Let's Swing!

My son loves the swings. I think he would stay on it forever if I let him. When he was a baby, he would be content for hours on the baby swing. He would close his eyes and drift away. One time, he slept almost four hours in the baby swing. I would have to wake him up to eat.

As he has gotten older and finally grown out of the baby swings, he discovered the playground swing. The first time I put him into one, his eyes got big and he grabbed the chains. A huge smile lit up his face. It was like he was saying, "Hey mom, I grew out of that baby swing months ago. Have you been holding out on me?"

Unfortunately, the nearest park with swings is a good 10-minute walk from my house. It only has two of the toddler basket swings. It is a very busy park. Typically, before we get to the park, I'm straining to look through the trees and bushes to see if the swings are occupied. If they are, we head straight to the library. Usually, when we come out, the swings are available.
However, like most places in the Midwest, we have had about two weeks straight of rain. Even if it wasn't raining, it looked like rain. I really didn't want to get stuck out in the rain 10 minutes from my house. So we haven't been going to the park. My son has really been missing his outings. He is so bored of the same toys, over and over again. I try to mix them up, but he does have his favorites.

So my husband decided to build him a swing. We have had this toddler swing a friend gave us some time ago, but we have never had a good-sized tree or porch to hang it on. We thought about hanging it off the aluminum awning here, but I didn't want chance damaging the porch.

We put our heads together, scratched out some rough geometry, and came up with a few plans. A trip to the hardware store and back netted us 6 2x4's and some nuts and bolts. With my husband's hard labor, and my somewhat helpful holding techniques, we managed to put it together in one afternoon.

Before the swing was even up, my son was anxious to get into it. His little legs began pumping as his hands attempted to grab the chains before they were even up. Finally, we plopped his little butt into the seat. The smile on his face was something to see. "All right, Mom," I'm sure he was thinking; "Now I can do this all day long!"

On a final note, he swung and swung and swung, protesting once when I tried to take him out. So Daddy swung him some more. Finally, he put his head down and promptly fell asleep. "This is the life!"

Here's to my husband, and the super fabulous, $38.24 swing set. Now all it needs is a coat of paint.

The BIG Night

Recently, I've been reminiscing about a little thing called Prom. Do you remember your prom night? Dressing up in overpriced duds, driving to the florist to pick up the lovely corsage/buttoner, doing your hair and make up over and over again in front of the mirror as you moan and complain about the brand new zit that just appeared.

Posing with your date while your parents/their parents take thousands of pictures. Driving to the prom, tense with anticipation. The arrival, the gushing over friend’s appearances. The obligatory photo op, pasted grins while posing in front of plastic palms. Sweaty palms as you dance to the newest saccharine love song.

Drinking tropical punch out of plastic cocktail glasses. Playing with the candle wax because you are bored out of your mind, and your date is seriously annoying you. Rolling your eyes as the girls leave like a flock of hens to "powder their noises". The endless gossip in the bathrooms as the girls chat about who is hooking up with whom.

I went to a formal once, I don’t remember if it was the prom or not, with my boyfriend. He annoyed me so much; I broke up with him the next day. My good friend was dating my boyfriends’ twin brother, and the twins took us to a cruddy burger joint called Hot and Now before the big dance. Imagine being all dressed up in fancy clothes and going to a drive through that sold .33-cent hamburgers. They didn’t even have a dining room, and the guys wouldn’t let us eat our budget burgers in the car. They insisted we drive back to my friend’s house, where we dined in style on our cold meal. They only reason we ended up going through the drive through is because they had forgotten to make reservations at the appropriate restaurant.

I actually had a good senior prom. The year was 1994. I went with a dear friend, who I had a massive crush on at the time. We both worked together at Burger King. Mostly on cash, but sometimes in the back. I remember making burgers together. Many high jinks insued.

I asked him to the dance. I did that a lot in high school. I didn't have the patience to wait for the boys to untie their tongues and pop the question. We would talk for hours and hours at work, joke around, and hang out. We would talk for hours on the phone almost every night. He loved Mariah Carey, and I loved the Beatles.

Anyway, the night of the prom, he gave me a dozen roses instead of a crappy corsage. I thought it was the sweetest thing. We went over to his dad's house, and his dad make creepy comments while snapping pictures. His dad was an interesting ex-army guy who at that time was an army recruiter.

