Sea Turtles, Beach Drinks, Hawaiian Shirts, and Bikinis

Maui and Lincoln, Nebraska have very little in common. I will admit they both are easy to find your way around, they both have small airports, and you don’t have to drive far to see a cow. Really.

Maui seems like a world away from Lincoln. In mid-December the temperatures are in the 80s, the water is warm, and the breeze smells like flowers and pineapple. 

It was on a whim that we hit the Purchase button and decided to join our friends the Blomes on a trip to Maui. We went through Expedia and the package deal was just too good to pass up. We would have been fools to turn it down. Really.

But Rick and I never travel. If we do, we only drive about one state away. So it was pretty exciting to think that we would travel across an ocean to visit somewhere we had never dreamed of going before.

We managed to pack all the necessities, including two bottles of Dramamine, and didn’t get kicked off the plane for packing anything that violated airline regulations. There’s always that last minute panic if your little bottle of hand sanitizer is going to get you stuck in the body search line. Todd drove like a bat out of hell to make it to the airport before we left, and we were cutting it pretty close to the check in time. But neither of the guys was worried about the time. Typical men.

I was a little worried about the flight from Dallas to Maui. They delayed the plane about 30 to 45 minutes at the loading dock while a mechanic fixed a faulty switch that was causing the left engine not to switch on. I said a couple of quick prayers that the switch was working, because I was pretty sure we were going to need the left engine the next eight and a half hours.

But once we got off the plane, we could tell we had left winter behind us. The wind was heavy, but it was warm. We kept asking ourselves, “Can you believe we are really doing this?”

We stayed at a really nice hotel, the Fairmont Kea Lana, which was completely open air and had its own beach area. Not only was the air warm, so were the people. The staff says “aloha” every time they see guests. Even up until the last day of our vacation I kept forgetting to say aloha whenever one of the hotel staff greeted me. Like a dork, I would say hello, and then aloha. Clearly I am not meant for international relations. (Yes, I know, Maui is not international. It is part of the 50 states. I get that.)

Some of the major highlights of our trip included a whale watching boat ride out on the ocean. We saw a mother whale and her baby. The whales come to the islands to have their babies at this time of year, but December is still pretty early in the season. They even put a microphone in the water so we could hear the whale calls under water. Pretty cool. We went to a Luau. The entertainment was great. The hula dancers (guys and girls) were spectacular, especially the fire dancer who only caught his costume on fire once. The dude actually laid the flaming baton on his upturned feet. Yikes. We stayed away from the Poi, but enjoyed the roast pig that they just dug up out of the fire pit. The luau was everything I expected, from the leis and grass skirts, to the pina coladas and men in, well, Hawaiian shirts.

Thanks to Melissa and Todd’s recommendations, we ate at some awesome restaurants while on the island. We went to Mama’s Fish House, which is visited by a number of celebrities, and is beautifully located right on the ocean. The fish is caught fresh every day and the fishermen just pull their boats right up to the restaurant’s dock. In fact, the name of the fishermen who catch the fish and the name of their boats are written on the menu each day. The fish was fantastic, but we wished that it hadn’t been raining so we could have gone out to the beach and enjoyed the view.

While Mama’s Fish House was impressive, it wasn’t as impressive as Nick’s Fish House. (Imagine that, another house of fish. Must be an island.) As soon as we went to our table, six staff descended upon our table, pulling out chairs and placing napkins on our laps. The minute we took a drink of water, someone refilled the glass. The boys really enjoyed messing with the wait staff, of course. The waiters artfully replaced our bread basket when it was empty without us even realizing it. They also straightened our silverware for us and swept the table with a little crumb catcher before dessert. Our waiter had an artful way of one-handedly tipping a beer glass with the bottle as he slowly filled the glass without foam. He did this artfully until Todd and Rick distracted him by asking him about his girlfriend there on the island. Of course, Rick’s reward was a glass full of foam, so he got what was coming to him.

And we ordered our fair share of drinks at the Fairmont. We ordered fancy drinks at the lounge overlooking the ocean. We ordered fancy drinks at the restaurants. We ordered fancy drinks at the pool. Almost all the drinks came with a big wedge of pineapple, an umbrella, and a flower floating on top. In Maui, it is OK for manly men to order girly drinks. They just have to remember to keep their pinkies down while drinking them.

Another highlight of the trip was the Road to Hana. It’s a treacherous 52 miles (most of which is one lane) with 617 curves (about half of which are blind curves), and 56 bridges (generally one lane). We traveled through a little town, which was obviously the marijuana capital of the Hawaiian Islands. There was no trouble telling which people there were the tourists and who were the residents. They dressed like surfers or like homeless people and looked as if they had something questionable they would be willing to sell you, if you had a few extra dollars to spare.

The drive was well worth the trip. It circled around the island and the views were spectacular. We stopped along the way to see the black sand beaches. That’s when, of course, Todd would stop. He has a tendency to slow down the car, and say, yep that’s nice. Then keep on driving. Unless, of course, there were cute, bikinied young tourists who needed help taking their pictures. Then he was able to slam on the brakes for the smallest of roadside waterfalls.

Of course the road beyond Hana quickly deteriorated to nothing more than a dirt cattle road with a little asphalt here and there. That’s what they don’t tell you. There were lots of straight drop-offs and blind curves. We met several “cowboys” out checking their cattle. It’s hard to call a guy with flip flops and Hawaiian shirt a cowboy. The road more or less went right around the mountain through their pasture. And of course we couldn’t go back the way we came. This was “shorter.” Really.

