn't turn the station when I'm listening to country music...

...he's carrying around a polished rock in his pocket, laughing ever so quietly at his silly, often inarticulate wife...

The photo today is of Ali and her friend, Amanda, who's new to school this year. They had a play date Saturday that turned into a sleepover. We capped it off with a visit to BR Nails. It's tough to be a little girl these days. I'm sure I was at least in my 20s if not 30s before I had professional nail care. And I had to walk uphill in the snow (both ways) to get it, too!

2 sloths, a work horse and some expired squirrels

2011-02-13T16:51:00.000-08:00

I joked yesterday that Alison and I were sloth-like. We morphed into slugs on Sunday -- neither of us feeling very well. Which I guess might explain our Saturday behavior, too.

Jeff picked up the slack for us, though, and our neighbors, too. While a bit of water is already seeping through our foundation, he spent most of the afternoon and evening digging ice trenches so the melt would have reason to go away rather than inside the house. He dug a trench down the drive and along the street, even digging out the storm drain.

He's going to deserve a very nice anniversary/Valentine's gift. Maybe he'll get it early if my apparent recovery actually takes hold.

Tomorrow starts Alison's foray into braces. I take her for a consult to the tooth-puller and on Tuesday Jeff takes her to the orthodontist for spacers. On the 21st, she'll have four teeth pulled. In early March she'll get her braces. Sounds fun, aye?

In a non-dental aside, Alison was passing by the wall of pictures the other day and brought up one from my very early years. It's my siblings and me with my Dad showing off a squirrel harvest. Each of the kids is holding a dead rodent by the tail as if they were Christmas or birthday presents. It's straight out of Appalachia.

She questioned why we were holding dead animals and I tried to explain that it was a big deal and that the picture was representing what a good hunt and a good day it had been.

"It wasn't a good day for the squirrels," she muttered.

Yeah. She's a city girl....

Snow on the roof; fire in the belly

2011-02-06T15:34:00.000-08:00

There's a reason I buy Jeff Cap'n Crunch breakfast cereal: no matter what the calendar says, he's still a 12-year-old boy.

Take today, for example. He heads off to basketball, I dawdle in bed a bit (Ali was at a sleepover) then head to the grocery and the gym. The gym doesn't open until 11 or I'd have gone there first. I left a note for him to call me when he got home, thinking two things: 1. I want to be sure someone's here to receive the girl when she returns and 2. I want to be sure he's not going to do anything dumb.

Like climb upon on the roof when no one is home to call 911 when he falls. The whole state of Indiana is covered in ice, so there was no safe place to put his fancy new birthday ladder. But he's been itching to use it and he's been eyeing the 4-6 inches of snow that landed on top of the ice layer yesterday, wondering if our roof can take the abuse.

Sure enough, I call him back to learn he's on the roof. Yeah. He's home alone. And he's talking ON THE PHONE from the ice-covered roof.

I sigh. I step on the gas. I get home to find Alison has returned only to go next door to help the little girl there scrape a circle in the snow. They're not practicing witchcraft; they've uncovered an ice rink and are skating happily around.

I go back home after answering the, "Come over here, Mom, you gotta see!" call. I'm three steps down the walkway to the porch when I hear overhead, "Oh shit!"

And down comes Jeff. Luckily, he'd used his three seconds of realization that he was in a free fall to land, cat-like in the huge pile of snow that we've been adding to over these last few frozen weeks. Lucky for him it wasn't one of the one with ice blocks from the driveway.

I look at him. He looks at me. And grins.

I think he wanted to do it again! I waited just enough time to learn whether he'd shattered anything before I turned around and got my own shovel. While I considered piling up a perimeter of snow cushions around the house, I decided he'd probably learned his lesson. I just cleared the piles he'd been pushing from the roof.

While up on the roof, Jeff was still wearing the body armor he's taken lately to wearing at basketball. It helps shield his back and other tender parts from the young guns he plays with. I think he'd taken off his knee brace, which is high tech but squeaks when he moves.

Because he doesn't play with his hearing aids in, he's not fully aware of just how squeaky he is when he has that brace on. He has an inkling, though, because they've taken to calling him "Tin Man" on the court.

I think they should come over and watch his roof dismount. I wonder what they'd call him then....

Puzzle Please

2011-02-01T17:39:00.001-08:00

The other day, Alison asked me if I wanted to play with her. Like a good mom, I dropped what I was doing and said, "Of course I do!"

We put a puzzle together. That led to another puzzle. And then another. And before you knew it, we had nine puzzles laid out in a colorful pathway along the family week.

It's not that we're puzzle freaks or anything. The puzzle boxes have been stacked up neatly, ignored for months. But circa Puzzle No. 6, as we passed pieces back and forth and, well, puzzled over where this one should go and whether we'd lost a piece, Ali murmuerd, ""I like hanging out with you like this, Mom."

That easily got me through Puzzle Nos. 6-9. In fact, I wish we had a couple more. As Alison pointed out, we do have room.

It took us a couple of weeks to finish them all. Along the way we had help from Alex and Hannah and even a little bit from Dad. We finished the last one tonight. Today's ice day helped. She was off all day. I got released at 2 p.m.

We're going to snuggle a little bit now and I'm going to hope the whole city is shut down tomorrow and no one has to go to work.

If I get to stay home tomorrow, I don't know that I'll tear up the puzzles and start all over again just to keep her engaged with me instead of the television or the Wii.

She beat us both at SlapJack after dinner. Maybe I'll teach her euchre...

F is for what?!

2011-01-19T18:30:00.000-08:00

The very first time Alison got a report card at Christ the King, she greeted me with tears in her little Kindergarten eyes. She'd gotten an "F" she confessed, trying hard not to cry.

I remember dropping to my knees in the hall outside the school cafeteria, which doubles as the Aftercare nerve center. I held her close and said, "Oh that just can't be."

"It's right THERE," she said, pointing to it and just starting to wail. "Under gender!"

I didn't laugh at her, but I know I smiled as I explained how to properly pronounce 'gender' and what it meant. I hugged her tight.

Fast forward to today and 4th grade. I picked her up tonight and she was despondent.

"Mom. We got our reports cards today and I just don't know what that woman expects of me," she said.

"Uh, what?" I said. I'd lost track and hadn't realized it was report card day. "Did you get another 'F' in gender?"

She did not smile.

"I just don't know what she expects. I pay attention. I listen. I do my work! Dad is gonna KILL me."

She'd gotten a 'B' in Social Studies. It's one of her best subjects, and she'd dropped from a 97 to an 88. I don't know about all schools, but these days, you have to earn a 95 (out of 100) to get an 'A." Ninety-one to 94 gets you a 'B+.'

Back in my day, 90 and above got you to that stellar level. I told her not to fret and that we'd look more into it.

"Maybe your teacher made a mistake," I said.

The expression on her face made it clear that she had no faith that a miracle like that was headed her way.

We got home and after a momentary panic, I remembered that I'd put the code to look at her grades online on my pantry door so if I ever needed it, I'd have it right there. Either Jeff or I review her work every night, so I'd never used the online monitoring system.

I couldn't remember a time when Social Studies had tripped her up. She likes the subject and she recently even stepped outside her little box to lead a skit performed IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CLASS!!!! (She's bossy; but prefers to lead from behind the spotlight...)

Turns out, she'd been given an 'F' in presentation. It sat right there on the screen. A big, fat 'F', screaming at us.

We stared at it in shock. We looked at each other and started talking about at the same time. If she's weak anywhere, it's in Religion class and I know I should push her more there. But hell, she got a 96 in Religion this term -- up from a 90.

We talked about it. She was devastated. Just couldn't figure it out.

After thinking it over a bit, I sent a very reasonable note (not helicopter parent at all) to her teacher asking if there could possibly be a mistake, thinking all the while that a 'B' isn't the end of the world. Sadly, I think I would have accepted it in Religion. Even Conduct, maybe. But not English or Math or Spelling or Science or Social Studies!

