Category: Blogging

Last chance to de-lurk . . .

Apparently, today is the last day of “National De-Lurking Week,” as I discovered over at Carmen’s blog. So, won’t you please take a moment and leave a comment? And if you feel really chatty, tell me how often you come by and read.

Meanwhile, I haven’t ventured beyond my mailbox since Tuesday night when I went to the grocery store in preparation for the impending storms. Sure enough, we ended up with two snow days this week and freezing temperatures. Although we only have a few inches of snow now, the less-traveled streets are coated with compacted snow and ice. This morning, my husband couldn’t get our van up the slight incline of our driveway. (Later in the morning, a third try was successful.)

Frankly, I’m flushed with cabin fever, although at the moment, aside from two preschoolers playing upstairs (slamming doors? what’s that about?), a ringing doorbell–be right back–okay, make that one preschooler, since that was a dad picking up one. . . where was I? Oh, I was just saying how quiet it is at the moment–one teenager is watching cartoons, one is reading a book (the sequel to Eragon) and my other son is at his friend’s house, playing. This contrasts to yesterday when I counted five extra boys here and I kept hollering “Close that door!”

Tomorrow, my husband has a meeting, which means, of course, that my snowbound incarceration continues, even though I would brave the icy patches for a little freedom. I’m crazy like that. And also fool-hardy and desperate.

I hope that by Sunday, the ice melts, crocuses blossom, birds burst into song and spring arrives with an apology for showing up on the East coast rather than here, where it belongs. I’ve always thought that spring should appear right after Christmas. I am the impatient sort who sees little value in forty-days and forty-nights of gloomy rain. By February, I’ll be moseying around the yard, examining the dirt for green signs of life–other than weeds–poking through the dead soil.

Now, don’t forget to de-lurk and leave a comment. I know there are quite a few of you–mostly friendly, I think. I remember when I first started blogging in October of 2004 and I was absolutely thrilled if my daily twelve readers showed up. I’m still thrilled when my readers show up, even though I don’t exactly know who you all are, where you’re from, if you come by because you like me or because you just can’t believe anyone so judgmental and self-centered really exists outside of fiction. So, thank you for stopping by. I’d offer you an oatmeal cookie if you were here.

When you have nothing to say, pass the microphone to someone else.

It’s 11 p.m. and the reason I haven’t written anything yet today is that I really have nothing to write about.  No wasps have stung.  I haven’t solved the puzzle of “fling, flang, flung.”  And for that matter, why can’t we say, “The wasp stang me?”  Huh?  Tell me that!

By the way, I wonder what the difference is between a wasp and a yellow jacket?  The television news just reported that a swarm of yellow jackets stung a bunch of high school seniors who were posing for a class picture today.  A student unwittingly stepped on a nest.  Perhaps we have yellow jackets in our yard, not wasps.

Now, if you are looking for something more interesting to read by someone who is way smarter than me and about ten times more adventurous, you ought to go check out Stacy’s blog, Smoov.  She also takes amazing pictures, works full-time, attends school (perpetually), and has a genius pre-teen girl and darling twin boys.  Go and read her blog . . . but don’t forget to come back. 

By then, maybe I’ll actually discuss something of substance, like the intolerance of non-Christians towards Christians I keep noticing or my recent realization that I mistrust most people or the fact that these days, if you are a virgin (or were a virgin when you married) you are considered to be some sort of freak. 

Meanwhile, go visit Stacy and tell her I sent you.  (She’s one of the original women who started blogging with me three years ago.)   Stacy rocks. 

Go Ahead. Make Her Day.

Do you want to make a young mom happy today?  Then, go here, read her blog and leave a comment.  Don’t you hate it when no one reads your blog or leaves you a comment?  She does, too.  I linked you to a post most of us could have written about being tired . . . yet realizing that all too soon, all this will pass. 

Will you go?  And leave her a comment?  She’ll be thrilled.

Oh, and you should know that Brandie is the reason I’m blogging today.  Back in October 2003, she said, “Hey, wouldn’t it be fun if we all started blogs to share with each other?”  (Here’s my first blog . . . in commemoration of my three year blogiversary.  Be patient.  I started on Tripod and it loads very slowly.)

Season’s Pass

We have a season’s pass to the Point Defiance Zoo in Tacoma because a day’s visit for a family of six costs almost as much as a family membership.  The 13-year old boys find the whole ordeal of visiting the zoo taxing and they always complain before going.  The 8-year old rejoices because he adores animals.  The 4-year old dances around with glee because she remembers feeding the goats and riding the merry-go-round.

The zoo is small, but perched on a hill overlooking the Puget Sound.  The paths between exhibits curve over gentle hills.  You never really have to push through crowds.  The peacocks roam freely, occasionally puffing up their tail-feathers in a beautiful show of intimidation which always reminds me of the peacock feather I once picked up from a zoo when I was a kid.

At the zoo, you can always see the elephants up close.  Once, we watched a polar bear swim in circles only inches from our faces–on the other side of the glass.  The walruses swim in lazy circles, brushing up against the window. 

But you can never really see the tigers.  The tigers doze in the shade, camouflaged by tall grass.  A gully and a pond and a wall and some stairs separate us from the tigers.  So, the tigers are sort of boring.  You can’t really see them and they don’t really do much.

I feel like a yawning tiger in the zoo.  I wonder why anyone comes here to peer at me since my life is a big snooze-fest.  I ought to give refunds to anyone who stumbles by because there is nothing to see here. 

At least not today.  Check back, though, and maybe I’ll be chasing small prey and slashing the couch with my razor-sharp claws.  Or not.