Memorable quotes from the Hana drive:

“There is no compass in a Jeep Compass.”

“After four or five beers I can just feel the road . . . just like speed racer.” (He actually didn’t have any beers. He was just trying to scare me.)

“There are seven sacred pools. That means virgins. We’re in.”

Favorite sign of the trip:

“Permits for medical marijuana and BBQ”

Todd really enjoyed driving this road, knowing full well that I am deathly afraid of heights. I don’t know how many times I heard, “Oh, Cindy, look at that view,” just to open my eyes to look over a straight drop off into the ocean. Todd is such a caring and conscientious guide. He made sure I didn’t miss any of the fantastic views. Really.

Speaking of heights, our helicopter tour of the island was canceled because of clouds and high winds. Evidently they’ve had some fatal crashes in the near past and don’t want to risk it. Oh shucks. When you put it that way… I’ve never been so relieved in my entire life.

The clouds and high winds were part of a front that went through when we were there, bringing a day or two of rain to the entire island. I guess that parts of the island hadn’t seen rain for months. Lucky us that we were able to bring it with us. But the rain really didn’t dampen our fun.

Another event we missed was a trip to the nude beach. Todd insisted we visit this beach. I, however, insisted that that is one sight a person cannot just unsee. It’s like seeing your dad in his underwear. It burns its image permanently on your brain. I do not need any images of 80-somethings completely commando. I saw enough 70- and 80-year-olds hanging out of their bikinis and speedos to last a lifetime.

The one thing I regret is that we didn’t spend more time just sitting by the ocean. The sand on the beach is so soft and fine. It is not course like the sand in Nebraska. It would be nice to spend more time in the ocean and the clear water.

Rick and Todd went kayaking on the ocean and Rick said they saw a group of sea turtles poking their heads out of the water. They were so close to the turtles he could have stuck out his hand and touched one. That was Rick’s highlight of the kayak excursion. Todd’s highlight was the bikini girl who gave them their lesson and sent them out on the trip. Todd, he can always appreciate a nice bikini.

Evidently he wasn’t the only one. Rick said there was an older couple sitting in chairs right next to the kayak path between the beach and the ocean. The woman had a huge stack of books she was earnestly reading. Rick said the man had nothing. He was just sitting there -- with a big smile on his face -- watching the bikini kayak instructor run back and forth across the beach sending the kayakers out on their way. This, I’m sure, is a future glimpse into Todd and Melissa’s vacation in 20 years.

The next time we go to Maui, we plan to take our kids. Everywhere we went, we caught ourselves saying “Mandy would love this.” Or, “Joe would be in heaven here.” Yes, Joe could spend an endless amount of time digging complex sand castles with irrigation cannels and roadway systems. He could also spend an endless amount of time just splashing in the waves or riding in the kayaks. Mandy, on the other hand, would prefer the pools. She would love how the waiters come running with fancy fruited drinks, and just charge it to her dad’s room.

She would, however, be very disappointed that there are very few teenage boys at the hotel. A few were setting up chairs on the beach. Unfortunately she would just be stuck hanging out with her family. It was just us, a few families with little kids, and the old people. Lots and lots of old people. Let’s face it, you have to be old to have enough money to afford Maui on a regular basis.

One thing that surprised me was how many non-natives lived and worked in Maui. One of the hotel drivers said that a lot of people move to Maui after they vacation there. They just love the island and don’t want to leave. However, most people who move to Maui don’t stay for even a year. He said that they come to Maui and expect it to be like it was when they were there on vacation – people waiting on them and bringing them beach drinks. When they realize that they still have to do their laundry and mow their yard in Maui, it loses its appeal. Especially when they discover how small the island can really be and how expensive it is.

Our vacation seemed to be over so quickly. We would love to go back and take the kids someday. We loved the scenery, as well as the people we met. There is something about being in such a warm, welcoming place that makes people friendly, as well.

Sure, there were some rich jerks. We saw a group of them on our plane, mouthing off to the shuttle driver when we landed. Then there was the mom who talked about sending her kids to the child care at the hotel for the day and then asked her daughter how old she was when the waitress came around to write up their breakfast buffet bill.

But we met some wonderful people. We visited with a lady principal and her husband from California on our whale watching tour. At the luau we enjoyed talking to a single Canadian doctor, originally from South Africa, who takes vacations every three or four months for three or four weeks. His next trip was to Australia. He was very interesting. Then there was the odd mix of people we met at the pool and hot tub after dark. They were from Pennsylvania, Colorado, California, and Canada. Just mention Nebraska and before you know it, the guys are talking Martinez and Burkhead. Imagine that.

Now that we are back in Nebraska, the islands seem out of reach. I would love to go back and spend more time on the beach and take the kids. However, now we need to focus on the holidays. I’ve got the last of the presents to buy and I still haven’t done the Christmas cards.

All I need is a nice photo. I’ve got one of Rick and I by the ocean that could work. Of course, I’ve also got one of the nice bikini kayak instructor. What would Todd do in this situation? I can harbor a guess. Really.

View from the pool

Rick on the boogie board

Pool drinks

She's On Library Loan

This whole parenting gig is never what you think it will be. Just when you get comfortable and assume you’ve got it all figured out, somebody turns into a teenager and draws doodles all over your rulebook.

OK, so I think my daughter is a pretty girl. She is 14, tall, athletic, and has big beautiful blue eyes. They are her daddy’s big beautiful blue eyes, and I’ve always been somewhat partial to those eyes. So I suppose I am biased. But so is just about every parent out there.

