SoCS – m.a.r.c.h.

March…march…march…well, this brings to mind a barrage of thoughts.

  • Why is March always so much colder than I expect it to be?  We have these deceptively warm days, but then when you roll out of bed at 7am it’s around 35 degrees outside.  Brrrrr…
  • I never have been able to watch March of the Penguins.  I feel a bit slacker about this since people are all “it’s such an incredible movie,” but when push comes to shove I just can’t seem to click play.
  • My brother-in-law is super into marching bands.  He took us to a competition in the summer of 2015 which was, for lack of a better description, intense.  I wrote a post called So you don’t think marching bands are bad ass… and clicked publish, which is when I learned bad ass marching band participants have a huge contingent on Twitter.  That post got retweeted more than any other I’ve written.  Crazy, right?
  • I am 110% certain I could never be in a marching band seeing as a) I can’t play any of those instruments, and b) there’s no way my brain would be able to process playing plus choreography like that.
  • “You march straight to your room and think about what you’ve done.”  The one sentence guaranteed to send you to your room where you’ll read or write in your diary or listen to music – pretty much anything except “think about what you’ve done.”
  • Someone who marches must be called a “marcher” but nothing about that word looks right.
  • I thought the women’s march on Washington was pretty freaking awesome.  I know not everyone agrees with me, but still…seeing all those women standing together?  Cool.  And the sister marches around the world?  Even cooler.
  • Charm uses all the same letters as march, but I can’t picture a charming march to save my life.  Something about that word conjures up stiff, wooden movements.
  • March Madness has been a thing in our lives for over two decades now and I still can’t seem to give a crap about it.  Oh, and I couldn’t fill out a bracket to save my life.

Plus I wonder how many sentences I can make from “march.”

  • My Aardvark Rarely Checks Home.
  • Many Avenues Reach Cher’s House.
  • Most Ants Ruin Chocolate Hearts.
  • Much Ado Riles Calm Heroines.
  • Miles Across Rainy Corn Husks.

And if you’re still reading by now, you’ve earned your sainthood points for the day.


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Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays are open to anyone who’d like to participate.  Pop over and give her blog a visit.  This week’s prompt is “march.”

SoCS – did you just call me short stuff?

I never considered myself a short girl.  I’ve always believed I was sort of average at five feet, five (and a half) inches, though BrightSide has taken more than your typical amount of glee in telling me I’m height deprived.

Then again he’s six foot three, which I find freakishly tall, so I guess we’re kind of even.

At any rate, it never occurred to me (not even ONCE) that there might come a day when I’d be the shortest one in our family.

family.SaraAnne

This photo is from the fall of 2015, when I still had a couple of inches on my kids.  Sure, they were looking pretty grown, but I was decidedly taller than both of them.

These days those little punks are looking me in the eye.  I mean, come on!  One’s not quite eleven and the other turns thirteen this summer – how on earth can they be as tall as me already??

Bear has shot through several inches and is, to T-man’s mortification, as tall as he is.  We keep reassuring him that his growth spurt is coming and in the end he’s going to be taller than all of us, but that doesn’t seem to make him feel better about his baby sister looking him in the eye.

I suspect he’ll feel a lot better when his short mama is looking up at him every day.


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Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays are open to anyone who’d like to participate.  Pop over and give her blog a visit.  This week’s prompt is “short.”

SoCS – does anyone know a project fairy?

My brain is bouncing all over the place with this week’s prompt.

Bear has a book fair project due soon.  I walked into her room last week and stopped dead in my tracks – the place looked like a crime scene, just with clothes everywhere instead of blood.  I called her on it (if you can say sputtering “but what…I mean, how…what on earth happened in here?!?” is calling her on it), and as I crossed the room Bear actually had the gall to say, “Well, that’s my book fair project.”

Umm…okay, sweetie pie, this right here might be your project, but All The Rest is just mess.

We’ve passed the absorption point on home projects.  You know how it can rain up to a certain level and the ground happily drinks it up, but then there’s that tipping point when the flooding begins?  Our house is like that right now.  If there were soil we’d have worms swimming to the surface to play with the dogs.

Everywhere I turn there’s a project that needs doing.  Floors need two weeks straight of mopping just to peel off all the dog paw dirt.  Blinds need dusting and closets need cleaning out.  Laundry needs folding (yes, again), the storage room needs organizing, and the kitchen cabinets are a wreck.  I can’t even think about the garage, and cleaning out the office is a “project” like climbing Mount Everest is a “hike.”