We had a great time, and although we never actually dated, we still remain the best of friends. I was talking to him just last night, and he asked me if I remembered the vest he wore to the dance. He thought it was ugly, I thought it matched my dress perfectly. I'll let you decide.

I wanted my friend Eric to be the "maid of honor" at my wedding, but I chickened out, as my husband and I were married in a Catholic church, and I didn't have the balls to ask the priest if it would be okay. Somehow, I didn't think the Priest would go for it. .

Also, I have a picture of my best friends and I at another formal. They will probably kill me for posting this, but I couldn't resist. Besides, doesn't everyone have big hair and dresses on prom day? Remember this is circa 1992-1993. Let me know some memories about your prom!

Fuzzy Little Caterpillar

A fuzzy little caterpillar came to visit me today. Actually, a whole FAMILY of fuzzy little caterpillars came to visit. They brought Mom, Pop, Little Joey, Gramps, and Grandma to dine on my newly planted flowers.
They are taking over my patio. I've almost stepped on them in my bare feet (ick), and they seem to like it under my porch swing in the shade.
Actually, they really aren't that attractive. They have that furry body that you just know is going to send shivers down your spine if one happens to touch you.
I'm living in fear my son will pick one up and chomp on it. "Yum, Mummy, LUNCHTIME!"
Maybe they will turn into a lovely butterfly, or maybe they will be some kind of nasty moth. I really don't know. They better just leave my herb garden alone. I've got plans for that basil.

******UPDATE********

Based on my extensive on-line research, I've determined that the family that has moved in with us is part of the clan "Malacosoma americanum" or Eastern Tent worm. In sudden shocking news, this intrepid researcher has found out that they are a pest! Apparently, they have been evicted from numerous homes for defoliating the landscaping, having loud and noisy parties, and generally loitering on scenic walkways and fruit trees. Once they have all that parting out of their system, they curl up for a long siesta and become nasty moths!
Unfortunately, I have learned that I can't use insecticide to kill them, as this is generally ineffective. So murder seems to be out of the question. Maybe I’ll just ask them quietly to keep the noise down. If that doesn't work, maybe a relocation program may be in order. Click here for more fascinating information about the Eastern Tent Worm.

1st Birthday and Beyond

We celebrated our son's first birthday the other day. We had some good friends visit with their little boy, and hilarity ensued.
The boys had fun playing outside. The picked grass, and my son tried to eat a handful of dirt.
The carrot cake was a big hit. Our son loved the frosting.
For his birthday, he got a rocking horse, which he hasn't quite figured out yet. As long as you’re making it bounce, he's happy. He also got the book Green Eggs and Ham from his Grandpa. It's one of my personal favorites, and I'm sure we will enjoy reading it together.

After our friends left, we were all tired and feel fast asleep. So much for the party! Yawn! Snore!

To see birthday pictures, click here.

Dirty Little Secret

I have a dirty little secret I want to tell you about. You see . . . SOB SOB; I'm addicted to SOAP! No, not the stereotypical stay-at-home mom soap addict who has to watch Guiding Light, Passions, or General Hospital, but the liquid kind that comes in a bottle.

It all started as a child. My parents would only buy generic Suave shampoo, you know the kind, and you have probably bought this brand in the past or have some on your shelf right this moment. The "flavor" my mother preferred was the Strawberry scent. I can still remember the lingering odor of vine ripened, chemically created, juicy pink fruit fantasia.

As a child, we had hair shampoo (not usually conditioner), Lux bar Soap, and Dawn dish soap. My parents could use these soaps to clean anything. For example, stain in your shirt? Use the bar soap to pre treat. Car needs washing? Pull out the Dawn. Floor need mopped, a squirt of Dawn in the mop water would do the trick. If we ran out of shampoo, we used Dawn or Lux on our hair. It would leave my hair feeling like straw and a dry unmanageable mess. I wouldn't recommend it. If we ran out of Dawn, then we used the Suave to wash the dishes!