Yes I’m pretty proud of my pretty daughter. It is nice to look at your daughter and think “oh what a pretty little girl,” even when that little girl grows an inch or two taller than you are.

But now those looks are generating a new feeling in the pit of my stomach: fear.

This week Mandy finished the paper work to be a teen volunteer at the Bennett Martin library, located in downtown Lincoln.  She will volunteer for about an hour and a half a week, cleaning up, helping with shelving, doing crafts with the little kids, signing up people for the summer reading program (this spring), and performing whatever grunt tasks they throw her way.

As we sat at the table completing the paperwork, I looked around the library. Bennett Martin is a rough place (sorry Carrie, but it is). The first time I went to Bennett Martin I remember that some guy was being arrested and handcuffed across the street when I walked out. A police officer actually had the guy up against a building and was shoving handcuffs on him. Lovely first impression.

There are security guards at this library, one of the few libraries in Lincoln with uniformed security. My sister works at this library full-time, and always has one of the security guards walk her to her car at the end of the day. It closes at 6pm, to help with the crime issues. I guess the security keeps busy breaking up fights or taking care of disorderly visitors, as well as clearing out the bums who wander in to sleep in the stacks during the winter to escape the cold. This year they had a problem when somebody peed all over a section of books back in the stacks. Nice.

My sister has had stalkers and refuses to dress up or wear makeup when she goes to work. However, I think I’ve seen her dress up and wear makeup maybe twice a year, so I don’t know if I believe the whole “work camouflage” theory. (Just because the jeans don’t have any holes in them does not mean they qualify as fancy. And anything you purchase in the Scheels athletic-wear section should not be worn to church.) Tom boys never pass on, they just buy a bigger size of athletic shorts.

As we drive home, Mandy gets talking about how excited she is to be able to volunteer. She is looking forward to spending so much time at the library. It will be awesome to shelf books and work with the little kids in the youth section. It is the perfect volunteer opportunity for her, she says. She can’t wait until she gets her own name tag.

I am so glad that my daughter is excited to be a volunteer. I know that I always feel so good after I read at the nursing home. I’m happy that she wants to do something to help out in her community, as well. I really think that she can do a lot of good at the downtown library. I guess that Bennett Martin currently has only one other youth volunteer, while the other libraries in town are teaming with them. I am happy she will be volunteering in such a multicultural environment. There are families of all different backgrounds that use that library and I know she will love it. She likes to make new friends, especially with people of different backgrounds and languages. I think it started when she attended a large multicultural preschool in town, and had lots of friends at an early age who had English as a second language. I’d caution to say it is why she loves British soccer camp so much, but I rather think that is because of the hot British coaches. She is a sucker for a boy with a British accent.

But as I look at her as we drive home, this fear starts brewing in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know if I want to send my baby to that rough place. I don’t want her to have stalkers following her around the library. This is really out of my comfort zone.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been afraid before as a parent. We’ve had worrisome health issues. She has been to the hospital before and was even in the emergency room when she was attacked by a dog. She’s even been lost on her bicycle before in town.

But this is another kind of fear. It’s that fear that she is going out in the great big world, out on her own. And Rick and I won’t always be right there to protect her.

And I know this will only get worse. Wait until she drives. Wait until she moves out on her own. Wait until she shows up with some lecherous tattooed loser who wants to borrow her credit card to fill up his motorcycle with gas.

Actually, I’m not so worried about that last one. Mandy doesn’t like bad boys. I know you think I am insanely naïve, but she does not. I know because I’ve pointed out a few. (I’ve always had a soft spot for a man with a motorcycle.) She just rolls her eyes and says she is not interested. Also, Rick is a card-carrying NRA member and an environmental engineer. He’s got guns and he knows where to hide the bodies. He’s every hormone-crazy teenage boy’s worst nightmare.

So the fear begins.

I should mention that along with becoming a volunteer at the library, she was asked to be on the teen advisory board for the Bennett Martin library. (Thank you auntie Carrie, new young adult coordinator at Bennett Martin.)

But mom, she says, I get to meet once a month with the other TAB members and eat pizza and suggest books for the young adult section. Oh yeah, and there are boys on this TAB thing. And apparently they aren’t all nerds and some are really cute. Oh yeah, and they have their own TAB prom with the TAB members from the other Lincoln libraries at the end of the year.

I suppose Carrie will also be paying for the dress? I didn’t think so. Oh the joy.

One positive note I feel I must mention. Earlier this week Mandy told me how happy she is right now with her life. The school year started off pretty crappy. Her best friends went off to high school without her. And then there was another incident, which I won’t go into, that added to her sadness. But, wonder of all wonders, she told me that it was the best thing that ever happened to her. If she hadn’t been on her own, she wouldn’t have worked so hard in volleyball and made it on the gold team. (Woohoo.) And she wouldn’t have made all the great new friends she has now. (The girl is constantly chatting with numerous people, several of which she says are her best friends.) And she wouldn’t have the time to work on the stories she is writing. (Her stories are wicked awesome. She put one of her first short stories on her own blog, entitled theendofbarbieandken.blogspot.com. The girl has a gift for dialogue and suspense.) So mom, you were right. Things did get better. (OK, so maybe I added that last little bit. But I will admit I was doing a vindicating happy dance in my head at the time as if she had said it.)