It’s gotten to where I turn around four times, realize there’s just too much, and crash with the dogs.  I guess I’m waiting for the Project Fairy to pay us a visit one night.

I’d even be willing to leave her a little something for her trouble…


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Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays are open to anyone who’d like to participate.  Pop over and give her blog a visit.  This week’s prompt is “project.”

SoCS – the 5 Ws and a How

Who, what, when, where, why, and how…I remember learning early on that one of the tenets of storytelling is answering these questions.  Not all in a row or anything, but that a strong story will have all facets.

Oddly enough, I never took much to fiction writing (especially strange when you consider how much I enjoy a good novel) so this lesson might seem to be lost on me, but I’ve found it extrapolates to much in life.  If you don’t have most or all of this information then you’re kind of flying blind on your decisions.

And then the kids came along.  Holy cow, these questions took on a whole new level of importance.

You enter a room to find the floor littered with shoes, pillows in disarray, a shredded envelope on the floor, and a glass of old milk on the table.

**  Who needs to come get their shoes?  What was in the mangled envelope?  When did this happen?  Where are the dogs right now?  Why didn’t I hear any of this going down?  How on earth did that glass of milk manage to stay undisturbed among this mess?

A crash comes from the kitchen and you enter to find eggs scattered across the counter, Gracie snarfing what she can off a plate on the floor, two kids screaming at her from the other side of the room, Phoebe hiding under the table, and a can of Pam slowly rolling across the counter.

**  Whose breakfast is being devoured by the dog?  What were the kids thinking, leaving food unattended with Gracie in the house?  When is this freaking dog gonna stop stealing everything?  Where is BrightSide in the mornings, anyway?  Why can’t I pee in peace for one lousy minute without breakfast going to hell?  How am I going to wrestle an 85 pound dog away from those tasty eggs?

We’re having a (much deserved) lazy afternoon – two dogs and one mama napping before diving into the after school schedule – when someone hits the silent alarm.  One dog jerks upright, turning to the door and letting out a bark a half second earlier than her sister.  Phoebe charges around the couch to the door, hair on end, barking like Cujo on a feeding frenzy.  Gracie throws her considerable heft over the back of the couch and slams into the door beside Phoebe, adding her rowdy bark to the noise.

**  Who triggered the primordial instinct in these creatures to attack the door?  What could possibly be worth all this drama?  When will they learn that the occasional truck drives down our street and is not an actual threat to us?  Where will I take this couch to get it repaired when Gracie finally rips through the leather hurtling over it?  Why do they insist on doing this five times a day?  How have they not gone crashing through the window yet?

Interestingly, despite the fact that “how” is one of the things I ponder most, I’ve found it’s often the question I have to let go since it’s the one I’ll never get answered.

  • How did we get that giant black spot on the ceiling?
  • How did I manage to save the toast and bacon but lose the eggs to Gracie?
  • How do folks at the 8:00am basketball game manage to have their hair and makeup done?
  • How am I supposed to dress when it’s 50 something when we wake up, 70 something in the afternoon, and my internal body temperature fluctuates between ice cube and inferno?

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Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays are open to anyone who’d like to participate.  Pop over and give her blog a visit.  This week’s prompt is “how.”

SoCS – that Sam-I-Am!

We sure do love us some Dr. Seuss in this house.  I have a number of favorites.  (Can someone even have “a number” of favorites?)  They’re all books that I would happily read over and over again.

The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins, Horton Hatches the Egg, The Sneetches, and The Lorax – all terrific books we read more times than I can count.  But Linda’s prompt can only bring one book to mind – the classic Green Eggs and Ham.

“That Sam-I-Am
That Sam-I-Am!

I do not like
That Sam-I-Am

Do you like
Green eggs and ham?

I do not like them,
Sam-I-Am.
I do not like
Green eggs and ham.”

For someone who’s not a fan of tongue twisters, this is probably one of the last books you’d think I’d love.  The rhymes tumble and twist, rumbling around in my mouth like a couple of marbles as the pace picks up, and I couldn’t help but smile as I barreled my way through the bevy of situations in which the character would not like green eggs and ham.

Nothing would move him to try them – not a house or a mouse or a box or a fox.  Not on a train, in the rain, with a goat, or on a boat.  The illustrations became more and more ridiculous, as did the character’s refusal to consider even the possibility that green eggs and ham might be worth trying.

