Here are the things I used to do:

1) Ride my bicycle long distances and then camp by the side of the road. When I was 14, I rode with my stepmom, brother and sister to San Francisco–from Seattle. We boarded a bus in San Francisco and headed south past Los Angeles, all the way to San Diego. On that trip, we went to Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Universal Studios, and the San Diego Zoo. I haven’t been back to California–other than the airport, since.

2) Ride on airplanes. When I was 16, I flew to Tahiti with a group of teenage girls for a 10 day stay. We were purportedly helping missionaries, but I think we were more trouble than help. But oh, what a blast! I received letters from a Tahitian boy named Jean-Claude for a long time after my return home. In French. Which I used to be able to read fluently.

When I was 17, I flew to Jamaica on another missions trip. Unfortunately, by then, my authority-questioning had begun and I was again, more trouble than help. I climbed a waterfall and rode in a Jeep to the heart of the island. When I left, I spent a frightening night alone in the Miami airport when my flight was rescheduled.

I flew to Florida with my husband before we had children. We stayed with our rich friends in their rich parents’ luxurious home. We rode on their yacht and swam in their pool. We fished in the deep blue sea and grilled the fish for dinner.

3) Move. I used to move a lot. I left the Pacific Northwest for college in Springfield, Missouri when I was 18. My dad put me on a Greyound bus–yes, that would be 4 days, 3 nights–when I left for school. During college, I had various summer jobs–one summer, I was a nanny in Branson, Missouri. The next two summers, I worked in Charlotte, North Carolina. During my breaks, I visited New York City, Boston, Rochester (New York), Philadelphia, Birmingham, Alabama, Kansas City, Wichita, and Tulsa.

After I was married, we lived in New Haven, Connecticut and Troutdale, Oregon, and Atlanta, Michigan.

4) Highlight my hair. I fought for many years to remain blond. I put my trust in colorists from Portland to Kansas City to Gaylord, Michigan, to Seattle. I found one I truly loved, one who made housecalls and made me look “natural.”

5) Sleep in.

6) Buy shoes. I shopped for shoes whenever I had the chance. I matched clothes to shoes, instead of the other way around. I used to wear a pair of pink Chuck Taylor Converse shoes. I had a pair of hot pink and deep periwinkle ballet flats. I wore heels. My feet used to hurt from my shoes.

Now, I have children. I no longer travel, fly in airplanes, sleep in hotels, move, visit other cities, color my hair or wear shoes that hurt. By the time my baby girl reaches kindergarten in 2008, I will have been living with babies and/or preschoolers for 15 years. My husband jokes that we missed the Family Planning Class.

Some day, I’ll have something interesting to discuss with other adults. When I leave the house, I won’t have to change my shirt because I have a booger smeared on it. I just might–maybe–fly on an airplane again and even have a layover long enough to read a whole “People” magazine. I might even relearn how to walk in high heels.

In the meantime, I’ll live vicariously through other journals and novels. In my spare time.

My husband’s taking the week off. Unfortunately, I’m not. It’s Spring Break. I also have DaycareKid Monday through Thursday as usual. And the laundry doesn’t take a day off and for some reason, my family wants to eat every single day. Which reminds me that I still haven’t put the stew into the crockpot, so what will we have for dinner tonight?

Funnily enough, my husband has gone to his office twice so far this morning, taken three phone calls from church people and has left the house to run errands.

He plans to take the kids bowling after lunch. Then, hopefully, the babies will sleep and the house will be quiet.

The kids never did notice that we didn’t dye Easter eggs. I can’t believe I made it through a holiday with no preparations whatsoever. And those Easter bunnies I bought on Saturday night have been completely forgotten. I should have just used the chocolate bunnies from 2003 that are still in my laundry room cupboard. No, I am not kidding.

The most glorious thing happened this morning. My baby did not wake up until after 8:30 a.m., so I slept in! I woke up, realized it was morning, rolled over and slept more. Then repeated that again and again. Oh, the beauty, the joy, the uncommon luxury of sleeping in!

Then, things got crazy. Well, not crazy-insane-admit-me-to-the-loony-bin, but crazy-hurry-we’ve-got-to-get-ready-to-go.

I showered, attempted to dry my hair straight and was confronted with the fact that it’s too long and too unruly to be straightened anymore. I think it is curlier now than ever before. Anyway, finished getting ready, fed the baby and told her we were going to go somewhere. She took me quite literally and walked to the front door. I handed her a waffle and took her for a fifteen minute ride while my husband showered and hollered at the kids to comb their hair and get ready. I assume he hollered, anyway. Who knows? Happily, I was meandering through the neighborhoods in my town, checking out houses and yards and lilac bushes and the controversial building site on the water where a man is attempting to circumvent my town’s stringent building codes.