The funniest use of household chemicals came when my dad tried to make his own car windshield wiper fluid. I believe he used a concoction of Dawn and Bleach. To this day, I don't know why he just didn't spend the .99 cents on a jug of the blue stuff, but I think he was trying to be thrifty. Needless to say, his concoction had disastrous results. It smeared the windshield, leaving it impossible to see out of. This was not helped by the fact that the wipers on our maroon 1982 Ford Escort were probably original to the car. The rubber edges had peeled off, and the sharp pointed edges dug into the glass, making a horrible screeching sound with every pass. This concoction etched the glass, made a soapy nasty mess, and then stained the hood paint. For years after that, I would look at the ruined hood and shake my head. We still tease my dad about this to this day, although sometimes he pretends he doesn't remember!

I expressed my early love of soap by making my own shampoo formulas. When we had hair conditioner (usually also Suave), I would mix it with the shampoo, making my own early shampoo/conditioner formula before the big brands even did this. I think I should be getting some money from somebody!

Once, we moved into a new house that had a dishwasher! Someone in my family put Dawn into it. (Everyone had done this at some time or another I think), and the kitchen was overrun with bubbles. Someone in my family also tried Dawn in the washing machine, with the same results. After that, we actually bought dish soap and laundry soap.

As a child, I think I was a bit of a handful. I remember one time when my mom was punishing me. I was grounded to my room or something. Maybe I was standing in the corner. That was always a big punishment in our house. I was mad, so I took the container of Dawn soap in one hand, and then started yelling, "I hate you, I hate you!" to my mom. I know, I know, it wasn't very nice, but I was a willful child. Before she could do anything, I announced that I was going to punish myself, and squirted the soap in my mouth for "punishment". I don't know if my mom was madder at me for screaming at her, or for being so cheeky with the soap, but needless to say, I was in even more trouble.

So that's where my addiction to soap started. Once I grew up, and started buying my own groceries, it seemed like I couldn't stop buying soap. Especially shampoo. I don't know what it is. I get bored with one brand before it is used up, and then will buy another bottle. I end up with four or five half used bottles kicking around. Then I have to suck it up and finish them before I let myself buy any more.

I think the back of soap bottles actually make interesting reading. For example, the back of my body wash bottle says: "When your skin looks and feels beautiful if shows -- You are radiant. Caress Glowing Touch Body Wash gently cleanses and moisturizes for beautiful, silky soft, glowing skin. The luxurious lather . . . leaves you looking radiant." Wow! It can do all that! Amazing. Forget the tummy tuck and face-lift! Just buy this soap! Also, the name amuses me "Glowing Touch!" I'll let you make the connection! Just remember, you can use sex to sell anything, even soap.

I also have an unhealthy collection of household products. At the moment, I probably have 20 different household cleaners. The problem is, nothing seems to work as well as I want it to. I like my tub spotless, so I have about four different products for that. I have several different kinds of floor soaps, and three different kinds of counter top cleaner. I tend to buy things in big bottles from the wholesale club, because it's a good deal, but then I have these huge bottles hanging around.

Every new soap/household product I have to try. I have two Swifters, a mop, two brooms, and associated laundry products. I'm hopeless!

Finally, I decided that enough was enough. I have put myself on a ban from buying any more soap. I'm not buying another one until it's all used up. It's been six months since my last purchase of household soaps. You know the funny thing? I still have lots left. Maybe I can get out a jug and whip up some windshield washer fluid or some car wash -- or maybe not!

April 2nd, 2006

The daffodils nod their heads with queenly grace,
While Robin's twitter and hop from place to place

The springtime breeze warms the land
While mother nature plots and plans

The trees awake with joyful green
While neighbors start to tend and preen

J Miller 04/02/06

Eventful

We went to visit my husband’s parents this weekend. It was an action packed trip. On the way to their house, we inadvertently drove through a tornado. It started out, as these things do, as a bad rainstorm. It got pretty bad, with driving rain, wind, and hail. The lightening show was brilliant. The tornado went to the north of us. We missed it by maybe 10 minutes. They closed the highway, and we were sitting and sitting in traffic. After about 20 minutes, my husband pulled out a police scanner from the depths of his seat. He proceeded to pull out the instruction book, and they we turned it to the trucker channel. Those truckers are pretty funny. One guy who kept saying "nanoo nanoo" like Mork from Mork and Mindy, and another female trucker was telling everyone how much she wanted to see a tornado.