Now here's where I have to say I LOVE Christ the King School. I hadn't expected an answer tonight. Ali's Social Studies teacher is out on maternity leave and I didn't have an email for her substitute. I sent the note to the new mom/teacher and copied Ali's homeroom teacher, thinking she'd pass it along in the morning.

Within an hour, the sub, Katie Zimmerman, replied that not only had she gotten the email, she called Mrs. Marciano (yes, the one home with a newborn) and discovered that....drumroll.... there was a MISTAKE!!!!

Alison scored her usual "A" in Social Studies after all.

You should have seen her face. It was priceless.

I'm going to start putting more emphasis on Religion class...

Doing the math

2011-01-09T18:24:00.000-08:00

So it's been a year since I buckled down and joined Weight Watchers.

The short story is that I'm 40 pounds lighter and have dropped down to a solid size 8, though my new best friend, Ashley at the Portland Maine bridal shop, claims my measurements make me a 6. (I'm pretty sure she's even more math-challenged than I am.)

I'm proud of myself for finally shedding the weight. But I'm also kind of ashamed that I let myself get so out of hand in the first place. It's so easy to ignore that extra size that sneaks up on you or to think that a little extra here and there "since the baby" isn't such a big deal.

I was kind of a Nazi about the weight loss in 2010. I really tried hard to keep to the good foods and stayed away from the booze. I think my buttprint is permanently embedded in one of the staionary bikes at the Angie's List gym. I'm sure I sweated enough to fill at least a koi pond.

This year, I'm trying not to get all crazy about a pound here or there. But I know I can't eat pizza and chocolate and real ice cream like I want. Ever. It's the "like I want part" of the equation not the pizza, chocolate and ice cream. And that's something I don't know will ever go away. I have 540 months of bad habits to overcome, and only 12 months of good habits in.

I blame Religion for most of my issues, and this one is no different.

My parents were Pentecostal, a religion that sucks the fun out of life like a family of leeches on a femoral artery. A good Pentecostal doesn't smoke, drink, swear, dance or think lustful thoughts. Otherwise, you're on the express train to Hell.

All that's left to the Pentecostals is Bible study and food. Even masterbation (not that we were taught that word) was a sin, too. Sex had to be sanctified, which is why, I'm certain, they all got married so frickin' young.

Admit it: if you were Pentecostal and lived in fear of Hell like I did, you'd turn to fried foods, too.

So it's no wonder my eating habits were a bit off. But truly, growing up, if my dad or brothers hadn't shot, caught and skinned it, and my mom hadn't fried it to within an inch of its former life, in Crisco, we probably didn't eat it.

But I'm more than 20 years away from that lifestyle, so I can't fairly blame the size of my ass (formerly) on anyone but me and my bad habits.

I've kicked most of them. I did fantasize about liposuction and plastic surgery as I trudged over to the gym, though. It just seemed like it would have been so much easier. I'm too cheap for that option, though.

There were also moments when I considered taking up smoking because I thought it might curb my hunger. Under the same premise, I also considered cocaine (I'd heard good things) and either crank or crack. I can never remember which is what, and one of them makes you really crazy and messes up your skin. But I'm too chicken to buy or do drugs. First, I'd shoot myself if I ever got arrested for anything, let alone drugs. Second, I know I'd be an instant addict. It was hard enough to give up chocolate.

Instead, I followed the plan and hit the gym a lot. I might be boring now, but I'm thinner than I've ever been, and better, I'm actually healthier than I've ever been.

The only real downside to losing weight is you don't get to choose from when is falls. For instance, my calves are smaller, but still not normal-sized and my rings fly off if I'm not careful. But I also had to restock my lingerie drawer.

I miss the cleavage. I have a new magic bra that will let me pretend if I get really lonesome for the girls, but I'd rather have kept that and lost some more of my calves.

But I'm not complaining. I worry that I can't keep it off. I'm afraid to trust that it's real.

But I have a beach trip coming up in March and a family wedding in July. Jen will kill me if I don't fit into the dress, so I should be in this general shape at least another 7 months at least. I'm supposed to lose 10 more, and I'll keep trying.

I'm officially a fan of Weight Watchers, even with its new Points Plus plan which is something of an adjustment. I'd just gotten used to living within a certain limit only to have them expand it. I'm not sure I can maintain (or lose those last 10 pounds) and actually eat more, but I'm trying to trust them.

Like most things, it's a simple solution: Eat well + exercise = the right size for life.

Even I can do that math.

The prude

2011-01-09T18:13:00.000-08:00

The first full week back from vacation is always hard, and by Friday, man, I was TIRED! Ali had a sleepover with Jenna planned and Jeff and I were going to go to dinner.

I ended up taking a bubble bath with my first delivered copy of People magazine and champagne delivered by my date, who took advantage of the time to finish some baseball stuff. We met up later to watch Cyrus on demand. It was one of the best date nights ever.

Yesterday, Jeff and Ali dropped me at the gym and went to grocery shop. On the way back to get me they saw a jogger. Nothing odd there except he was shirtless and in shorts. In January. On a snow covered Monon Trail.

Alison was aghast.

She's against nudity to begin with, but "He was half-naked in the middle of winter!" she exclaimed.

Jeff was helpful. "Uh, honey, did you take a look at the cover of the book your mom was reading at the gym? That guy doesn't have a shirt on either."

"I am NOT looking at that," she said. "Mom. That's just wrong. I am not looking at that."

Later, she was so afraid she'd mission 10 seconds of iCarly that she brought her pjs in into the family room. Standing in front of us, she wiggled out of her pants and flashed a little bit of moonlight.

"Ahem," her father said.

She just giggled and refused to acknowledge her indiscretion.

Play date excerpts

2011-01-02T06:07:00.000-08:00

Jenna:

Ali and Jenna claim they became friends while Amy and I were pregnant with them. We all like that idea, and while the girls attend different schools, we try to get them together as often as we can. No matter how long it's been, every visit is just like coming home. Jenna plays soccer and only recently gave up dance. She's considering Taekwondo now and Ali was happy to give her lessons.

At one point when they were together, I think Jeff had attacked Ali in the hallway. "I'm not that good, but I'm her sidekick," Jenna said, launching herself at Jeff and kicking the heck out of him. It was hysterical.

Later, they were wearing their matching pajamas (Alison's Christmas gift idea) and standing together. I said, "Oh no! How am I going to tell you apart?"

Jenna giggled and lifted up a chunk of Alison's rat's nest of curls. "Her hair!, Miss Cheryl. Just look at her hair!"

I'm kicking myself for not grabbing the camera right then but I didn't. Guess we'll have to get them together again so I can capture another moment. But I love this one from the summertime in 2007...

****

On the way to a play date with Amanda, who was new to school this year, Ali and Dominic were in the back seat sorting through the dozens of Gogos Ali had gotten for Christmas, talking trades and plotting strategies for swaps with other kids at school. While the three kids have become great friends since they met in August, we'd never been to her house.

"Wow! Amanda lives in a mansion," Alison said as we pulled into the drive.

"My Grandpa lives in a mansion," replied Dominic, who had also remarked on the house as we pulled in.

"Really?" Ali asked.

"Don't you remember? The pool?" Dominic prodded.

"Oh yeah," she said. "Mansions rock."

The house is very nice, and the Beaches are very nice people. The kids were off in a flash to explore.

For a time this spring and summer, Jeff was making noises about moving. I'm just too lazy. Our house is perfectly sized for our space needs, and I just have no interest in having to clean another square inch of space, but Ali and I had poked around a little bit at available homes in our area. I also love our area and school. It could be my small town roots, but I like knowing the layout of the grocery stores and the faces of the people who help me at the bank, the post office and the pharmacy.

Anyway, after a few houses, Alison declared that she wouldn't move. Unless it was to a mansion. We checked out a couple "mansions" and while she liked the visit, she's decided that, like me, she's quite happy with her own house.