So this whole parenting gig continues to be a challenge to my intelligence and my sanity. One thing I will say, however. Mandy will not be wearing those new Miss Me jeans or her skinny jeans at the library. And she will not be curling her hair and wearing lip gloss. On Bennett Martin days we will be following the new auntie Carrie dress code – baggy jeans, no makeup, hair in basic ponytail. Who knew that one day I would be looking to Carrie for fashion advice? Baby sisters may actually be contributing members of society. Wonders never cease.

P.S. Sorry this is not a Maui blog. I know I should do a Maui blog. It is in the works. I just really have to fine-tune my Toddisms from the trip.

P.S.S. I know the first word out of Carrie’s mouth when she reads this: “Hurtfullllllllll.” I love you Carrie. Feel free to pick on me in your blog or Facebook. Just make sure you keep one eye on my daughter at all times when she is volunteering. We all know you got it going on. J

Craft Show Junkies

If you know me, you know I knit. I am rarely sitting without needles and yarn in hand. 

But this fall while knitting at a craft show, I honest to goodness had a woman come over and take the needles straight out of my hands. She just had to show me an easier way to knit. She said I was knitting the hard way. Really? Is there a hard way? She assured me that she has been knitting since she was three – because she is from Europe – and they know the way to really knit. Yes, how did she know that I’ve been looking for a strong-willed Norwegian woman to whip me into shape? 

If you have ever seen my craft booth, you know that I know how to knit. Not only do I know how to knit, I am a very fast knitter. Yes, I know that there are pickers and throwers, and there are special styles to casting on and all that. The lady at the yarn store in town keeps bothering me to come in and take a class. I knit backwards or left-handed, or something like that. To learn how to knit correctly would just screw me up royally. Don’t you know you can’t teach a smart-aleck dog a new trick? Thanks for nothing, Danny Noonan, that’s all I need. (Sorry, obscure Caddyshack reference.) 

Sometimes people just make me laugh. We all have this innate human nature in us that we feel we should tell other people “I am good at this and I can do it better than you” I guess. 

Craft shows bring out all kinds of people: the silent shoppers, the big talkers, the fast browsers, and the little old ladies who just want to visit. You hear a lot when you sit in your booth. I love to people watch. I love the ladies who shop in groups and gossip the whole time. I love the husbands who follow their wives, shuffling their feet and looking around for some escape. One of my favorites was an older lady who shopped from the comfort of her powered scooter. Her little poodle dog sat in the basket on the front and her husband followed dutifully behind, picking things up for her to look at and scuttling about to fulfill whatever order she gave out. What a hoot. However, I must say my all-time favorite was in Council Bluffs at a holiday show. A gentleman dressed as Santa herded his holiday-attired geese around the show with a big staff. Each goose even sported a festive diaper. Carrie and I took plenty of pictures that day. The sound was delightful, the smell not so much. 

I love to visit with the other crafters. Once 2pm hits, the craft shows are virtually empty and there is plenty of time to catch up with old friends and make a few new ones. We compare notes with other vendors on which shows are the best, who raised their booth fees, and who is just reselling products featuring “made in China” stickers on the bottom. We all gossip about the lady who pulls her purses out of shrink-wrapped plastic bags a few minutes before the craft show opens. I also enjoyed all the booths with the headbands and plastic flowers this year. I’m wondering how many people know that the vendor just bought those headbands in bulk from Hobby Lobby for less than a dollar each and popped a $2-3 flower they purchased at the same store? Hand-crafted sometimes just means taken by hand out of the bag. But the kids love it. I can’t say I haven’t purchased one or two of these headbands myself for gifts. 

Yes, I am a craft-show junkie. I have become addicted to products made by many of my friends. I always hunt down Uncle Slappy’s BBQ sauce, pick up a bottle of cinnamon honey, buy an ornament from Dorothy, get a necklace or two from my cohorts, and then try to squeeze in a new end table I bought from the two crafter sisters I gab with at most of my shows. Jewelry and food, I always end up next to the jewelry and food, my weaknesses. 

And when I bring my fourteen-year-old daughter Mandy along to help at the shows, well, I might as well plan to spend a good deal more. She finds jewelry, food (this sounds familiar) and recently a socktopus. At the Seward show she found an end table with a British flag painted on the top. She is addicted to all things British: British soccer, British television shows, boys with British accents. How many British soccer camps has the girl attended just to check out the British coaches? She was lucky I was a master at the game of Tetris or she would have been riding home with that thing on her lap. 

Fortunately I had another good year this year to pay for all my craft addictions, as well as my daughter’s. I have several repeat customers and I know what people like to buy in the different parts of the state. But while I’m getting savvier, I’m building up that thick skin. You see, sometimes people don’t think before they speak. Actually sometimes people don’t think at all. 

For example, I am well aware that many people know how to knit. I often hear “Oh, I could make that.” “I knit so and so and such and such.” Yes, that is fantastic. It’s probably beautiful and wonderful. 

I make the things in my booth. You can buy them or not. They are products of a business. And if you don’t like the price I charge, Wal-Mart is generally just down the road. Of course, I would like to see someone make what I make for the price I make it. I get most of my yarn wholesale. Plus, almost everything I have I make my own pattern for. Yes, some of the things I sell are very basic patterns. Take, for example, a basic drop-stitch scarf. But my baby sweaters and dresses, my vests, as well as my hats, are one of a kind. Good luck. 

I’ve also been told that I can’t have made everything in my booth myself. Very few people believe that I do everything by hand. They say that there is no way I have enough time to make everything there by myself, by hand. But I don’t own a knitting machine. Some women also argue with me that they just know that I crocheted a vest or a scarf. I have to simply say that I don’t know how to crochet, so how could it be crochet? 

