Tales of a Shoebox Princess

It is done. Creative Writing is history. I just submitted my final assignment! BIG OL' SIGH OF RELIEF! Too bad I haven't yet received a grade on my poetry assignment. Hopefully that will come in the next week and a half (so slowwwwwwwwwwwww). Then soon after a grade for this final unit (short story final revision and discussion of what I learned in the course) and with that, A FINAL GRADE. Now with THAT monkey off my back, two more are waiting to get on. I just got my textbook for my humanities class in the mail. I'll start tomorrow. I've done enough today.

Well, not MAJOR major, but cool anyway. My friend, Stephanie (she's not just an imaginary blog friend--I've actually been to her house) (she's also very intelligent and funny. Read her blog: Diapers and Divinity. It's on my blog roll) had a haiku contest. I just had to try my bad haiku writing skills and entered. Check it out ! And vote! (I won't be mad if you don't vote for me. But I might go cry in my room. Very quietly so you won't hear)

My serger broke again. It was the FIRST time I used it since it broke last time (and suffered for three weeks without it) and another piece broke off of it not 10 minutes into working on a project. I wasn't even able to finish the one item I was working on even though it was just a quickie thing (shorts for Hayley). ARRRGH! I can tell you that I'm NOT taking it back to the place I had it fixed last time. They weren't very good in communicating with me. Several (all of them) messages on their business voicemail went unanswered. Sergei, you betrayed me! I won't be able to trust you ever again!

I signed up for TWO more college courses today. I'm almost finished with Creative Writing (My goal is to have it ALL submitted by this weekend) and I am two years behind my goal for finishing the program, so I need to hustle some buns here. The courses are Humanities 202 (I'm confident that I can finish this class by October, if I really buckle down on it) and Scottish History and Family Research. This Scottish history class has a research paper thrown in as one of the assignments, but with the help of my dad, who a) works as a genealogist at the local Family History library and b) is of Scottish descent (thanks, Grandma Hawley!) I think I can do this with minimal loss of sanity, brain function, and hair (as in tearing out of). My goal for finishing that class will be...um...November? (I'm mentally lobbing darts at a calendar) Pray for me. Support me. Forgive me for not having a clean house, for being hermetic, for not volunteering to be more helpful, for always yapping

The paper-less society has been talked about for years. Computers were supposed to replace the need for paper as a communication storage device, but it has taken much longer than I thought it would. And I find I'm not all that fond of a totally paper-free existence. I'm talking specifically about report cards. I miss them. Our district went electronic this last trimester for middle school and high school and I almost forgot about them. Had it not been for an email alerting us that Hayley's grades were now posted on the website (the site is secure and individually password-protected, so NO, you can't go check out how well my children did in school this past year). I miss the excited dash for the mailbox on the day the report cards (although they haven't been "cards" in a while, they've been report "regular sheets of paper" since my children have been in school) were supposed to arrive. I miss the huddling 'round the kitchen table wh

Other Jim* is home from EFY. He had a great time, calling it "the best place ever" (and making me a little sad that home isn't his most favorite place--I guess I'm not that great of a mom. He further wounded me by disagreeing with the missionaries, who we had over for dinner last night, when they said that yes, he would miss his mother when he leaves for a mission. Just kill me now. Sniff!). And he added his proof that it's a small world in the church. One of the guys in his group at EFY was a piano student of my mother's. So now Other Jim WANTS to go to grandma's house whenever he can this summer so he can bike over to Tyler's house and hang out. *Other Jim is what I have decided to call Jimmy instead of Jimmy. Other Jim is now Jim at school and work, but if we call him Jim at home, mass confusion will ensue, destabilizing what little control I have over my brain. So I will call him Other Jim (when I remember. Otherwise, I'll probably end

I just loaded a bunch of pictures onto the computer. This is what you get when children steal your camera for their own nefarious purposes: Lots and lots of pictures of Star Wars Lego machines and characters. Then this is what you get when something funny happens (say that Paul didn't know what Jimmy was making) and you think you can squeeze a blog post out of it and then you forget. You have a picture of chocolate pudding that Paul thought was a)frosting, b)Hamburger Helper, and c)ketchup. Jimmy laughed at him for a long time for not knowing it was pudding. This is what you get when your son Jimmy convinces you to take several pictures of water streaming from the faucet because he says it'll look cool. You get pictures of a really dirty sink (how did THAT happen???) that you have to crop so the filthiness doesn't show, because the water droplets really do look cool. This is what you get when you really like flowers and can't stop taking pictures of them. Purple! This

I LOVED Up.