Her definition of mansion, I think, is based on size and number of floors. You can have a second story and not have a mansion. Also a must: a laundry chute. She rejected a sweet home with amazing landscaping, crazy cool kitchen and an Italian tile roof in a fairly ritzy neighborhood because it had no laundry chute. "It has an upstairs and a basement Mom, but there's no laundry chute. We can't live here," she said on her way out the door.

***

Alison and the Ogdens have been friends for almost as long as she's been friends with Jenna. Ali and Alex and Jenna were in pre-school together. In a legendary argument, Jenna and Alex were arguing over who was Alison's best friend.

"Oh yeah?" Jenna said. "Well I will ALWAYS be her FIRST friend!"

Ali, Hannah and Alex are playing the game of Life downstairs, a continuation of the process that began last night. After snuggling a bit with me, they decided they needed some alone time downstairs.

I went down to bring them breakfast and was informed by Hannah that Alex just lost his job. "And he was a DOCTOR. $100,000 a year. And he LOST his JOB!!!"

"Dude, he's RIGHT HERE!" Alison said, trying to assuage Alex's hurt feelings...

I left them to their gamesmanship and returned to my post from which I'm shamelessly eavesdropping. I'm starting to think that maybe I do need an extra day off after all. They don't really need to go back to school, do they?

Snow days

2011-01-02T05:08:00.000-08:00

On the last day of what has been a spectacular vacation, you'd think I'd be sad, unhappy at the prospect of returning to our routine of work for Jeff and me and school for Ali. But I'm not. The time off has been so good that I know if the fickle gods of fate figure it out that they'll smack me a good one just to keep me in line.

Ali and I went dress shopping in Maine because we get to be in my sister-in-law's wedding this summer. It was such a great time. I love Jen, and I'm beyond thrilled that she's asked us to be part of the ceremony. I have four sisters and I love them all, but none of us had a say in our relationship. Jen doesn't have to do anything but tolerate me a couple of times a year but she's great and I wish we lived closer to each other.

We spent some quality time with all the Reeds in Maine. I always toy with the idea of moving there. It's easier to come back home to Indiana when we visit at Christmastime because it's almost always colder and snowier there than here. Jeff and Ali went sledding on a particularly windy and frigid day when I didn't want to put a toe outside. I went on the day the sun came out and the wind abated. We ran into a group of kids who'd put a couch on skis. Ali and I cadged a ride down the hill on it. It was tremendous. You don't see that kind of snow ingenuity back home...

This morning, as the coffee brewed, I looked out my window to see the NY Times sitting in the middle of my perfectly poured, unbroken driveway! After a 60-degree Friday, it's back to being winter here and while I might have tried to convince Ali that a walk in below 30-degree weather would be great, it would have been struggle for both of us.

Since we've been home, Alison has had a series of play dates and sleepovers and the house is still echoing with their giggles and laughter. She's starting to want "alone time" either with her friends or just herself, but she will still crawl into my lap and snuggle, and she'll still hold my hand. Even in (gasp!) public.

And even when I'm annoyed with him, I recognize that I stumbled into a bunch of luck when I met Jeff Reed. He's been reading my Weight Watchers cookbook to help keep me on track and still indulge his need to be No. 1 Chef at Chez Reed.

Finally, the prospect of getting back to work isn't bothering me so much, in part because I like to work, and I like my job. But there's more to it than that. My friend Jim, from work, posted on Facebook the other day how the company gym and policies about being healthy have been the primary push behind his great weight loss and fitness this year. He's dead on it, too.

Sure it's work -- as in there are daily pressures and the stress that goes with any j.o.b. -- but there's more than a paycheck at Angie's List. I know I wouldn't have been able to keep at my own fitness plan without the job, the convenience of an on-site gym and more importantly, the push to use the thing.

I'm a lucky, lucky girl. But keep it on the down low. No need to remind anyone in any position of power and the ability to mess with me that my life is good....

The Man Rules

2010-12-28T13:03:00.000-08:00

I'm having too much fun in Maine to download my photos -- so in lieu of that, I thought I'd share a slightly edited version of an email my sister Donna sent me. It's making me think I might have a little more testosterone in my system than is considered girly...

Among my faves: 4, 6, 9, 10, 14, 15, 22. And as for No. 7, I can BE sympathetic, but I would apply the caveat of No. 4 to it...

The Man Rules

1. Men are NOT mind readers.

2. Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

3. Sunday is for Sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

4. Crying is blackmail. Blackmail is illegal. The law should be violated only for a very good reason.

5. Ask for what you want. Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!

6. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

7. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

8. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become Null and Void after 7 Days.

9. If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us.

10. If something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one

11. Whenever possible, PLEASE say whatever you have to say during commercials.

12. Christopher Columbus did NOT need directions and neither do we.

13. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

14. If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing", we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

15. If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an answer you don't want to hear.

16. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine.... REALLY!

17. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as football or motor sports.

18. You have enough clothes.

19. You have too many shoes.

20. If it itches, it will be scratched. Learn to deal with it.

21. Similarly, farts are fun. They just are. Learn to deal with that, too.

And finally, 22. You can either ask us to do something OR tell us how you want it done. Not both If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

Home for the Holidays

2010-12-19T04:40:00.000-08:00

Many times in the past few months I've wondered if Alison is channeling Eddie Haskell.

I don't think she's ever seen Leave it to Beaver, but sometimes she's just so stinkin' sweet that I have to question her sincerity. Especially when she's trying to get something already denied her or when she's trying to get out of doing something she's been assigned.

I'm fully aware that I'm the soft touch in the house. I'm OK with it, and despite what the Captain may believe from time to time, I do put the hammer down on her occasionally.

But when she comes home from school with this assignment in her backpack, what's a Mom to do?

WHAT I LIKE MOST ABOUT CHRISTMAS IS: decorating the tree.
(She and I usually do this Thanksgiving weekend with Jeff's Christmas CDs playing in the background. She's set the theme since she could make the decision and reach a branch. For about three years, we had a tree full of her stuffed animals; lately, she's focused on the candy ornaments her Aunt Donna started supplying her with as comfort when her father curtailed her real candy intake.)

ONE WAY MY FAMILY CELEBRATES CHRISTMAS: going to Maine.
(Alison has no intention of ever spending Christmas in Indiana -- it's a holiday exclusive to the State of Maine, and it comes with cookies, nuts & bolts, and quality time with her Reed family.)

THREE IMPORTANT SYMBOLS OF CHRISTMAS ARE: the tree, the cross, and the lights.
(It WAS a Religion assignment -- I'm glad she managed to get at least one religious reference in there...)

THE MOST IMPORTANT THINGS TO ME ABOUT CHRISTMAS: being with my family.
(Eddie Haskell be damned. I think she really means it!)

December swim

2010-12-19T04:22:00.000-08:00

What is it about little girls' giggles that makes you want to freeze time or bottle the sound and energy so you can pull it out later?

Alison and her cousins, Rachael and Aleasha, have been with us since Friday afternoon and it's been a riot. I'm sure they'd be happy to stay in the basement as long as the TV and Wii didn't stop working and as long as the snacks and food kept coming.

We dragged them out of the house at 9 a.m. anyway on Saturday for Alison's second advancement test in Taekwondo. She'll be awarded her green belt on Tuesday. One kick, again, was all it took even after Master Park switched her out for a thicker board. This does not bode well for the teenage boys in her school -- which neither Jeff nor I am worried about one bit...

After the test, the girls and I headed off to Caribbean Cove for six hours of indoor water parking. I have to say that one of the best parts of my day was noting the sweat running down the back of my swimsuit while walking past a window that looked out over a snow-covered parking lot. I like swimming in December in Indiana....this could become a tradition.