I’m pretty sure this book resonates with all parents of young picky eaters.  Besides that, though, it is just plain fun to read.  The tongue twisters weren’t the hardest part…that was managing not to say I told you so when green eggs and ham turned out to be delicious.


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Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays are open to anyone who’d like to participate.  Pop over and give her blog a visit.  This week’s prompt is “ham.”

SoCS – measure twice, cut once

Boy, my mama could sew.

I remember going with her to pick out fabric for a new jumper or dress, running my hand down the row of bolts, looking at patterns and colors for something I’d love.  We didn’t have a lot of money then so Bee and I had to be sure before we made our final picks – there was no turning back once mom began cutting and laying out the pattern.  No “eh, I don’t really like this after all, the blue would have been better.”

Mom poured her time and talent into making those clothes for us, though I doubt I was as grateful as I could have been.  There were always kids who had brand name jeans, but whatever…we’ll call that character building.  She’d take the scraps, too (waste not, want not) and sew clothes for our dolls.  That made them extra special to me.

So with a talented mom like that you’d think I could manage more than a hem or button, right?  Except not so much.  Not for mom’s lack of trying – I seem to recall her trying to teach me how to work the sewing machine, but I just didn’t have the patience for it.  Probably best in the long run, really, considering how accident prone I turned out to be.  If it’s possible to sew two fingers together, I would have managed it.

No, Bee got all the crafting talent in the family and, as far as I know, can run an actual sewing machine.  If you’ve ever worked with one you know this is an achievement.  They have moving parts my brain just can’t seem to reconcile.

I have fond memories of my mom, though…meticulously laying out the fabric, patiently pinning on the pattern, carefully cutting it out piece by piece.  She put her love into everything she made for us.


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Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays are open to anyone who’d like to participate.  Pop over and give her blog a visit.  This week’s prompt is “so/sow/sew.”

SoCS – sometimes even options aren’t enough

Hair!  Down to there!

Okay, that’s all I remember, some snippet of a song about hair down to there and now it’s stuck in my head, thank-you-very-much-Linda-for-that-prompt.

It’s funny that “hair” came right after yesterday’s post about, well, hair.  Sure, cultural standard of beauty, too, but also hair.  You might be wondering why that’s popped up on the radar lately.

Bear and I have been through quite a few hair stages, from the very beginning puffs to cornrows, box braids to french braids to twists and more.  I’ve always told her how lucky I think she is to have so many choices.  To decide if she feels like going curly or straight, having her hair up or down.  Since my hairstyle choice is ruled by two conditions – frizzy or non frizzy – I know that of which I speak.

Options are a good thing.

But there’ve been a few times now when Bear has asked for extensions.  At first I thought it was just a whim, something she’d seen on a friend or admired on the college players who coached her basketball camp.  But then the request got a little more…intense, for lack of a better word.  I could tell it was more than just a wish to experiment with style.  She actively wanted the extensions themselves; she wanted the long hair.

I realized how much it meant to her when she broke down in Sally’s.  You see, we told her we wouldn’t pay for them (because BIG TIME MOOLA) so she did her research.  Bear found extensions on Amazon that she could afford, so I took her to Sally’s to feel the difference between “affordable” (aka synthetic) extensions and the ones that are Big Time Money.  That was when it all really hit home.

Shortly thereafter the walls came tumbling down.  Wanting to know what it’s like to have long, straight, beautiful hair.  Cruel comments made at school about her hair, months ago…comments that still festered deep inside.  How the pain of even talking about it was almost too much to bear.

All this over hair.


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Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays are open to anyone who’d like to participate.  Pop over and give her blog a visit.  This week’s prompt is “wood/would.”

SoCS – the terror of tongue twisters

I hate tongue twisters.  No, I don’t just hate them.  I despise them with the white hot flame that burns like a thousand suns.

It’s a big thing with me.  Maybe it’s just that I hate tripping over my own tongue (which I do every single time) or that I don’t handle frustration well (because despite my track record, I’m always convinced I can do it this time).  Either way it’s resulted in an entirely irrational hatred of what’s supposed to be a fun word game.

When I read Linda’s prompt for today, one of those freaking verses jumped right into my head.

How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Ironically, this is the only tongue twister I can actually say without sputtering myself into nonsense.  But seriously, it’s the only one.  And what kind of rational adult gets highly irritated when someone says, “Okay, try to say this one three times fast”?

Well, apparently that would be this adult.


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Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays are open to anyone who’d like to participate.  Pop over and give her blog a visit.  This week’s prompt is “wood/would.”