People started to get out of their cars and walk around, talking on cell phones. I really didn't see how this was going to get the cars moving again, but maybe they just needed to stretch their legs. People started turning around in the muddy median. The guy who was in front of us tried this, and ended up getting stuck in the mud. My husband decided to try it. I was nervous to say the least. I had visions of us stuck in the mud, while carrying a wailing baby. However, his rambunctious sprit paid off, and we made it though the mud. After that, my husband consulted his in car computer GPS unit, and we found an alternate route. 10 minutes later, we were again stopped on yet another closed road. Apparently the tornado had done much damage, and this road was also closed. However, we learned from an official looking gentleman that the main road was now back open. So we proceeded on our way.

Going past the affected area, we say about 10 ambulances, 4 fire trucks, and about 50 cop cars. Pieces of roofing and siding were littering the road. Homeowners where out with flashlights, surveying the damage. It was all very exciting and scary. Check out here for a local article on the storm.

Around the time that we were getting stuck in traffic, my son woke up. He was not happy. He likes the nice vibration of the car, and the road noise. He started crying and crying, nothing was making him happy. Unfortunately, he ended up crying off and on all the way to our destination. Nothing was making him happy. He just wanted his nice bed, not a hard uncomfortable car seat.

Once we got to our destination, we had a nice visit. My son was wide-awake at midnight, entertaining his grandparents with his antics. Finally, we all went to bed, and we all slept like logs.

On Saturday morning, we had an appointment to get my son's haircut for the first time. We packed up the little boy and hauled him over to the family barber. Bruce has been cutting the Miller boys hair since grandpa was a young’ in. My son is the third generation to have his hair cut in this quaint small town barbershop. My son was so good. They sat him up on the genuine barbershop chair on a board they laid across. Daddy held him, and Bruce went to work. SNIP SNIP, the long baby locks came off and reveled a handsome little boy. The little boy was fine until Bruce got out the electric clippers, and then the tears started to fall. He didn't like those at ALL! We got some great pictures.

Later on at Grandma and Grandpa's, we celebrated Grandpa's and my son's birthday. Grandma made the Miller special Red Velvet cake (we make it without the red coloring) with special frosting. My son was so funny. He didn't know if he should eat the cake, or play with it. He eventually decided that it was yummy to his tummy and scarfed it down!

We got home late last night, without running into any storms, and without any tears from the little boy. He was so tired after his eventful day; he slept the whole way home. Oh, blessed quiet! Click here for some other pictures of the weekend.

Springtime and Fancy Feast

A freak springtime snow has hit our area. As you can see, my early springtime daffodils and crocus are not happy. As a result, we are stuck in the house today. It has been so nice, that I have been taking my son on walks in the afternoon to the library or park. He really likes the baby swings. When we go on our walks, he sits up, grabbing the front bar of his stroller. His eyes take it all in, as his head moves back and forth frantically, trying not to miss a thing.

Strangers tend to always comment on babies. We will be in a store, minding our own business, when an elderly grandma, smelling like cabbage and cats, pops out from behind a large display of toilet paper. "What a cutie pie!" She will croak, her blue haired head swooping close to my son's face. His eyes get as big as saucers, and a piercing shriek will soon to fill the air, causing all the other shoppers to give us nasty looks. "Oh my,” The grandma will exclaim, jumping back from the piercing shrieks. "I'm sorry, he is a little shy." I'll say, as the stranger will scamper back to her cart filled with Fancy Feast and cat litter.

Yes, I am exaggerated just a little bit. But you get my point, right?

Speaking of cats, my son has a fascination with a friend’s cat; Louie is a solidly built older cat, who loves to lie around the house. I've never really seen Louie too much, except when my son is around. The two seem to have an attraction to each other. Louie will lurk behind a table, peaking out at the strange human who has invaded his area. My son will catch a glimpse of him, and then scampers as fast as his little knees will carry him towards "IT". Luckily, I've managed to grab him before it's too late. I have visions of him actually grabbing the cat and trying to put him in his mouth like the stuffed animals he loves to chew on. I can only guess that the cat would be very unhappy with this, and decide to use those claws and fangs he has at his disposal.

Here is a picture of the little rascal I took this morning. He was trying to grab the camera. As you can see, he's not going hungry. The other night, he ate 4 jars of baby food for dinner, and then had some Cheerios for desert. He has a bit of an appetite. For a few other pictures, click here.