Sweat box though it can be, Caribbean Cove is not a place for an adult work out. I managed to say no to pizza, hot dogs, chips and candy. I did, however, eat all of the healthy snacks I'd actually squirreled away for all of us to share, and I stole some ham from Rachael's unfinished sandwich. She and Ali eventually snarfed down the remains of it -- it had become cold cheesy bread, and even that was looking good to me. It was a good thing they'd come back hungry for their break from the slides and lazy river.

The girls spent some time at the Jordan Y play room while I worked off the ham, fruit and nut mix. Then it was home, pizza and movies. Aleasha crashed fairly early, but Ali and Rachael were still going strong at 11. They ended up crashing where they lay -- the couch and bean bag.

It's 7:30 now and I've heard not a peep.

I'm supposed to return the girls today. But I might have to have car trouble....sure they have school, but the last two days before Christmas break aren't exactly academic, now are they?

Another step away

2010-12-12T06:33:00.001-08:00

Alison is becoming more and more independent. It's one of those things about her that I hate and love with equal passion.

OK. That's a lie. I hate to see her growing up. Hate. It. Every stinkin' day it seems like she's moving closer to the day she'll really be all grown up. I remember back when she was really little and she was just learning a new trick.

"I can DO it by MYSELF!" she would insist whether it was gluing a decoration on a homemade Christmas card, cutting out cookies, or putting together an ensemble of mismatched socks, underneath wildly patterned tights, a striped shirt and a flowered dress.

This weekend it was putting together the CKS 4A Class goody bags for the Christmas party on Friday. "Mom, I'd like to put the bags together myself," she said. "I mean, alone. By myself."

In years past, she and I have sat on the floor together, sometimes with other little friends, surrounded by stickers and glue, beads, markers, paint, construction paper and ribbons. We've made holiday cards and crafts for friends and family and treats for classmates from day care through third grade.

We'd make a huge mess and find bits of paper and paint in our hair, but it was fun. Not being especially gifted in the crafting skills, I've always been happy to team up, hoping my deficiencies could be attributed to her burgeoning fine and gross motor skills.

We've made some pretty horrendous crafts over the years. The Christ the King Secret Santa Shop pretty much put the kaibash on our gift-making. Jeff and I provide the cash, but se selects, buys and wraps the gifts at school.

I've made my peace with that. (It helps that she always blabs about what each gift but mine is.) I did think we'd always have joint assemblage duty.

But I swallowed hard, nodded, handed over the bag of supplies and walked away.

Oh my gosh. You should have seen her work. She did everything but put on a manager's hat and whip out a clipboard. She got the school handbook out and made a list of her 20 classmates so she wouldn't inadvertently leave someone out. She organized the goodies with all the precision of a surgical nurse setting out instruments. She tailored each bag to each student, and she double checked to be sure everyone was treated equally.

"These are some extras we can just donate to the class," she said, pointing to erasers and pencils. She had different plans for the extra candy. I reminded her of the Advent pledge she'd written on a test this week. "I will pray for the misfourtonet (sic) every day. I will also stop eating so much candy."

"Oh. If I did write that -- and I'm not saying I did -- then Mrs. Zinkan must have made me," she said. "I'm pretty sure she made me."

I made her wait for lunch before she got to devour the leftover Peeps. Chances are that had we been a team, she might have been able to nibble throughout. Hmmmm. There's a thought...

A reason to believe

2010-12-12T05:14:00.000-08:00

Remember when the phrase, "It takes a village" wasn't the punchline in a political joke?

I'm still a believer in the sincerity of both the woman who brought that phrase to the forefront and in the power of the phrase itself.

For all you nonbelievers, take a look at the Arsenal Tech Cheer Team and how Central Indiana is responding to what Coach Dustin Wyman is doing for the kids on that team.

In short, a beautiful young man who's suffering from brain cancer, has taken a group of kids who social experts would describe as "at-risk" due to their economic and geographic circumstances and turned them into champions. Whether they win at the cheerleading championships in Orlando next year is almost irrelevant. These kids have already won.

They've won because:

* They've seen that they each have options beyond their neighborhood
* They know they have to work hard to make those options happen
* They're starting to dream of what can come next.

We've all won because businesses like Angie's List and ESCO, and hundreds of people across the city are pitching in to help Coach Wyman watch over the seeds he's planted.

Of course there are no guarantees for a bumper crop of great new leaders. There never are. But there's a whole lot of hope growing over there on the near-East Side and it's being nurtured by a whole of people from a whole lot of different walks of life.

That, my friends, is a village. And today I'm pretty happy with the village I'm calling home.

Leftovers

2010-11-28T16:58:00.000-08:00

It's been five days since I went to work. I'm not sure I'm going to be happy to see the sun rise tomorrow. Frankly, I'm not really able to focus on much right now. Jeff's at the Colts game, Ali beat me at Monopoly and then we watched a Cats & Dogs movie. Now she's watching some awful Fred movie and I've retreated to my PC.

Some Thanksgiving leftovers:
1. Alison's teeth will start 2011 ensconsed in metal. I'm thankful we've put enough money away in the old HSA to cover it. It will almost equal a year's worth of school tuition by the time we're done. Ali will be thankful circa 2013 when they come off.

2. We spent Thanksgiving at Aunt Donna's and had a fabulous time. I'm thankful Rachael was my euchre partner. We ruled. Until that last game when her father cheated.

3. We caught a break and got to see my cousin Howard Thursday, too. He's the guy on the Indiana highway crew who wears a cowboy shaped hard hat and gets marriage proposals from random women commuters on just about every job he works. They cat call and hold up signs as they drive by. Really! He's kind of a legend. That's Howard's wife, Cheryl. She doesn't seem worried.

4. We've done some real home improvement over the past couple of years: we took out a nasty tree in the front yard; had the driveway, back stoop and front walk replaced; and had all the windows replaced. Professional jobs, all. Jeff's been jealous every time the boys with their toys showed up, so we capped off the weekend with a little DIY, re-installing the drapes. Jeff is thankful he got to play with his power drill. I'm thankful that when the dining room drapes fell on me, I didn't get a black eye --only a nasty scrape. (Note to self: DIY sucks.)

5. I'm thankful for my Bunconians, too. We really know each other, sins and strengths alike. But we love each other anyway, which if you ask me, is real love.

6. I'm just going to take a leap and say that Jeff is thankful for Victoria's Secret. I finally agreed that I'm probably as small as I'm ever going to get and cashed in a Christmas gift from last year. I'm back in full touch of my A-ness and needed to resupply my lingerie drawer anyway. He got full run of the store (including the dressing rooms) on Black Friay, and my girls and I got the royal treatment. We came away with this contraption (among other more pedestrian equipment) that addes two cup sizes. I would never have bough this thing on my own or when I was single. It's too much like false advertising, if you ask me. Can't you just picture the big reveal? But don't tell anyone: it's a (Victoria's) secret...

Bamboo duel

2010-11-21T16:37:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, Alison took part in a Kum Do Workshop, put on by her Taekwondo teacher and some grand masters from Chicago.

It's essentially the first step in sword play. They used bamboo sticks instead of swords (thank God!) Short of Kill Bill, I had never seen anything like it.

Alison, of course, loved it. Jeff was there for the whole thing and shot some video. I came in half-way through and could hear the grunts and smacks from the sidewalk.

At one point, the grand masters -- outfitted in what sort of looked like baseball catchers' gear but more of it -- told the kids to whack them right on the head with their bamboo swords. And of course they did it. Later, they whacked the masters on their torso.

I got a headache just watching it. But Alison had a great time. I pity the first boy who tries to go somewhere she doesn't want him...

Workin' it in the yard

2010-11-14T14:44:00.000-08:00

On what may be the last beautiful day of fall, I spent some time in the yard. Picture it, if you will: eye-glasses on, hair scraped back in a ponytail, red capri sweat pants that used to be too tight and an old, yellow long-sleeved shirt that was the first thing I found in the closet. Finishing out the ensemble, crew socks and sneakers.

