Tell A Tall Tale

I am so happy! I just finished my book.
And it is sooooo cool!

When I was little I had this book called Tell A Tall Tale. It was my favorite book for years and years—I played with it all the time.  Now, in my dotage, I've been fondly reminiscing on those golden years of my childhood, affectionately thinking of the beloved playthings from days gone by. 

Well, not really. 

But this book has been on my mind  recently (for several months) because one day it occurred to me that I could make a book just like it.  So I did it.  About four months ago I gave the story formula to my family and asked them for some ideas.  Then I tweaked their stories, wrote some of my own, illustrated them all, scanned them onto the computer, had them printed, and put my little book together. 

a few of the pages

Cute, I think. But what makes this book really fun (and another item for my North Pole Toys store)  is that it is a puzzle, too.

I just finished it this afternoon, and my kids have already been playing with it a lot. :-)  Yay! It makes me happy!

Uh-oh, Spaghettios!

Bruce and I haven't had health insurance in years.  I'm not complaining; just stating a fact.  So last week I took advantage of SLCC's Student Clinic and had a physical.  I had a physical, a pap test (oh, hooray), and some blood labs done.  I was a big girl and I did not cry.

Anyway, they called me with the results of my blood tests yesterday.  Everything looks very good—all normal and healthy . . .

. . . except that my cholesterol is high, my bad lipids are high and my good lipids are low. :-(

I am not terribly surprised by this.  Actually, I wasn't surprised at all—I am slightly overweight, not super active (you know . . . outside of being a mom and full-time student), and have been going through a phase of craving—and indulging in—rich foods for the last eight months or so.  Nothing is "you are a prime candidate for a heart attack tomorrow morning" high.  It's more like, "Keep an eye on this and fix it before it gets bad" high.

>sigh<

OK then.  I can do that.

I told my family yesterday that if I gotta do it, then they gotta do it!  So it's limited red meats (doable), limited eggs (which I don't especially love anyway), and limited dairy (with which I have spasmodic love-affairs—except for ice cream, which is an ongoing affair). Plus we need more veggies and fruits (which I really love but never eat enough of), and more whole grains and brown rice, etc. (which I also really love), and more seafood (which I love discriminately). And less salt, but I don't use much salt when I'm cooking anyway—except on French fries, which are mostly a no-no. That doesn't seem so bad. The trouble is that my kids are getting older and gaining some kitchen skills and they frequently make yummy treats (like two to three times a week), and I'm supposed to cut back on that stuff, too.  Oh, sad day.

Well like I say, if I gotta do it, then they gotta do it.  Sweet treats once a week. And who knows?  Maybe I'll lose a few pounds along the way.  :-)

8:20 p.m. All right.  I've been to ballet class tonight; it's the first night we dressed for class.  I was right—I am probably the only one who's had as much ballet training as I have had.  The teacher knew my name by the end of class.  But I don't know if that makes up for my body.  Bleaaagh.  I feel like that ballerina-hippo from Disney's Fantasia.  >sigh<

So, I embark on another a new adventure! We'll see how this goes.

The Real Spring Lineup

OK.  This is really it; I have run out of time to make any more class changes.  I am really taking:

Pattern Alteration and Fit:  taking commercial patterns and making them fit a real body before you cut them out and sew them.  I will be altering and sewing two patterns for myself.

Jewelry Making:  as it says. Next Wednesday I am making a ring (a silver band).  Which finger should I make it to fit?  I'm thinking my right thumb. ;-)

Intro. to Ballet:  I went to this class last night; it was kind of disconcerting to walk into a class full of tall, thin kids who are all twenty years younger than me.  But as we watched some videos and talked about ballet a little, I realized that I probably know more than 99% of the class.  They may look better, but I will dance as well as they do, and maybe better than some. (That's really bad of me, isn't it?)

Draping:  learning to make a pattern by draping and pinning fabric over a figure to make a piece of clothing, and then taking that draped garment and making a pattern out of it.  And guess what?  I get to work with Georgianna again—my dress form from last spring!  Isn't that happy news?

So there we are. For real. And I think it will be OK.

Georgianna, the bejewelled, ballerina dress-form

Retreat, Retreat!

Yesterday I went to my Nutrition class for the first time.

Today I dropped that class like a hot brick.

First of all it was scheduled for my very worst time of day—
1 pm to 4 pm.  I've had classes from 1:00 to 4:00 before, and even though I am always very tired and suffering through the after-lunch-blahs at this time of day, I've gotten through them. So I figured I could handle this.  Nope.

At this bad, bad time of day I cannot go sit through a three hour, slightly scientific lecture that was intended for nursing students and not your average Joe Student.  And when that lecture mostly consists of watching a power-point slideshow and having the teacher read the slides . . . 
After 45 minutes my brain fell out and started rolling around on the floor. By 3:00 I was watching the clock anxiously. 

3:00.  Dang, one more hour!

3:01.  That's all? Really?  Oh, maaaannn!

3:01:46  Still only 3:00?!