St. Patricks Day

I forgot it was St. Pat’s day this year. I am so boring. We had dinner at a friend’s house last night. They made spaghetti. I brought strawberries and pound cake, with lots of whipped cream. I have a weakness this time of year for this desert. I don't know what it is. I could eat the entire cake. My son was making a pig out of himself with his 2nd dinner of the evening. He was stuffing that spaghetti so fast into his mouth; you could barely see his hands.

I didn't even have anything green to drink. I did have a glass of really cheap pink zinf, which I don't usually drink because it's so sweet and cheap, but I was feeling nostalgic for the good old college days when I would drink just about anything. Penny beer (swill that a bar named Hoops sold to poor college students), Boones Farm (Sangria was my favorite), Apple Pucker, and train wreck punch.

I like to think I have a more sophisticated palate now. My favorite wine is a nice Australian Pinot Gringo. Old habits die-hard though, and every now and again I have a craving for some Zima with a jolly rancher stuck in it.

My parents weren’t all that keen on my libations while I was in college. One time, my mother and my brother dropped by my studio apartment. I had a case of Zima in the fridge, and knew my mother would disapprove. So I did the only thing I could think of, I hid the Zima under my bed like the chicken that I am. So, as we where sitting there chatting, my brother caught sight of hidden beverages under the bed skirt. "What's that?" He asked, pointing out the bright blue and white box.

I was busted. At least they didn't find my Jolly Rancher stash. I don't like to share the sour apple. There all mine! Muhahahah!

Cover Girl

Some of the girls from my MOPS group invited my son and I to a play date. For all those uninitiated, a play date consists of 4-6 children who scream, shriek, and jump around for a few hours in the basement while the parents huddle upstairs with brownies and tea while attempting to share conservation.
As this was primarily younger children, I had hopes that it wouldn't be so crazy. No such dice. Upon arrival of all the participants, the noise level rose to insane decibels and the toys began to fly.
My son is very sensitive to new things. In fact, he would rather we just sit at home all day and play with his toys in peace. When he saw all these new faces, he broke down sobbing uncontrollably, hiding his face in my jacket.
The host wanted to know if he would be okay in the basement with the other kids. Umm, no, sorry. All it takes is for another kid to look in the general direction of my son, and he can't handle it. So we put him on the floor in the room, gave him some blocks, and he was moderately happy.
Then the fun began. I was asked before we came if I wanted a Mary Kay facial. Umm, no, thanks. The last time I did Mary Kay, my face became redder than a grape tomato with a sunburn, I swelled up, and then went into an asthma attack. Needless to say, I'm not that anxious to do that again.
So the consultant set up these cute little workstations with mirrors and passed out tons of samples. She told me that I could try the stuff on my hand, which I did. It was a good thing I did, because my hand did turn red.
As we went through the program, I got a sense about how out of touch I am with makeup. All the girls were talking about their favorite concealers and foundation. The consultant asked one girl if she was an Ivory 100, and the girl replied, "No, I'm a Beige 300." Since I didn't put it on my face, I never got to find out what color I am. I bet its Tomato Red 100.
Then we did the eyes and lips. I felt safe doing the special "Satin Lips" treatment. During this process, the girls were talking about all their wrinkles and the various techniques they use to cover their flaws up. I was starting to get nervous. I mean, I have those unsightly dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. I've also started to notice a few lines here and there. I began to wonder if I was missing out. Maybe it was time for me to bite the bullet and make make-up a daily part of my routine.
I have never really worn makeup. I do have some, tucked away in my vanity. For special occasions, I'll pull it out and put it on. I think the last time I made myself up was my wedding. Or maybe a special dinner out with friends. It's not often, I'll tell you that.
If it weren’t for my Grandma Jane, I probably wouldn't even know how to put on makeup. She lived with us briefly when I was 16. She was the kind of woman who always looked like a million dollars. She would dress up just to sit around the house. She would find these fantastic dress suits at garage sales and thrift shops. I don't know how she did it. When I go into a thrift store, all I see is rotten clothes, but she had a knack for finding things. She took me aside, and showed me the basics of face application.
I guess the reason I don't use make-up is because I am who I am. A few wrinkles don't really bother me. I figure it's just the price we pay for living on this earth.

***********
In other news, my son thinks he is a cat. He'll stuff toys and socks into his mouth and crawl around the room with the item stuck in his mouth. I think it is hysterical. His socks get all sopping wet. He protests when I take them away and put dry socks on him. Click here for more sock in mouth pics!