I was about 2.5 hours in. It was sunny, but cool, so I wasn't a sweaty mess, but I'm sure I had leaves and twigs in my hair and dirt on my red face. At one point, I'd knocked my glasses off into a bag of leaves, so it's likely they were askew on my face. I'd shoveled up dirt with some of the leaves, and I'm sure I'd swiped my forehead a time or two with my dirty gloves.

A guy pulled out of the driveway across the street as I was bagging leaves in the front. I don't know him, but he made eye contact and smiled as he backed out onto the street. It didn't register, really, until my neighbor then came out of the house and stopped to chat.

"Man, whatever you're doin', Cheryl. Um. You, ah, you look good," he said. "I mean. Like, well you know. You look great."

Now Jason is often affectionate and a little inappropriate after some beers. And I guess he and his friend might have been lighting up a few. But he was driving, so I'm guessing he wasn't as far gone as I've seen him.

'Course, if you think back to that picture I hope I drew for you, maybe I should have taken his keys...

In any event, it made the rest of the work go faster.

For the record, I'm closing in on 40 pounds gone. Sadly, some of those lbs have fled from my upper torso area. The girls might need a little help if I'm to keep catching the neighbor's eye...

P.S. Alison's day spa is open for business to those outside the family now. Appointments in the evening, post-homework, please. She's still offering free dum dums, but if she has to go to you, you'll have to pay a dollar extra.

Porcupines and other sticky wickets

2010-11-07T04:51:00.000-08:00

Alison was pretty upset Thursday when I picked her up from school. Seems one friend had told her that another friend had called Alison a name -- a hyper dork to be exact -- and Alison was some ticked off.

"I'm going to talk to Mrs. Zinkan about this," she said. "(She-who-should-not-be-named)is kind of a teacher's pet and I bet Mrs. Zinkan will be pretty interested in this kind of behavior."

"You think that's the best way to handle it?" I asked. "Tell me more about it."

It turns out said slur could have occurred anytime in the past two years, covering the time Mrs. Zinkan had completed her tour of 2nd grade duty. She's got the class back for their 4th grade year. Alison is sure the slight happened because she can always tell when her informant is lying, "And she's definitely not lying about this."

I suggested that perhaps Mrs. Zinkan didn't need to be called in, given that the slander had happened so long ago. Maybe it would be better to just talke to She-who-should-not-be-named.

"I think I'll have (the informant) with me for backup," Alison strategized.

Good idea. So the confrontation occured Friday. She-who-should-not-be-named denied the whole thing. The informant stood by Ali, figuratively and verbally. Alison had decided not to involve Mrs. Zinkan, though she's certain that she-who-should-not-be-named has flaming pants.

Flash forward to Saturday afternoon. The doorbell rings. Two neighorhood girls are at the door. "We have to talk to Alison," says Maddie from across the street, who tends to visit when she's on her father's weekend. With her is Melanie, from down the street, a full-time neighbor. Both are younger than Alison, and sometimes that matters more than others.

I direct them downstairs where the redhead awaits. I hear a bit of a commotion and go to the top of the stairs. I can hear them but they can't see me.

Turns out, Maddie has informed Melanie that Alison said Melanie cries a lot. They've come to confront her. I gulp. I want to go down there, but seems like the sauce is being served and I want to see how the gander deals with it.

"Well, you said it too, Maddie," I hear Alison say.

"Did not."

"You did, too! I was standing right there!" says Ali, who sighs heavily. "Look. Melanie. I am so sorry. I did say it but I just want you to know I had had a really bad day that day. My friend had been getting in trouble at school and I was trying to help her not get a conduct cut and it was really stressful. And then you two came over and you stubbed your toe or something and you cried. A lot."

"I'm sorry," Alison repeated. "But I was having a bad day that day."

"Did you get a conduct cut?" gasped the formerly injured Melanie. (Each girl attends Catholic school, but different ones. They all must follow the conduct cut discipline plan, though.)

"No, I didn't, but Madison did. She got four that week!" Alison said.

"Wow."

"Yeah. OK. Well, see you later."

"See you."

I scooted out of the way as the two girls came back up. "Bye!" they said. "See you tomorrow!"

Alison popped upstairs a while later. I asked her what that was all about and she related the details blow-by-blow. I told that while I didn't want her to hurt anyone's feelings, I was proud of her for not lying about the statement that started the whole thing.

***

Last night, Jeff was putting Ali to bed and he leaned in to kiss her.

"Da-ad! Kissing you is like kissing a porcupine!" she exclaimed, trying to get away from the whisker burn.

"Oh, sorry, honey. I'll shave these off tomorrow," he said.

"That's OK, Dad. I love porcupines," she said.

The Spa

2010-11-07T04:03:00.000-08:00

While I was at the gym and grocery shopping Saturday, Alison was busy setting up her latest enterprise: a day spa in her bedroom.

She started out with the idea that she'd raise money to buy a television for her room. She's been coveting one for years. Her friends Breanna and Dominic have had their own televisions for years (yes, they're all only 9) and Ali has wanted one forever.

So I come in the door laden with grocery bags, still sweaty from the gym.

"Mom! Mom! You have to come see what I did!" she exclaims, bursting out of her room to catch me in the kitchen.

I put down the bags and go in. "It's a day spa!" she says. "Would you like a massage? There's a bargain price just for today! And if you buy a full body massage, I'll do your neck for free."

She'd put together a spa station on the lower bunk. She'd priced an arm massage at a quarter (per arm). Each leg would set you back 50-cents, but a full body massage was available for only $1.

I told her I would be happy to be her first customer, but first, I'd put away the groceries and shower so she could work on a clean body. She agreed that was a good idea. Jeff helped put the groceries away while I washed away the sweat.

By the time I got back, she'd expanded into a mani/pedi station and later, she added a make-over area. I'm apparently a silent partner as it's my mani/pedi tools and supplies that make up the most of her inventory. The make-up station is wholly hers, though. Angel dust glitter is her featured make-up product.

So I ended up spending $3.80 total for my day's worth of spa service -- I sprang for the lotion with my mani/pedi and I even tipped her. Done with me, she convinced her father that he needed some pampering. I think he opted for the pedicure because he doesn't exactly fit on her massage table. Both your feet and head are cushioned by a stuffed animal pile, which makes it easy to find a way to breathe when you're face down.

She's even drummed up a little side business from Hannah Ogden, who stopped in for a bit and will come back tonight.

My bet is that Alex Ogden won't indulge in a pedicure, but you never know.

She's open all day if you're in the market for a little indulgence. She accepts any form of cash, including coins she's spied laying around in your car. I'm sure she'll be working on electronic payment as soon as she thinks of it.

Any type of service comes with a free dum-dum, but you have to actually eat the lollipop on premises. She'd like to keep the wrapper for her collection. She's decided to re-wallpaper her room with dum-dum wrappers. If she gets tired of the design, she says she'll cash the wrappers in for a new DSI.

She's also decided the television can wait. She's saving up for a real fish tank now. Filtered and self-cleaning. A businesswoman has no time to actually clean a fish tank, you know. (I'm glad she came to this conclusion AFTER she'd already done her Saturday chore of changing Cody's water.)

Her entrepreneurial spirit is affecting more than her ability to complete her weekly chores. She's on the hook this weekend for spelling, starting a diarama depicting the Delaware Indian tribe and studying for her Religion test on Wednesday. Early in the evening, I mentioned that we should get started on some of that.

"Mom, I've just been so busy organizing my spa, I don't think I'll have time for any more of that," she informed me.

Today should prove interesting...

Spooky PhotoShoot

2010-10-31T17:35:00.000-07:00

Ali and I spent most of the day recovering from our annual Halloween party. Other than taking care of the Ogden cats (who actually cooperated with us this time) frogs and fish, and cleaning Ali's fish bowl, we pretty much laid around like dogs.

I did manage to feed her, but we reserved most of our energy for trick-or-treating. I chose to escort Shaun White and Mario around the neighborhood this evening while Jeff stayed home to dole out the candy.