Yes, I beat a very hasty retreat!  Instead I am going to take a ballet class. :-)

Here we go again . . .

School starts tomorrow. 
This semester's lineup is: 
Jewelry (making)—not part of the fashion major but it should be, don't you think? 
Fundamentals of Nutrition
Draping
Cardio Fitness
and Genealogy. 

Maaayybee Fashion Illustration, too.  Right now that class is full, and it's from 7 to 9 p.m. on Wednesdays anyway, which would be an extremely difficult time (which is why I didn't sign up for it in the first place).  So I might see if I can get into it, and I might just forget it until later.  But if I do wait I might end up having to take it in the summer, which would totally stink.  We'll see.

Anyway, wish this burned-out chick Luck!

Give a Dog a Bone

I have a Tucker dilemma . . .

Over the last month or so Tucker and I have been having a battle of wills.  Sort of.
At first I wasn't sure that's what was happening, but now I think that's what it is, and it all started around Thanksgiving. 

Those of you who think I totally hate Tucker should be pleased to hear that he frequently benefits from my exploits in the kitchen. When I'm cooking I often toss him a scrap of cheese, a bit of gristly meat that we people wouldn't want, a little bit of egg, etc—but only things I know a dog should eat and would be fairly good for him (unlike my kids who've been known to toss him a bit of pocket-lint and then laugh while he snarfs it up).  In fact, I've done this often enough that whenever I go into the kitchen he will now go sit on the top of the stairs and watch me hopefully until I leave the kitchen again.  Sometimes he does the cute dog-face thing; sometimes it works out for him, sometimes not.

About Thanksgiving time . . .   See, every time I cook a turkey—after we've carved it and had our turkey feast, and then had turkey sandwiches for the next day or two—I take the carcass and boil it up to make turkey soup.  After about three hours of boiling, any bits of meat that were left on the bird will come off easily and you have a fabulous, delicious broth, too.  Yum!  So this Thanksgiving, as always, I cooked my broth, strained it, and saved the meat off of the bones for the soup.  And, as always, there was a lot of skin and cartilage left over.  And, as I often do, I gave those things to Tucker.  So on that particular night Tucker got enough turkey to fill his dog dish generously—since he hadn't eaten his regular meal yet, I thought I'd let him have a turkey-goo dinner.  And boy, did he love it!

Well a week or so after Thanksgiving I noticed that Tucker wasn't so keen on eating his dog food.  This is the exact. same. food we've been buying ever since we got him a couple years ago—the same food he practically inhales with his entire back end wagging for the whole five seconds it takes him to eat it.  The same food he searches the floor so carefully for after he's emptied his bowl.  Weird.  But I remembered that when we first got him he did express a distaste for the very first brand of dog food we ever bought—wouldn't touch it (we returned it and got a different brand). So maybe he was tired of his regular brand now.  ??  When it ran out, during the first week of December, I bought a different brand.   Again, he nibbled at it, but didn't really eat much.  At first I didn't really notice . . .  the holidays, you know.

Tucker drops one ball, and waits expectantly for Brandon to throw the next one.

But when I told the kids to feed him one morning and their answer was, "He still hasn't eaten his food from yesterday morning," I took notice.  For the next two weeks Tucker would not eat his dog chow. I consider dogs to be pretty much the biggest gluttons I've ever seen (next to humans—humans know better than to overeat or eat stuff that's bad for them; dogs don't).  So, yeah, I worried when our dog wasn't eating his food.  I kept an eye on him.  He wasn't losing weight, he wasn't vomiting or having diarrhea, he was still bright-eyed and playing ball with the kids, and he was still begging mightily for—and gobbling up—anything I'd toss his way.  I wondered, "Is he sick?  He doesn't seem sick.  Did he swallow a sewing pin during one of his floor scavenging sessions?"  Worrisome.


I contemplated Tucker's behavior throughout the Christmas celebrations; he seemed perfectly healthy except for the not eating thing.   I  knew that he was getting more scraps and leftovers than usual, but I didn't think they amounted to two whole doggy meals each day.  Or did they?  Then I noticed something else:  Bruce tossed about five teeny-tiny bits of ham in with Tucker's food one day (seriously, not one of them was bigger than about a quarter inch).  And Tucker very meticulously licked out the ham and left all the rest of his dog food there.  Hmm.  Could Tucker be on some kind of a hunger strike?

"Here, eat your food, Tucker!"
(he didn't)

No!  Not a dog!  I kept watching him, but I also decided to dig in my heels—no. more. scraps!  But last Friday he was looking so pathetic, and I was worried enough about him not really eating in such a long time, that I gave him the scraps of spaghetti that my girls hadn't finished that night.  Sure enough, he snarfed it up, wagging his entire back end, in about five seconds.  And he wasn't sick afterward, either.  So I really did dig in my heels:  NO more scraps.  Period.  I stuck it out for the whole weekend, and so did he.