But for as many crabby people I encounter, I have as many wonderfully sweet shoppers to make the trip worthwhile. Everyone always loves the baby sweaters. I hear lots of oohs and ahs. They always remark, “if only I had a baby to buy this for today.” A gentleman a few weeks ago asked me if this was my grandma bait. Why, yes it is. 

I wish I had a camera to record all the people I see at the craft shows. I love the Husker red. Most of my shows are on Saturdays, so I see tons of Husker red. However, when I was in Hillsboro, Kansas, I saw lots and lots of purple. Poor Rick. He couldn’t find the Husker football game in a restaurant or bar that day to save his life. Poor guy.  

My poor, sweet husband. I really couldn’t do any of this if he wasn’t there to encourage me, drive me to the icy shows, carry in the big items through the snow and sleet, or just meet me in the driveway after a show to unload. And I don’t know what it is about that man, but if I leave my booth when he is along, he will have sold $50-$200 worth of stuff during the time I was gone. I’m not sure if that is because he has a cute face, people feel sorry for a man there by himself, or if I just take a long time coming back because I talk too much. I’m gonna say a little of all three and leave it at that.  

This Sunday was my last show of the season. My containers came home much emptier than when I started the season in August. In fact, I was able to leave a couple boxes and one table at home the last show because I sold so much.  

Every year is a little different. I didn’t have my sister Carrie with me at any shows this year, because she is all grown up now wearing the big girl pants as a full-time librarian and a part-time student. My daughter Mandy picked up the slack this year. It was actually a delight to have her with me at many of my shows, in spite of the extra expense. She will get up at 5am without much prodding. Also, the girl can add up totals and figure the tax without any help from me, so I can actually leave the booth occasionally. All those muscles from volleyball and soccer mean she can tote in any of my boxes or racks, probably even better than I can. And she has an awesome eye for color, so I often find I don’t have to fix any of the displays she sets up, unlike her father (navy and black do not belong together, and yes the manikins need clothes).  

There were even occasional bonding moments. She shared her iPod headphones with me during boring afternoons, and there were times I even appreciated her eye rolls. Sometimes that teenage sass helps take the sting away from crabby shoppers. I don’t know how many times we listened to Mumford and Sons. I also don’t know how many times the teen food deliverers needed to check that we got our lunch order. (Attention Odell teen helpers, just because you put your delivery tray in front of your face to talk about some girl does not mean that she can’t hear you. Also, grunting at her is not a good way to make a good impression.) 

And now on to planning for next year, and for Christmas, and for Hawaii. I sat down this morning and honestly didn’t know what to do with myself. I had a cup of coffee, paid some bills, and wandered around the house. I guess I’ll put on some Mumford and Sons, make something for supper with my Uncle Slappy’s sauce, and wrap a few presents. Then I guess I will just twiddle my thumbs. Maybe I do need that strong-willed Norwegian woman to tell me what to do next.

Yes, I Am A Knitting Addict

I think my kids grew up hearing “Just a minute, I’ve got to finish this row.”

Need a sippy cup? I’ve got to finish two more stitches.

Want to rock-a-bye? I’ve got to count the stitches in this last section.

Need a diaper change? Where’s your dad?

I am a knitter. I am a very avid knitter. I can barely sit in one place for long if I don’t have a pair of knitting needles in hand. I can’t remember the last time I just sat in front of the television without my next project in my lap. I don’t know if this is because I have a lot of pent up energy, or if I have so many projects to do that any spare minute has to be spent knitting. Whatever the answer, one thing I know, knitting keeps me out of trouble.

I just love to knit. I love the way I can create something out of nothing. I love how I can solve the day’s problems when my mind wanders as I work. I love the smell of new yarn. Yes, when I go yarn shopping I have to feel the yarn, and sometimes I even smell it. I know, I am weird.

Other avid knitters will know exactly what I am talking about. There is something about the allure of a bright ball of yarn. I haven’t really met a ball of yarn I didn’t like, or at least one that I wasn’t already planning what I could make out of it. When I see yarn, I see a new baby sweater with matching ribbon or a felted hat with kicky beads. It’s a problem I am learning to live with. It’s a problem my husband is learning to pay for.

I actually learned how to knit when I was in college. I was living in Norfolk the summer of my Junior year, doing an internship at the Norfolk Daily News. My landlady loved to make afghans and attempted to introduce me to knitting. I didn’t really have time to pick up the habit back then, but it seemed like something I could enjoy doing if I had the time.

Once I graduated and got my job writing for a computer magazine, I still didn’t have time. When I got home I just wanted to veg on the couch or go out for the weekend. Then I had Mandy. Granted, I had no spare time and even less sleep, but I needed something that challenged my brain.

I joined a Mom’s group and made a really great friend, Julie. She loved to knit and had a little girl a few months older than Mandy. She reintroduced me to knitting. I couldn’t remember exactly how to do everything, so I got myself a how-to book and relearned how to cast on and knit. Then Julie and I would go to the Mill, a local coffee house, and work on our knitting and drink coffee. It was almost like we were real grown ups, drinking real coffee. We left the babies home with our husbands and talked and cackled and knit. Really we were just so glad to be out somewhere without someone clinging to us or screaming in our ears. But enough about our husbands. J

This knitting was a real sanity saver. Staying home with your kids 24-hours a day is a difficult transition from the 8-to-5 working world. At the end of the day, it seems as if you don’t accomplish a thing. Plus there is no paycheck making you feel as if you don’t actually contribute to the real world. You make a meal – and then there are the dishes. You do the dishes – and then it is time to make more food or a bottle. You can clean a room – but once you leave the room, the toddlers tear it apart again. You do the laundry – but they have already spit up all over the clothes and blankets they are wearing. It’s an endless cycle. At the end of the day nothing stays done. Nothing was ever actually accomplished. Of course I was raising two beautiful, wonderful children. In my mind, I knew that. But I’m the kind of person who has to see a physical result of my work at the end of the day to feel validated.