Alison insisted on taking a pillowcase to collect her bounty tonight. She didn't complain about carrying it. Dominic complained a few times when she turned it into a weapon and whacked him with it. We only made it about two blocks before she was asking me to carry her snowboard and Dominic was complaining that his legs hurt.

I'm pretty sure I could see my breath on occasion, but at least it didn't snow like it did in Maine today. Brr.

And what's up with the people who left their lights on but still wouldnt' come to the door? One woman actually walked past her open door, looked at the kids and kept on walking to another room, never answering the door. I'm OK with people taking a pass on the Halloween candyfest, but turn your lights out, man. Follow the rules. It's just mean, and you're inviting tricks. Don't think I didn't make note of the house number of that, um, witch.
As I type, the annual candy negotiations are underway. It's like Malta up there. Jeff is offering non-chocolate treats to shore up his chocolate goodness collection. I'm hoping he takes it -- along with the rest of the pumpkin-chocolate chip cookies to work with him tomorrow.

I had two bowls of zero point soup and some bran cereal, trying to stave off the lure of the candy bowl and cookie jar. Somehow four of the cookies still infiltrated my boundaries. I'm hoping to make it through the night without succumbing further.

Wish me luck.

Catching up

2010-10-30T04:33:00.001-07:00

After some glorious fall weather, a bitter wind blew in this week, and I didn't like it one bit. The weather folk are offering glimmers of hope for a milder trick-or-treat weekend, but I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Before the cold snap, Ali decided to turn a Halloween decoration into a baseball pinata of sorts. We've used a softball to anchor a huge spider that we drop on the unsuspecting Halloween party goer from time to time.

Ali reversed it to use the ball as a pinata of sorts. She used an old broom instead of a bat, and tried to smack the ball from up in the tree. She'd do really well for a while then she'd get all tangled up.

It kept her occupied most of one afternoon, but involved a series of rescues from me first, and then Jeff ultimately.

Alison's been living her routinely large lifestyle. Aunt Margaret started it off, stopping by last week to drop off some sugar cookie seasonal treats that made Ali the envy of the CKS lunch crowd. She's had and will have more friends over, and she's cat sitting for our Ogden friends.

I say friends. I'm not sure we'll be friends come Monday if one of their cats escape again.

Alison's allegedly in charge, but when Cat No. 2 fled the premises on our first cat-sitting-visit, it was me who had to chase it down. Ponza and Alto are identical evil twins, if you ask me. I'm not sure which one was the flight risk, but they're both incarcerated now.

I'll be on extra vigilant guard today when we go check them out again. I'm thinking of confining them to Dale and Karin's bedroom rather than giving them the full range of the house. Ha! That'll teach 'em. Oh, wait. I think I want them to trust me.......Dang!

PS to Hannah. You were so right. I don't if the frogs will survive, either... You guys might want to hurry home.

We're hoping to have some fun tonight for our annual kid-focused Halloween party. I have about 10 hours to turn Ali's plastic play house into a haunted something. She'll be impersonating Shaun White this year -- her first costume without Aunt Donna and Jaime's careful tailoring. We'll see how this goes. I have a feeling we'll be begging the aunts to help us out again next year...

We celebrated Jeff's birthday yesterday by shopping around town for an extension ladder he's been wanting. I was against it as a gift, arguing that it's a household necessity and therefore a needed purchase, not a gift. But I capitulated and he seems thrilled with it.

I did stop off at the Sun King Brewery so he wouldn't have a totally practical birthday, and our friend Andy came by with a gift so super cool I'm telling anyone what it was because we want to steal it and use it for others at Christmas. But you want to be nice to us for the next few weeks if you're a fan of fine spirits.

Happy Halloween!

My phone is smarter than I am

2010-10-17T13:12:00.001-07:00

Jeff and I had dinner at Zest Friday night, and the food was so amazing it wiped out every bit of the stress that had gotten me down earlier in the week.

It was a beautiful fall evening; crispy enough to need a sweater, but not so cold you could see your breath. I knew I wanted to go some place within walking distance. (I'm trying to use those phantom 35 "extra" points Weight Watchers claims I can consume and still lose weight, but I wanted the tiny bit of exercise just in case.)

I really had Mama Corolla's in mind. It's a right turn for us rather than a left to get to Zest, but we've had pasta many times. We'd only managed to get to Zest once before. The line was long at Mama's. So down the street we strolled.

I may never go Italian again. It was that good -- and while it wasn't cheap, it's not over-priced, either. I even had a couple of glasses of wine. If I gain weight next Wednesday, I'll skip the wine but still have the food...

Anyway, I'm trying to focus on that lovely, lovely time because my new Smart phone is killing me. Really KILLING me. I know somewhere in my heart that I'm not stupid. But this thing is annoying. And it did me no good to read that toddlers are playing with iPhones like they're rattles and squeaky stuffed toys. (In my defense; the children aren't customizing the damn things -- they just like the lights and colors. But still.)

Lucky for me, Jeff likes technology and likes negotiating. At this point, I'm not 100percent sure he still likes me, but he made the time to find phones and a deal that will keep us at about the same price for smart phones that our old dumb, no-text plan phones were costing us. We test drove models for a week, and I was figuring out the Blackberry when I decided at the last minute to switch to a phone that has a bigger keyboard and screen. It's some sort of evil, touch-screen/Blackberry hybrid.

I'm pretty sure that we, as a society, have crossed that line where technology is already ruling the world. I suspect that some of it has jumped the divide to actually think on its own. This I know: my phone doesn't like me at all. And I, quite frankly, don't like it, either.

I want my dumb phone back but am afraid to tell Jeff. Plus, nearly all my friends and family persist in sending me texts all the time even though I think they all know I don't have a text plan or text-friendly phone. Like a dope, I read and answer them at some ungodly price per-text.

Not having a text-savvy phone was making me feel that person who held out against TV because she liked to imagine the pictures herself from the old radio shows. Or that guy who wouldn't even consider trading in his horse for a model T. Hell, even Amy Tokash is a texter and she hates change worse than I do. My eldest sister got her iPhone more than a year ago.

Old. I felt old. So old I didn't think it was possible to feel older.

We went together to the store last night to take advantage of the clerks who would transfer all the data from our dumb phones to the smart one.

While we were there, I managed to figure out the basics. I inadvertently started the voice mail set-up process with Alison's DS noise on one side of me, Musak overhead, and the sales crew and Jeff chattering on the other side. The recording was awful and I was trying to re-do it when the damn thing turned on me. That led to one of the clerks snickering at my feeble attempts and I was suddenly done with the whole endeavor.

Before we left the store, I did a superfiical check to see that all my contacts were there, and sure enough, when I got home, I had no contacts from D to W.

I started hand entering the missing info this morning because I just didn't want to face the kid in the store again. I probably was something to laugh at, but I'm not quite ready to admit that.

But even my manual entry got all fouled up. The keypad is pretty sensitive, I guess, and apparently I still have finger weight to lose.

After whining and cursing and frowning and just being a huge brat, Jeff decided to take my phone back to the store to see why neither he nor I can't get my email to recognize my password or to grant me mobile access to email and Facebook. Yeah, it wasn't just me. Jeff couldn't make it work either.

I read the damn book. I followed the instructions. I swear. Is it possible that I did something really wrong and messed my self up? Oh yeah. It might even be likely...

Ugh. I'm going to start thinking about Zest again.

Oh, Ali got her yellow belt. The photo is her and the formidable Master Jay Park.

I bet his phone is smart enough not to torture him like mine is me...

Also, if you don't hear from me by text or voice for a while, it's because I'm still tracking down your phone number. Apparently my smart phone doesn't like you either...

1 kick; 4 pieces

2010-10-10T14:43:00.000-07:00

In all her 9.5 years, I don't remember a time when Alison has been more proud of herself.

She's impressed herself, sure. She's done well in school. She's created some killer moves on the monkey bars, and she's had some super sweet belches.