My lilac bush has not yet bloomed because it’s mostly in the shade. But next week, for sure, it will bloom.

The kids have not adjusted to spring at all. Especially spring days like today where the temperature is 75 degrees. They were all wearing sweat pants and long-sleeved shirts when I returned home. I tried to convince them to wear t-shirts and the oldest two did change. YoungestBoy insisted on wearing long sleeves and heavy sweatpants. Okey-dokey, then.

We left the house at 10:35 a.m. for the Easter egg hunt at the pool. We belong to a private pool club, which is the best money we spend every year. The first event every year is the egg hunt. I wasn’t sure if Babygirl would “get it,” but I did bring her a white basket.

There were maybe 5 kids ages 3 and under and they had 150 eggs to gather! Babygirl immediately understood what she was to do. She called the eggs “balls.” After she placed the first one in her basket, she said, “more.” She filled her basket completely and even cooperated while I took her picture. She had a great time. Even though she is abnormally anti-social, she was running along, throwing a plastic egg and then snatching it up and throwing it again. The only times she paused and veered close to me were when someone said, “Hello!” to her. She likes to be ignored.

The big boys had a good time, too, and gathered lots of eggs. Now they have lots of candy.

Here’s the Bad Mother moment of the day, though. I totally, completely forgot about coloring Easter eggs. We’ve colored eggs for the past 8 or 9 years and yet, this year, I forgot. It never occurred to me to decorate for Easter (I have a bunch of decorations) or anything. The funny thing is that the kids haven’t said a word. I think they forgot, too!

If they ask about coloring eggs, I’m going to tell them that I planned to color eggs next week, during Spring Break, so we’ll have something to do. Ha.

When we got home from the festivities, my husband went to work to write his sermon for tomorrow. He’s had a very busy week–busier than usual, even–because a good friend of his (and a church member) has been in the hospital. He had surgery earlier this week, then suffered a complication and had to go back into surgery. When my husband did arrive home after finishing his sermon, he immediately left again to visit Jeff. He came home to stay at about 7 p.m. Yes, that would be another day “off” . . . where he worked for 7 hours.

During his absence today, we were mostly in the backyard. The kids played and I pulled weeds for awhile. The kids couldn’t seem to play nicely, however, so I changed gears and got out a bucket, filled it with suds and assigned them the task of cleaning the lawn chairs. As TwinBoyA said to YoungestBoy, “I never knew cleaning could be so much fun!” They cleaned chairs, toys, the house and the patio door with great glee and enthusiasm. While they cleaned, I used the hose and sprayed off the patio, which took a considerable amount of time. I carried Babygirl with me some of the time, but she’d wriggle to get down and stomp in the puddling water. She took off her overalls, too, and soon her socks and shoes and bottom were wet and muddy.

The patio looks great. I also sprayed out the sandboxes, so they are ready for new sand. I’ve been itching to get the back yard cleaned up.

My husband promised to let me get out of house, but by the time I ironed everyone’s Easter clothes, it was already 8:30 p.m., so I just went out for an hour. I bought chocolate bunnies for the boys and rented two videos and two DVDs, but of course, I couldn’t get the sort of new DVD player set up. It does not seem compatible with my television set, at least the one down here in the family room. So much for that.

I can’t believe tomorrow is Easter. We’re having dinner at my mom’s house, which means I don’t have to cook for once. For that, I am abundantly thankful!

I’ve seen previews for the new movie, “Ella Enchanted.” And while this movie looks precious and cute (especially if you are twelve years old), I will not be seeing it for one main reason.

As the website says, “Little Ella’s birthright is the gift–and curse–of obedience. As a result of this unfortunate circumstance, Ella cannot refuse any command . . . ”

Well, color me confused, but it seems to me that Ella is not exactly the most obedient girl as much as is the most literal girl in the kingdom.

Plus, why do we need a movie showing how bad obedience is?

Obedience = good.
Taking everything literally = bad.

Imagine what good I could do for mankind if only I applied my mental meanderings to serious issues, she says with a straight face and a laugh.

Right up front, I’ll say it serves me right for watching shows like “The Real World-Road Rules Challenge: The Inferno” and “The Maury Povich Show.” Still.

A guy on “The Inferno” is named Darrell. You know, Dar’-ell. Darrell. As in Darryl Hannah. Only he called himself Dar-ELL, with the emphasis on the second syllable. Say what?

Then, I see a guy on the “Maury” show and his named is Leonard. You know, Leonard, like Leonard Nimoy. Only he calls himself Le-NARD. Huh? What?

The weeds are growing like . . . well, weeds and we saw a woodpecker in the backyard. Yesterday, a scraggly robin played in our backyard, tempting our cat to have him for lunch. A lone orange and yellow tulip blooms in the flowerbed. The grass seed will not sprout, which is probably because I haven’t watered it because we are constantly out in the backyard.