And knitting did that for me. Even if I only knit two rows that day, I accomplished two rows. And all the dishes and laundry and toys and crying couldn’t undo those two rows. It was the way I clung to my sanity. In the evening I would think “but at least today I knit two rows.”

The first projects I made were not fantastic and I wouldn’t have given them to anyone other than my immediate family. As my kids grew and my skills advanced, I knit the kids blankets and sweaters and hats and scarves. During my kids formative years they each heard “just wait until I finish this row” whenever they needed something or were tired. I suppose that is why my kids drag their feet whenever I ask them to do something for me now. I have come to the certain conclusion that I am never going to hear “how high” when I tell my kids to jump to it. Or, they might have learned that from their father, that and how to roll their eyes.

Along with baby sweaters for my own children, I made lots of baby gifts for my family and friends. The gifts must have been well received because eventually these family and friends would ask me to make gifts for them to give to their friends. At first I used patterns to knit things. But once I got the basic idea of how to shape things, I would just knit by my own design. Often I would make up my own designs. Sometimes I think these were even better than the stuff out of the pattern books.

And so a business was born. Now, in addition to making items to order for friends and relatives, I knit purses, baby sweaters, hats, scarves, vests, washcloths, bike bags, and other paraphernalia year round. I created my own craft business, called Knitting Novelties. I sell thousands of dollars worth of my own creations. I have a strong following and have even had numerous items at several stores around Lincoln – per their request. I’ve been in an art show at a local art gallery. And every once in a while I actually see a lady wearing a hat I made or a baby wearing one of the baby dresses I knit while I am out and about Nebraska.

I do a few craft shows outside of Nebraska. I do the Rockbrook Apple Days show in Omaha, the Mid-America Center in Council Bluffs, the big Seward fall show (once I did the July 4 show), the Odell Thanksgiving show, the Columbus Scotus December show, the St. Marks Lincoln show, the Clarinda, Iowa show, and the Hillsboro, Kansas show. At several of the craft shows I now attend, the organizers actually contacted me to be in their show. People occasionally come to a certain craft show because they know I will be there; they have actually told me that. It seems inconceivable that other people would like my stuff so much. I can’t believe that other people would like – and especially pay money for – the stuff I love to create.

So now I get to do what I love and support my family by doing it. I can’t think of a better way to live life. During the fall and winter I spend all my time restocking my craft booth or making special orders. Before Christmas I am just overwhelmed. Sometimes I only have a few days or a week to do most of my Christmas shopping. But I love it.

Now I spend my time during my kids’ sporting practices knitting. Coaches and parents often ask me what I am knitting. I’m sure they are wondering how many scarves one lady could need. Or else they are really wondering how many babies I have at home. If I can’t get my knitting done during the day, I often stay up until midnight trying to finish the projects I have to get done for the week. Every once in a while my hands might get tired or my fingers might swell. Or, I might actually get sores on the end of my thumb because I had to make so many wool hats a day to fill an order. Wool just sucks all the moisture out of your skin.

But I love it. And I plan to keep on knitting as long as people keep on buying. I rarely get a chance to knit things for my family and friends anymore, although I try to make the time when it is important. If you get the chance to go to a local craft show, look me up. I have a Facebook page now for Lincoln Knitting Novelties with my craft show schedule and pictures of some of my stuff. (The pictures, however, do not do the stuff justice.) Please don’t feel like you ever, ever have to buy anything. I’m not having trouble making ends meet and I often run out of some things by the end of the season. I just love to visit with the people I know, I don’t mind letting you take a breather to sit in my chair, and I generally have change to break a twenty.

And don’t ask for knitting lessons. I refuse to give them. Mainly it’s because I knit backwards. Yep. I am a right handed person who knits left handed. I guess that’s what comes from teaching yourself out of a book. And I don’t want to mess anybody else up for life.

But I am looking for a new knitting/coffee buddy. Since Julie moved to Minnesota, the Mill just hasn’t been the same. So if you are looking for a break from your kids, like to drink coffee, and don’t mind a little cackling, look me up.  I’ll be there as soon as I finish this row.

Pretty Fly for a White Guy

My son is starting to get pimples. I nearly cried when I saw this.

NO! Not my baby. He is the only one in the house who doesn’t roll their eyes at me behind my back. (Yes, Rick, I see you do it too.) He is the only person who loves to act just as goofy as I do and isn’t too cool to be seen with me. He can’t grow up. Who am I going to make fun of the ironies of the English language with? Who is going to randomly entertain me by singing popular songs with his own made up verses? Who is going to tell me inane facts that they heard on John Tesh or read on the Internet? Oh wait, I’ve got Rick for that last one.

Joe will turn 12 next week. He is in the 6^th grade and enjoys acting like a clown, has no problem dancing like a goof, and relishes screaming like a girl. He still sits on my lap and shares his popcorn with me. He loves playing with his dog and beating up on his sister (when she doesn’t kick his butt). And he isn’t ashamed to do his runway model walk and act “fierce.”