But Saturday, she passed her first taekwondo belt test with flying colors. She broke her board with her right (and injured) foot on her first attempt. It flew apart in four pieces a precisely the moment my camera batteries died.

I think her smile could have powered the camera if I had enough McGyver in me to figure out how to harness it. Jeff's smile was just as huge.

She'll get her yellow belt this week. She's pretty sure she'll stick with it long enough to earn her black belt. We'll see about that, but right now, yellow is looking pretty good.

***

Speaking of yellow, Alison's injury to her right foot was actually to her big toe. She was wearing flip flops last weekend and helping a little girl from across the street climb the magnolia tree in the front yard. It was wet from a short, but intense rain storm, and she slipped and fell out of tree onto a metal container I salvaged from my parent's house.

She put a pretty big dent in the container, and it rewarded her with a huge bruise on the back of her thigh. I think her toe got caught up in the sandal. In any case, she was some upset and hurt. I don't think she'll be climbing in flip flops anymore.

***

She and I were in the car the other day, and I mentioned a boy in her class. His name is Sammy Kacius, and I always pronounce it with a hard "a," which is wrong.

"Mom. It's Kascius," she said for perhaps the 1,098th time.

"Man, I hope you don't marry him. I'll never get your name right," I said.

"Dude," she replied. "If I marry Sammy Kacius, he's changing HIS name."

***

Today we spent part of the gorgeous and unusally warm fall day getting pumpkins and carving them up. We caught up with Dominic at the vegetable stand and he came home with us. The two of them fight like an old married couple. He's the male version of Jenna, although Jenna's actually tougher than he is.

He's a sweet boy, though, and he's the one who introduced Ali to taekwondo. So I guess we'll keep him in the family. He also advanced belts this weekend. A couple weeks ago, he was threatening to quit the sport. Master Park can be rough on the kids, and one night when Dominic wasn't as focused as he should have been, he had to do push-ups and practice a particular kick over and over and over.

I think he'll stick with taekwondo as long as Alison does. He did, you may remember, profess his love for her in front of the entire first grade. Unrequited though it may be, Dominic is nothing if not hopeful.

The couple that kicks together may very well stick together for all I know...

Your focus needs....focus

2010-10-03T13:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think Alison has a little too much of both of Jeff and me in her.

She was at taekwondo class the other day, and it had been a particularly hard hour. What I know of martial arts comes from the movies, and even then, I've watched under duress. So I know I don't know a lot about it.

Her instructor, Grand Master Park is Korean. Combine his accent with his stern demeanor and ramrod straight posture, and toss in a little frustration and you've got yourself one scary Grand Master. Even at his most worked up, even Captain Reed's got nothing on the Grand Master.

The kids are supposed to talk only when spoken to -- and then they're to say "Yes, sir" or "No, sir" or whatever words he tells them to repeat. They are to sit quietly and with crossed legs when they're not practicing on the mat, and woe be unto the student who forgot to pee before class. The parents who watch aren't supposed to speak, either, and yes, he's called us on it.

Master Park claims that he's a kinder, gentler master now. Back when he started, he claims the only thing he let students do beyond study taekwondo was to breathe.

So anyway, Alison's focus was apparently not as focused as it could have been and she got more than one earful about it.

She wasn't the only student that night who had Master Park worked up. After he'd had enough of it, he had them all to sit down. There was dead silence as they all sat there, wondering what new torture he had in store and hoping they wouldn't be the one to suffer it. Finally, he asked if anyone thought Master Park was too hard on them.

A lone hand shot up. Yep, it belonged to the redhead in the room. And while no other hands went up with as much vehemence, it stayed up. And then a few other hands joined in.

Now I want Alison to tell the truth and be forthright. But I have to say that I've often been too quick to voice my opinion and if I'd just kept quiet I might not have gotten into trouble or earned enemies quite so quickly. Jeff can be quick with a "helpful" comment, too. It's no coincidence that the U.N. has never asked either of us to help out in diplomatic circles.

Happily for all concerned, I think Master Park isn't holding Alison's quick and committed criticism against her. Instead, he took his time, making eye contact with everyone and reminding them that he was there to help them succeed in life and that if they listened to him, sharpened their focus and paid attention for every minute of their hourly lesson, they'd be able to whatever they wanted in life.

Last week, he told me he was sure she'd advance to yellow belt and had some really nice things to say about her. When I picked her up at school on Friday, she was teaching some other girls some taekwondo moves.

On the way out, she told me that she was frustrated that Madison and Amanda weren't learning as quickly as they should. The kindergartener who'd joined in was learning faster, she said. "It's SO frustrating!" she said.

"Hmmm," I said. "I guess maybe you understand a little bit about how Master Park feels sometimes."

She's still giving that some thought.

Girl Power

2010-09-26T17:03:00.000-07:00

Ali and I were watching Percy Jackson and the Lighting Thief today when she turned to me and said, "Mom, I think there's something really wrong here."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! Dude! Do you see all the dudes? Like Percy Jackson and Harry Potter and all those movies. There aren't any girl heroes. It's so totally not fair."

"You're right."

"And there's NEVER been a girl president," she informed me.

"Maybe YOU can be the first girl president," I said.

She pondered that a moment. But she has other plans. She wants to invent a chemical you can take that will let you age to about 50 years and then stay alive but never get any older and always stay healthy.

It's all part of her plan to keep Jeff and me around and healthy because she doesn't want to go through the heartache of losing us. She's also planning to invent a new way of eating that everyone -- even hoboes --can afford so no one will ever go hungry.

She spent part of the afternoon Saturday hanging out in back of the Subaru. She's got another idea of inventing a car that will have magic amounts of room so if you lose your job and have to live in your car, it won't be so bad.

These magic cars will be available on a sliding cost scale: a dime for hoboes or other down on their luck and millions of dollars for the rich, who don't really need the cars but will want them because they're going to be super cool.

She claimed hanging in the Subaru was part of her research. I tried to tell her that people who actually live in cars don't have laptops, books and snacks in there with them, but she wasn't to be dissuaded.

Continuing on with her plans for the future, she tells me, "And the only way to die will be from getting shot or murdered."

"If you can invent something so great like that chemical and those other things, can't you find a way to stop murder and crime?" I asked.

"No, Mom," she said, firmly. "Some things you just can't fix."

I'm going to start an account for her post-graduate needs right now. It can easily be turned into a campaign fund. The way I see it, she's destined to do something great regardless of what she decides on. Let me know if you want in....

***

Jeff spent the last two weeks negotiating with a replacement window salesman. I stayed as far away as possible because whenever Jeff gets going, we always get a fabulous deal but I want to slip his poor victim some money, or at least bandage their wounds. Jeff hit another home run and we finalized the deal on Saturday.

Within a month, the American WeatherTECHS crew should be breaking out the windows that were installed back in 1951 when Herr Gelb built our home. I'll submit a consumer report on Angie's List when they're done installing our fancy, energy efficient panes.
So far, the experience has been good. Well. It's been good for TeamReed. I do feel sorry for poor Dave.

I was telling Jeff's dad about the negotiation process and Ali overheard me. She grabbed my arm and said, horrified, "Did Dad really torture a man and make him give him his baby?"

I had some 'splanin' to do...

***

I saw a bunch of old Statehouse Press Corps friends this week. It's been more than 15years since I toiled in the basement during the legislative season. I had one of those moments when you see folks you haven't seen for a while and you wonder how it came to pass that they got so much, uh, more mature... And then you catch a glimpse of yourself in the elevator doors and you realize that you fit right in...

It was great fun, though, and I wish my friend Mike Smith only great things as he steps away from feeding the beast every day...

Well, the Colts have won, most of my fall decorations are up, we managed to get in one bike ride amidst our couch laying this weekened, and we're powering down to prepare for another work week. Have a great one!

***

Oh! I almost forgot. I've finally managed to drag my sorry butt across the acceptable weight range for my height, according to Weight Watchers. Cross your fingers that I get closer to the middle and can soon stop hanging on the outside railing like a first-time roller skater...