I'm in a foul mood. I used to wonder why my mom used to say that she really wanted to become a hermit. Now I understand. I would love to go into full hermit mode and be totally antisocial (this does not include family. I'll always like to talk to family and do things with them). But instead I'm going to go to a movie. I'm taking my youngest two plus a friend of theirs that I invited, Hermit mode doesn't include this particular friend either because he plays well with both Hayley and Matt and therefore enables my hermitic (eremetic?) desires by keeping them out of my hair. The movie? Up in 3D. Yes, I am finally going to see it. I'm generally not a person who has to see a movie the MINUTE it comes out, especially if it's going to be a blockbuster hit. Crowds and I don't get along so well. Maybe that's not quite it; I guess I just don't mind waiting. If I can avoid the hoopla and excitement, I will. I like a nice quiet half-empty theater

And we started the summer off by shipping Jimmy off to EFY* in St. Peter. One down, three to keep occupied. Jimmy will be gone a week and has every intention of having a good time, despite the potential dangers of sharing a room with a kid (a friend from church) who has spent the weekend being sick. Cross your fingers and knock on wood. Then after dropping Jimmy off at the friend's house (they are all riding to St. Peter together) I loaded up the remaining children and we spent an educational two hours at the science museum learning about the Titanic. Some things I learned from the movie/exhibit: I don't think I'll ever be a Jacques Cousteau-type person. Even a movie about a submersible makes me claustrophobic. If I ever do go down in a submersible, I will try not to sit so that an old man's face takes up my entire scope of vision. This particular old man had a veritable forest in his nose. And they sweat a lot when going down in a submersible designed to explore o

I can take summer only a week at a time. Next week will be a very good one since I don't babysit and somehow outside forces have not pestered me to schedule a lot of non-family events in my calendar. If I can help it, I will be saying no to any requests to do things with people other than Paul, Hayley, Matt or Jim. Jimmy will be gone for the week and Katie has been whooping it up in Vegas and will probably need a nap when she gets back home (which of course, won't be til July anyway). So far, the kids and I will be checking out Titanic at the science museum, seeing a matinee, mini-golfing at an arty golf course, and berry-picking somewhere. (Yes, Katie we will go back to the Titanic exhibit when you visit) Maybe we'll take in the Como Zoo too (Marissa, Owen, Steph, Kayla, Anna, Dylan, and Maya--would any of you be up for a Thursday or Friday Como Zoo outing?) I can't believe I have another senior in the house now. Jimmy is officially nearly done with public educat

The last day of school is here. We're getting out a lot later than other schools, and the kids have been chomping at the bit. But it's here, and as usual, I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand (the good things): no more making sure the kids are up. The big boys have done a wonderful job of getting themselves up early every morning so I never worried about them, but Hayley was a bit of a layabout and sometimes Matt had to be muscled out of bed. no more big school projects to worry about. No more last-minute requests for posterboard, money, paints, craft items, or special snacks that caught me off guard. no more homework to distract the children from helping with the housework/meal preparation :) no more paper piling up on my kitchen counters--no more health forms, permission slips, lunch menus, advertisements for after-school classes, letters regarding sports, etc time is now mine to do fun things with the kids (if I don't babysit that day--next week I'm to