But I have a feeling the days are numbered until the teenager comes screeching out. He thinks Jessica Alba is pretty and his mouth drops open and he looks dumbfounded during the Victoria Secret commercials. He’s started to wear Axe when we go out to the movies on the weekends.

He has been my husky little man, kicking butt on the football field and chugging after the baseball at first base. But I’ve noticed he has started to grow taller. He is only an inch or two shorter than I am. This seems to have happened completely out of the blue. And suddenly he wants to get in shape. He’s been keeping up with his pushups and sit ups to stay in shape for basketball. In fact, he’s been doing an East Supreme basketball clinic twice a week to improve his ball handling. I watched Sunday night and he can really handle the basketball. In the three-on-three tournament he played a week ago, he actually dribbled the ball down the lane to the basket several times instead of passing it away. His shooting, however, well that is going to need some work.

(We signed Mandy up this session for the same basketball clinic, because it’s for boys and girls grades 6-8. She’s going to play recreational basketball this winter in addition to her club volleyball season. It’s somewhat humorous watching the 8^th grade boys fumble all over the place when they have to do drills next to her in line. But at least the basketball boys are closer to her height, although she says several of these boys already have mustaches. And then there are the high school boys who are there to help run the clinic. I’m not exactly sure Mandy will be getting as much benefit with her ball-handling skills as Joe does. But she sure comes home happy. Well, we tried.)

Anyways, I’m not ready for my little man to start changing into a real man. Soon the girls will start giving him the eye. He will actually start using his cell phone to text people, instead of just using it to play games at his sister’s sporting events. Why is it that he rarely texts, but yet he knows how to make just about any texting face with only the keys on the keyboard? It’s probably the same reason he can do more with any of the electronics in my house than I can – he’s an 11-year-old boy.

He is starting to grow up. And this is going to be a problem. I can tell already. He has Rick’s blue eyes and facial features. Now that some of that baby fat is melting away, Joe is going to look just like his dad. Evidently Rick couldn’t even go home over the lunch hour to escape the girls in high school. Yep, the girls are going to be calling and texting. And Joe has such a soft heart, you just know some aggressive girl is going to love him and leave him and break his heart.

I’m just not ready for all of this. It was easier with Mandy for some reason. Maybe it is because she looks and acts a few years older than she actually is. And we’ve been lucky. Most of the boys that pursue her that she is interested in are pretty nice guys. I’m sure it will get tricky once she goes to high school, especially at a big public high school in Lincoln. But I know she has a good head on her shoulders, and just because a guy likes her doesn’t mean she automatically likes him. That is a relief. And she knows the difference between the guys you date and the bad boys (although I think she does flirt with them, as well. It’s in her genes. I will put my foot down, however, if there are any boys with motorcycles. I know there are a good number of people who are laughing pretty hard about that comment right now.)

Maybe it has something to do with mothers and sons. Or, maybe it has something to do with the fact that Joe was such a terror when he was little, and now he is such a joy. He has a lot of personality and an awesome sense of humor. Joe gets up early and makes the coffee most mornings. Today he decided to make pancakes for everybody and was cooking them when we came downstairs. I asked him if he wanted an iPod for his birthday. He said no, he would just take another Playstation game. He doesn’t want us wasting money on something he doesn’t need. He is going to be a wonderful man some day. He already is a wonderful son.

He’s not officially a teenager yet, but I’m the one with the growing pains. It won’t be long until my little boy is too cool to hang out with his mom and he will prefer his friends to his family on the weekends. This next year I plan to cherish all the time I have left with the boy, before he outgrows us. Then it will be just Rick and me. Yep. That better not have been an eye roll . . .

P.S. Rick felt that I did not portray his annoyance with some of my comments in the most literate way. He states that he does not roll his eyes at me behind my back. He is quite adamant that he clearly rolls his eyes at me in front of my face. In fact he states that he rolls not only his eyes, but his whole head, and has no problem with me seeing his annoyance. In fact, he says, he relishes it. Clearly, he has never heard the mantra: Happy wife, happy life. He is a slow learner.

Volleyball, Ice, and Joe Dirt (Not necessarily in that order)

I really hate ice. Ice is yucky. This is exactly the kind of weather that makes me want to turn my cars key in for the winter and hire a driver.

So today was our first day of snow. Oh the joy. I do not like to drive on the wet roads when the temperature is right around the 32 degree mark. Although it may not be slick, you aren’t sure where the ice might be.

And people turn stupid all of the sudden. Some people slow way down. Some people hit the gas and swerve in and out of traffic to show their annoyance. The combination of the two types of drivers equals lots of flashing lights and smoking dented cars. The temperature was 40 degrees when I picked up the kids from school (no ice whatsoever) and some major collision on Highway 2 had traffic backed up as far as the eye could see. People are idiots.

But that’s enough of the ranting. I prefer to move on to much happier topics. This weekend, for instance, was fantastic.

It started with the WELS Lutheran school volleyball tournament Saturday in Waco. Yes, you knew I had to talk about the tournament just a little bit. Both Mandy (8^th grade) and Joe (6^th grade) play on their school’s volleyball team. With only nine kids in grades 5-8, they have to play in order to field a team. The kids played in the B pool against other teams from Gethsemane Omaha, Plymouth, the little Waco team, and Central Lutheran (from the Norfolk area).