Some Books You Might Like

Here is a blog by a woman after my own heart.  (And I’m not just saying that because she quoted my other blog and said I write more “honestly and inspiringly about moms and weight than anybody [she] know[s].”) 

Her book, Momfidence!, was just released, I might add. 

Which reminds me that I’ve been meaning to recommend Barbara Curtis’ new book,  Reaching the Left from the Right: Talking About Social Issues With People Who Don’t Think Like You to you, too.  She sent me my very own copy which I’m going to read any minute now.  (So many books, so little time!)  I’ve gotten to know Barbara through her blog, Mommylife.net, and through email and have to say that she is one remarkable mother and writer.  I only wish she lived next door to me!

Help! More Shameless Self-Promotion

You might not read my Shrinking Mom blog so you don’t know that the bloggers over there are having a contest to get email subscribers to their blogs.  I subscribed to the daily email myself from ClubMom–it was simple to do and now, in my email box, I get an email which shows me who has updated.  I click on the links and voila!  I’m reading the blog.  (Quicker than going over to ClubMom and scrolling through the long ClubMom blogroll, for sure!)

Anyway, I’m on a quest to get people to subscribe to my Amazing Shrinking Mom blog, so even if you don’t venture over to ClubMom, won’t you follow this link and subscribe as a personal favor to me? 

You will?  Oh thank you!  I am forever indebted.

It Will Just Have to Do

Well.  I just attempted to post a jaunty little pictorial from today, but the pictures didn’t show up.  So I saved it as a draft and will investigate further tomorrow.

Meanwhile, it’s 11:00 p.m. and I must abandon this blog for eight hours of sleep.  If you haven’t already, wander over to The Amazing Shrinking Mom and leave me a comment.  Or click on the LargerFamilies.com button and leave a comment there.

Or just send me ten thousand dollars and we’ll call it even.

Oh, and Spammers?  I hope your fingernails get ripped off one by one.  I hope your nose is eaten by a sloth.  I hope your underpants ride up all day and drive you so crazy that you cut them off with scissors and accidentally jab yourself to death.  I hope you get worms in your intestines and lice in your ear hair.  

(I didn’t stop because I ran out of ideas, but only because I ran out of time, you worthless waste of space.)

Because I Have Spare Time Somewhere And A Special Message To Spammers

I know.  You were thinking, that Mel . . . such a slacker . . . can’t she fit more into her barren excuse for a life? 

So, I’ll also be writing for Largerfamilies.com–I’m sure you noticed that logo over on the left.  Click on it and you’ll find a bunch of resources, including a blog, for those who are raising larger-than-average families or those who are curious about those who are raising larger-the-average families.  I’ll be one of about a dozen bloggers contributing weekly.

So, click.  Enjoy.  Let us know what you think.  See you over there.  (And, of course, don’t forget to check my ClubMom blog every day because really, don’t you need a second daily dose of me?)

*  *  *  

Dear Spammers,

I hate you.  I hope you fall off your computer chair and bruise your butt.  I hope your keyboard electrocutes you.  I hope you stub your toe really hard and break it.  I hope flying staples scratch your eyeballs. 

I hope you get a paper cut in your most sensitive area.  I hope your hair falls out right in the front where everyone looks.  I hope your knee caps dissolve.  I hope your spine snaps in two.  I hope your eardrums burst and pus fills your nasal cavities. 

I hope your elbow gets stuck in the open and locked position.  I hope fleas infest your hair, all of it.  I hope a fork accidentally impales you.  I hope fire singes off your eyebrows and your nose-hairs.  I hope a giant pimple grows right in the center of your nose. 

I hope barking dogs disturb your sleep and attack you when you walk to your mailbox.  I hope lightening strikes you.  I hope you walk in your sleep and fall off a cliff.  I hope you drown in snake-infested water.  I hope an alligator eats you, head first. 

I hope your skin gets caught in a zipper.  I hope you get hangnails on all ten fingers.  I hope your fingers get frostbite and fall off.  I hope a collapsing building crushes you.  I hope you fall into an erupting volcano.  I hope a shark bites off your arms. 

I hope you rely on a food-bank and are only given Spam Luncheon Meat to eat, you rotten scummy loser.

Sincerely,

Mel

Some Answers With a Side of Rambling

    


Play structureOriginally uploaded by Mel 128.

Here is a photograph of our new play structure, taken at dusk.  (Which happens to be my favorite time of day.)  You can’t really tell, but along the white beam are three swings:  two regular swings and a tire swing.  To the left of the ladder are a set of swinging rings.  At the bottom of the “fort” is a giant sandbox where even the big kids sit and play.

Now, someone asked, so I will tell you that the ACT is a test, sort of like the SAT. My ACT score was comparatively better than my SAT score, so I like to remind myself of exactly how high it was on occasion. After all, look where it got me!

My husband is gone tonight tonight at a wedding rehearsal and dinner.  I desperately wanted to go (free food!), but couldn’t find a babysitter.  My mother had the nerve to have a life of her own and was unavailable.  And the teenage sitter I love is busy having a life of her own, too.  I will miss the wedding tomorrow, too, which is a big bummer.  I love attending weddings–I like everything from seeing the wedding dress to choking up over the vows to watching the other guests.  And the reception?  (Free food!) 

Alas, no free food for me.  (I know.  What is this talk of free food?  Aren’t you blogging about losing weight over at The Amazing Shrinking Mom?  (By the way, I suggested the title “The Shrinking Mom.”  They added the “Amazing” part, just in case you thought I was narcissistic and all.)  Yes!  I am blogging about dieting.  And I am dieting.  But I won’t be talking about that over here . . . no.  For that scintillating talk, you must click and go.