Did you miss me? I'm focusing my attention on poetry right now (and I've forgotten to bring my camera to post-worthy events) so I haven't had the energy (or pictures) to post. I didn't blog about the track banquet (Paul got his letter for track and got his Sub-5 club t-shirt)and...well, that was about it, really. Last night was the end-of-the-year Carillon Children's Choir concert, which I accompanied. It went well. And it was Hayley's last time; she's 12 and now too old. This is what I've been doing in my blog-absence. I've been practicing my accentual-syllabic verse-writing skills. 1. 2 lines of anapestic trimeter verse (BOLDed syllables are where the stresses are) From the BED to the WINdow it FLOATS On a BREEZE from some LAUGHing wee STOATS 2. Rhyming couplet in iambic pentameter he CALLED my NAME from UNderNEATH the TREE "come HOLD my HAND and SAY you LOVeth ME 3. Tercet with an aba rhyme scheme in iambic pentameter i MOPPED the FLOOR

This is sort of related to cute therapy (scroll down to the last picture), which my sister recently needed. I need a little prettiness therapy today. My house is not under attack from the rain, as my sister's was; I'm just a little on the sniffly side today (and not in the "I think I'm getting a cold" way). I could whine and moan about it, but I don't want sympathy comments. Or any "you are loved" comments. So this is what I use to make me feel better when there is no one around to be my friend (I could be in a room full of people I know--who aren't related to me genetically and maritally--and still have no one around to be my friend). The oak tree in my front yard. Who couldn't be heartened by the cute baby acorns? My little spruce tree with new needles. I like to pet them while the new needles are still soft and pliable. Pea plants hugging the little trellis! If I stood by the pea plants long enough, they'd hug me. Baby carrots!

In keeping with the theme of embarrassment this week, I just want to say publicly: Mother, I am deeply sorry that, as a teenager, I ever despised going out in public with you while you were wearing your kerchief (all my siblings know of what I speak--the brown, faintly cordouroy-ish triangle with a brown floral pattern on the reversible side which was tied together by some sewed-up bias tape?). I am sorry I ever grumbled with embarrassment at having to walk within 50 feet of you while you wore it in Dayton's at Ridgedale while shopping for designer jeans. I have learned the error of my ways. Kerchiefs are not evil destroyers of the public image or reputation of teenaged daughters; they are workers of good at every turn. I have worn a kerchief, and in public! And despite thinking that they make my face look fat! With much repentance of my childish and ignorant ways regarding kerchiefs (but not regarding those Bass shoes), your daughter Who now wears kerchiefs (or babushkas, depe

I've written about my attempts at biking before ( here and here ). But it's late spring and therefore, it's time to start writing about biking again, and we all know that writing about biking is much better than actually biking, don't we? Because... Today I got up and thought, "It's been awhile since I rode the bicycle for the purpose of exercise or any other purpose! I should get out there right now and utilize the bike I got for free right now!" (no, I don't actually think like that. My thoughts exactly were probably more like: "(picture of me being fat), (picture of a bike), (picture of me being slightly less fat)." Never mind that biking has never actually made me less fat--or any other activity--my brain refuses to believe that it is physically impossible for me to lose weight. And so I keep trying) So as soon as Matt went off to school (heaven forbid he should be within 50 yards of me when I get on a bike!), I stuffed my non-bi

Eyelid swelled up good this weekend. Doctor thought it was allergies. Turned out it was a stye. I lanced it myself because I couldn't stand to have the thing swell up any bigger. Sorry, no pictures. And so I sit here thinking about how non-eventful life has been since Saturday, barring the eyelid swelling. Which did cause me a little embarrassment, but not in the way one might think. No, I was not embarrassed about the Quasimodo eye (yes, my left eye looked just like Quasi's left eye), I was embarrassed because of what happened when I went to Urgent Care. I brought my knitting because you never know just how long you'll have to wait. So there I was, knitting and knitting, while half listening to some silly infomercial about cooking omelettes and stuffed french toast, and the nurse called my name. I jumped up and trotted to the door. I got half way into the assessment room when I noticed I was being followed by a long line of yarn. I had dropped my yarn ball back