Once that's accomplished, I can go about trying to figure out how to stay there. Ugh. It'll be a never ending battle.

But with nearly a full 9 months in, a trip to the Bahamas in the spring and Jen's wedding in the summer, I have incentive to stick to it. Wish me luck!

Great Weekend: could I have another?

2010-09-19T18:15:00.000-07:00

We had Book Club Friday. The book was "One Day" by David Nicholls. At the risk of sounding like a chronic crank (we were united on this one) don't buy this book. It's awful. The characters are awful and their relationship is even worse. Another $16.95 and six hours I'll never get back.

But Book Club itself was way fun. Kate and I got into a giggle fest that brought me back to high school. Remember when you and a friend would laugh about something and then you just couldn't stop even though whatever sent you off the first place wasn't that funny? I swear I earned an activity point just from laughing.

Ali came home from her Friday sleepover early Saturday afternoon only to be absconded nearly immediately by some neighborhood girls. They flitted from house to house until our neighbor's little girl's birthday party, after which I came home with two extras.

With Ali gone Saturday morning, Jeff and I wandered around the Broad Ripple Farmer's market for an hour. It was beautiful weather and we ran into Duane and Kirsten, so it was even more fun. We finally got back to our happy threesome this afternoon some time.

Growing up in the country like I did, there weren't that many homes with kids my age nearby. Yeah, I was overrun with siblings, but the girls were too much older to really want to hang with me and the boys were, well, boys.

This weekend, I could hear and sometimes see Ali and the girls, all within a few years of each other, as they giggled and joked and ran around like gerbils from this house to that house to back to that one again.

Jeff and I did a little more yard work Saturday, but today the only real activity was a short evening bike ride.

Along the way, I made Weight Watcher's zero-point soup, cleaned the house a bit, did the usual chores and even started a closet purge. Not sure when that project will end. I'm going to call in Jeff for an ugly check.

The way I look at it, I'll have a better chance of keeping the weight off if I have to buy a bunch of new clothes. The guilt (and my cheap gene) will keep me on track if nothing else will...and whether I like to admit it or not, Jeff has a way keener sense of fashion than I do. So I'll end up with a more attractive wardrobe even if I don't buy anything new.

My favorite fitness trainer, Kelsey Taylor, claims she saw some muscular definition in my arm last week, and I could swear one day, also last week, I saw a thigh muscle overtaking a wad of fat in my thigh. I could be wrong. It's not like I'm actually familiar with real fitness yet.

My point is, I'm on the upswing. Maybe. We'll see what Weigh-in Wednesday brings...

My leg needs something to kick

2010-09-13T17:09:00.000-07:00

Alison got off the couch the other day and started repeatedly kicking out her left leg.

She's been taking Tae Kwon do lessons, she had been watching an Invader Zim marathan for a few days in a row (it seemed to me) and she's sometimes fidgety, so it wasn't that unusual.

Then she said, "Hey, Dad. My leg feels like it needs to kick something."

He'd been equally stationary for most of the afternoon deep in replacement window or fantasy football research, depending on when you asked him.

"Oh yeah?" he said, in a fog.

"Yeah. It's been a while since I kicked your butt in Mario Kart."

And it was on.

It had, actually, been a long while since they'd taken a break from their racing addiction. Ali had a long, long record of besting the old man. But she was confident. Some might say cocky.

When he won the first race, she was suprised. When he won the second, she was annoyed. By the end, she was wishing she'd stayed on the couch.

Yesterday morning, I heard noises from downstairs early, but I ignored them and rolled over. Then, I decided I'd go work out rather than laze around and when I came back, they were at it again.

"She practiced," he said glumly.

And so she had. The crown is back on the red head. And they're back to the races.

Saving Susan(s)

2010-09-06T15:00:00.001-07:00

Mother Nature is a bitch and worse, she thinks she is the boss of my yard.

I spent a good portion of the past three days reminding her that there's plenty of greenspace left in the world and she can just keep her nose out of mine.

It's the neighbors' fault, really. Mark and Jerry are going to take down most of the brick wall that separates our yards on the east side of the house. It's leaning. (The wall; not our house.) I wonder how much of that can be blamed on small red head and her gang of assorted fellow urchins who may or may not have used it as a tower to jump from, a balance beam to walk on and a "betcha can't do this" platform.

I'm trying not to wonder so much that I offer to pay for a portion of rebuild. I'll probably just blame Mother Nature. The wall is old. It was here long before we arrived. I'm sure it's not our fault...

Anyway. I have a bed of black-eyed susans that have basked in the shade of that wall for a few years now. Mark warned me that the wall crew comes this weekend. To save the susans, I had to dig them up and move them.

The first wheel barrow full of flowers went to the fence that separates us from the west side neighbor. They'd originally come from her yard years ago, and they've proliferated like crazy in ours. They grew so well, she actually got a little jealous, so a couple of years ago, I dug some up and gave them back to her, planting them alternatively on her side of the fence and then mine, thinking they'd poke through the pickets and be pretty for both of us.

They don't seem to like her yard as well as ours, so I've had gaps on my side this year. It's really been annoying.

I don't have any gaps any more.

The second wheelbarrow of black-eyed susans went to another flower bed across the yard, under the back porch windows. It's the crime scene where my backside was stung by a bee this summer, so I was wary. but I filled in some holes there, too.

On Saturday, I started working on the third wheelbarrow full of flowers but got distracted by the state of my front yard. My good friend Pamela planted some flowers and plants for me after I had Alison. It's filled in nicely, but it's all sort of at war. I moved the Lamb's Ears, which had been languishing as the flox, spikey grass and ground cover tried become lord of the range. We'll see how it does out in the open away from the battleground.

The spiky grass has been bullying the flox from Day 1 but I haven't ever really put the hammer down on the grass. I introduced the ground cover, thinking it would sneak in and choke out the spikes. I spent a good three hours digging out spikes. I relocated a little bit but bagged most of it.

I eventually relocated some flox across the walkway to fill in the areas left bare by the spikey grass eradication. It was bumping up against some other flowers in that bed. Why can't they all just get along?!

Today, I went back to the brick wall and got a third wheel wheel barrow full of susans and put them under the magnolia, and along the shorter end of the brick wall in the front yard. (That end is in good shape and won't be dismantled.) Then, I had to move some ferns that had overrun the stepping stones Ali follows to climb the magnolia.

In between all of that, we made time for a couple of walks, a bike ride along the tow patch and a trip to Lowes where I spent all the birthday money I'd gotten from my Maine family on nine new perinneals to fill in the bed along the driveway.

I told Jeff I was stopping at noon today, but it was probably after one o'clock before the tools were returned and the debris picked up. I stopped counting activity points, but I did allow myself some wine with and after dinner tonight. (I walked during that last glass, so I'm pretty sure I evened it out...)

Earlier, I'd made the mistake of noticing that the lilies of the valley that came with the house were encroaching again. Those things have more crazy roots than I do 5 1/2 weeks before my date with Julie at Ado Hair salon. And like mine, they refuse to stop coming back. It's maddening.

I ended up with four lawn bags full of crap, dead tree root and the remains of the tiger lilies and irises to show for my work.

There are still dozens of black-eyed-susans still along the back yard wall. I think I'm going to see if they can survive the great wall demolition and reconstruction project.

Jeff, who hates yard work, was a great help. Alison not so much. That's not really true. She makes a pretty good waterer, when she's not trying to water me. She even brought me an unsolicited cup of ice water this morning.

She's recently been allowed to subscribe to Moshi Monsters. Actually, seconds after I'd said yes, she'd found my credit card and was subscribing herself. It's been occupying a lot of her time, lately. I'm telling myself that it's educational...

I'm tired of the yard. As for Mother Nature, I think I'd remind her that I saved a bunch of susans this weekend. Surely she can find a better place for all the plants I don't want to see spring up next year...