On Monday he was just annoying me.  He still refused to eat, and he was moping around the house giving me pathetic, sad dog-face all day, and begging, begging, begging (even though his dish was full of clean, "fresh" dog-food).  The very last straw came when he started licking my hand every time I walked by.  Eeeeeeewww!  Ugh! I've been kissed by a dog! I have dog germs! Get hot water! Get some disinfectant! Get some iodine!

The weather being unseasonably warm, I sent him out to the garage. After a while we let him back in the house.  And guess what?  After about an hour of good behavior, he went right over and ate up his dog food without any fuss.  And he's been eating it ever since.

The dilemma?

I just boiled up some beef ribs to make a nice broth for tomorrow.  There's really nothing to them but cartilage and connective tissue—just some nice, big bones that a dog would love.  Should I give him one or not?

2011 and 2012

Well, it's another new year.  I am not sorry to see 2011 go away, but it wasn't a bad year, either.

In 2011 I started my second semester of school.  The 2010 fall semester was where I warmed my toes; in 2011 I jumped straight into the fire.  But I learned some good things, and survived my three semesters of 2011.  I have almost maintained a 4.0 grade average (that icky algebra class killed it with an A minus).  I still don't know if I'll pursue this all the way to an associate's degree; I am strictly taking it one semester at a time.

The craziness of going to school and being a mom, and just life in general, led me to go on strike in March of 2011.  My kids still don't always see a mess and clean it up, but they are much, much better at doing a job—and doing it well—when asked.  They are also learning to cook.  And, when I've had classes that kept me at school when they were getting home from school, I could always count on Jason to get everyone home, and count on all of them to straighten up the house and get dinner started before I got home.

Our work/financial situation in 2011 was a trial—but this is nothing too new.  (Soon after we bought our house in 2000 Bruce lost got laid off from his job, and we have truly struggled to make ends meet ever since.)  Last year Bruce worked part-time for Hartvigsen School—a school for special-needs children, usually severely physically or mentally handicapped kids.  Bruce loves working with people, and he does very well in teaching situations, but the pay . . . you know, school pay and part time . . .  

Bruce also worked part time for Office Depot.  In March a friend called him with the offer of a sales job that looked very promising; unfortunately, it would be seasonal work and out of state.  We considered it:  the job at Hartvigsen would end in about five weeks, and Office Depot had no intention of giving him more than about ten hours a week. We went with a prayer and a gut feeling and sent him away to Colorado Springs on April 10—Easter Sunday, and my birthday. Two weeks later he went to Indianapolis, Indiana.  After a miserable eight weeks of separation, little pay, and much more prayer, Bruce decided he should really come back home to pursue a masters degree in a field he loves.  To pay the bills, he immediately took another sales job, but it didn't really pan out either; we earned about $1200 for the entire summer. After searching for anything better, he finally got a job with Convergys (a call center) in September.  The company is kind of stupid, and the pay is too low (but we're kind of used to that), but he loves working with people on the phones and helping them. Best of all, Convergys will reimburse his school tuition—he is taking a few pre-requisites this year, and will be pursuing his master's degree in marriage therapy soon. Yay!

The kids were as amazingly awesome as ever!  In 2011 Jason got his driver's license—the freedom from having to run every. single. errand. all. by. myself  far outweighs the trauma of teaching a kid to drive.  Maybe it's like labor and delivery vs.actually holding your baby; the baby makes you kind of forget how awful it was. ;-)  (OK.  I actually refused to go driving with him for the first two months, and after that he wasn't bad at all.)  Lindsey started high school in 2011 and she is doing very well.  Jason perfoms in the school band and Jazz Band, and he and Lindsey were in the school musical (Jason with the orchestra, and Lindsey with the chorus).  Brandon was also in his school's musical; Ryan and Brandon both ran for student office last year.  Kaylie, Rachel and Jessica remain in the tops of their classes in reading, and are great students anyway.  Michael got a job at Convergys at the same time as Bruce did, and has helped us a lot.  He's been thinking of going on a mission.

my amazingly awesome family

Things can be hard for us sometimes—just like anyone—but, you know, it's not so bad; in fact, it's good.  Over all I am happy, I like what I do, I like my family and the things they do.  We all enjoy excellent health; we are glad to be together, and we are optimistic.

And now it's 2012, a new year.  The time we resolve to do so many great things and then never do them.  We may start out with a bang, but it's often very short-lived.  I'm no different from anyone else.  I can't help feeling, at this time . . . or thinking, anyway, of things I want to accomplish. But I also feel a little foolish and even a little discouraged about setting goals when I remember past years' resolutions that fell so quickly to the wayside.

However, in spite of all that, I do have goals for this new year.  I'm not going to make them public—this year they are all mine.  Just a few, but they are good ones (I'm not planning to become a Mistress of Evil this year, or anything like that).  But how to get motivated and remain motivated?  Sometimes this seems beyond my own power.  To figure that out, learn to tap into the strength to really change—this is what I want 2012 to be about.  I think that, perhaps, that is my real goal. 

And, yes, I am optimistic.

Happy New Year!