This morning, Babygirl and DaycareKid and YoungestBoy and I are outside. DaycareKid’s climbing the slide. Babygirl was running around and I was surveying the flower beds where I’d weeded yesterday. YoungestBoy says, “Hey, mom, want to play catch?” I say, “Okay,” and he tosses the ball high in the sky. Doing my best Ken Griffey, Jr. move, I sidestep and hop backwards and grab the ball. At the exact moment the ball dropped into my hand, I realized that Babygirl has sneaked up and was directly beneath where I was about to land.

In fact, she had fallen when I bumped into her and I was about to crush her skull with the entire weight of my body. I suddenly turned into Sydney on Alias and rotated in midair and came down hard on my hip and my hand without snuffing out the life of my precious little baby daughter. I still don’t exactly know how I didn’t land directly on her.

YoungestBoy yelled out, “Hey, cool! That was awesome!!”

Babygirl cried. Hard.

I picked up Babygirl, surveyed her for blood, found none. Took DaycareKid off the slide and came inside without another word to YoungestBoy. I knew he thought he was in trouble, but it was not his fault that I almost killed his sister. It was just one of those accidents–the kind my husband thinks are preventable–and I went in before I said anything I’d regret.

Babygirl was fine. The side of her head was red, I suppose from where she’s hit the ground. She looks okay now. I’m fine. My hand’s a little skinned.

A bit later, YoungestBoy knocked on the window and I went outside and he said in a resigned voice, “I know. I’m in trouble.” I said, “No, you aren’t. It was an accident. I just went inside because I was really scared because I almost hurt your sister. It wasn’t your fault.”

Get me a padded room, stat! Or at least get me an inflatable protective suit for my baby, one with a big old helmet so she can’t be hurt in any way, ever.

1) No pantyhose required. No dress code at all. I can wear my scuffy slippers all day, even in the back yard, if I want.
3) Occasionally, babies nap at the same time, the kids are in school and I have an unannounced break. Like now.
4) No obnoxious co-workers.
5) I can’t get fired.
6) I can doze on the job and no one notices, except for Babygirl who will then jab her finger into my nose.
7) Lunch is free, every day. Sort of.
8) If it’s an unexpectedly beautiful day, I can spend it outdoors.
9) My kids never have to go to daycare. I never have to pay for daycare. I never have to call in sick when the kids are sick. I never have to go to an office and worry about my sick kids.
10) No gasoline or car required to get to work.

Within this past week, a local 9 year old girl was kidnapped from her bus-stop after school. The abductor was a 32 year old man. He borrowed fifty cents from the child and called her parents with a ransom demand. Then he bound her with tape and put her face down in the back seat of the car and then proceeded to lead the police on a wild car chase down major freeways before he was caught and the child was rescued.

But that’s not what interested me.

A few weeks earlier, this same guy attempted to abduct a 63 year old woman in the same area. I saw her on television last night. She was one of those really beautiful woman who either aged gracefully or has a great plastic surgeon. She said she was walking her dog, Buddy, when this man jumped out of a van and pointed a gun at her head and told her to get in.

She said, “No.”

He repeated his demand and she said louder, “NO!”

And that, my friends, was the end of that. Apparently, the loser just got into the van and drove away. She reported the attempt to the police and gave a very good description and that’s how they realized that this guy was the same guy who kidnapped the girl. He confessed to the attempted abduction, too, after he was caught by the police.

This 63 year old woman is my new hero.

Just say “no.”

No, this is not an entry about sperm. Or salmon. It’s about me, as usual, unlike most everything else in my life.

Anyway, I find great humor in the fact that today, just tonight, two separate people mentioned how much they loved, loved, loved “Jersey Girl,” the movie that I saw and despised last night. Now, either something is fundamentally wrong with me (nah, not possible) or I truly am a movie snob or (and this is most likely) . . . the world as we know it is coming to an end.

BEANSTALKS

My kindergartener brought home a plant from school yesterday. His styrofoam cup was bursting with plants over six inches tall. He enthusiastically informed me that his was the biggest plant in his class. I said, “It is! Wow!” and he said, “Yes, because the teacher said to plant three seeds and I accidentally planted fifteen or twenty.”

He apparently did not get into any kind of trouble when his fifteen beans began to sprout. I wonder if his teacher laughed out loud like I did.

Did you ever wonder how grammatically sound are you?
Click here on this . . . Quizilla. . . and find out.

I did and this is what it said:

You are a MASTER of the English language!

While your English is not exactly perfect,
you are still more grammatically correct than
just about every American. Still, there is
always room for improvement…