The kids have been practicing twice a week for the last month or so at Mandy’s club volleyball facility. I must say that having Mandy on their team (measuring 5’8’’) probably gave the Mustangs some advantage. She is probably several inches taller than any of the girls – and boys – her age. At one time during the tournament Mandy jumped over the net to tip the ball back down on one of the Gethsemane teams. Mandy said the Gethsemane coach just smiled and shook her head. Mandy also had some awesome serves. She was really hitting those back corners (a few even went a little long, which is a real change from the short serves she was making last season). Rick, acting as assistant coach, was giving her signals where to spot serve the ball. He said he regrets that he forgot his black binder so that he could slam the binder down -- Coach Cook style -- whenever the team missed the ball. Oh Rick.

Mandy was the only player on the team with any volleyball experience, so the team played mostly “dump” ball, which means they rarely bump, set, and spiked the ball, like Mandy is used to with her Magic club team. They just dumped the ball back across the net. When you don’t have a lot of players who can bump the ball successfully, you don’t want to waste time setting to someone who is just going to miss it.

However, someone told me that Mandy was a pretty generous player on the court. Several times she set the ball to her friend Braden, or her brother Joe, yelling their name so they could hit or spike it over. It was a great experience to watch Mandy and Joe working together to score points. It almost brings a tear to my eye. All that practice hitting one another has finally paid off.

The kids won all their matches and all their sets the whole day to make it to the championship match. And then things just fell apart. They let their nerves get the better of them and lost the first set of that last game. Things did not look good the second set either. Some of the kids were missing serves. Players were not moving their feet. Mandy was getting frustrated because she couldn’t make it across the court to return every ball. (We tried to tell her ahead of time that one person can’t be the whole team.) And then Joe gets up to serve. The kids’ teacher gets up and yells “Come on Bubblicious,” and promises to call him that all week if he makes his serve. (Joe’s nickname is Bubby, and he likes to call himself Bubblicious. I don’t know. He’s just weird like that. I have no idea where that comes from.) And as my sister Carrie has also mentioned in her blog, it was a turning point moment, just like when Lavonte David stripped the ball and turned the momentum in the Husker/Ohio State football game. Joe kept serving it over and we kept making points. He got the Mustangs back in the game and the crowd went wild. We won the set. There was a lot of yelling and cheering. The kids were jumping around and high-fiving on the court.

Then in the final set the kids started letting their nerves get the better of them again. But they kept fighting for every point and it went right down to the wire. Somehow the Mustangs made it to 25 points first. The kids were jumping up and down and yelling and screaming. The fans were jumping up and down and yelling and screaming. Even my mother was jumping up and down and yelling and screaming. I think my dad might have walked out in the hall. I guess we were loud. Go figure.

So Saturday was pretty fantastic. The kids got together with their friends after the game to hang out. Rick and I went out with the other coach and her husband and kept the pitchers and nachos coming at Grandmother’s. We watched the Husker lady’s lose their volleyball match and listened to some karaoke performers. I don’t think the bell curve was mentioned once. We had plenty to talk about that didn’t involve the long-distant past.

Sunday included even more sports. Joe played in a three-on-three basketball tournament with a few boys from his basketball team. It lasted the better part of the day and their record was 1-2-1. The game they tied was against a bunch of the players from Joe’s Spirit basketball team. I guess only one player threw one tantrum on the court. There are some serious characters on that Spirit team. That is a blog all of its own. Every game is worth watching just for the sheer entertainment value.

I painted myself just short of becoming silly with my sister and aunt Sunday afternoon. They painted Christmas ornaments and Carrie made a gnome. She wants to create her own little gnome colony so she can be hanging with her gnomies. She is so funny. Or else the whole Lincoln library culture is starting to get to her. As Joe likes to ask, isn’t there a pill for that?

On Monday we were stupid enough to agree to host most of the same kids from the volleyball team for some trick-or-treating. The boys tore up the basement beforehand, playing Wii and foosball. Joe dressed as a ‘70s police officer, with black afro and mustache. Mandy went out separately with her friend Megan. Mandy dressed as a vampire, complete with black mini-skirt and fish-net stockings. I said no to the bustiere, although I guess they got some whistles from a few neighborhood boys, none-the-less. But the real looker was Rick. He put on his Joe Dirt wig, cut-off t-shirt, Bass hat, and flannel shirt. He carried a beer can that he quickly chugged before they headed out. He carried it in his pocket hoping that someone would offer him another beer when they gave the boys Halloween candy. But he got no offers. Imagine that. What can I say, you can take the boy away from the rednecks, but you can’t take the redneck out of the boy.

Once Rick and the kids hit the streets, Carrie, my friend Melissa and I turned on the movies and broke out the wine. This year we watched “Clue.” Favorite lines: “To make a long story short…too late.” And, “Men should be like Kleenex, soft, strong, and disposable.”

We had very few trick-or-treaters. Most kids now seem to go to the big events, such as the ones at the mall or the zoo. I think parents think this is safer, and in some cases, warmer. The kids that do come around travel in huge packs. And they seem to be getting older and older. In a few years Rick might not be the oldest kid out there.

But that means more candy for me. The kids aren’t as easily tricked into giving me the stuff they don’t like. I guess I have to fend for myself.

So in spite of the crappy weather today, it’s been a pretty good week. I can’t complain, or at the least, I shouldn’t. I’ve got loads of leftover candy. The Bubblicious is ruling the school. And we are done with all the extra volleyball practices. Things are looking up. So I guess I should wrap this up and make a long story short…too late.

                                                                         Go Mustangs.

                                                                   I'm just a lucky girl.

The Seasons, They Are A-Changin'

I feel the cold a-comin’. Yep. The seasons, they are a changin’. Ready or not, here the cold weather comes.

I hate the cold. I absolutely despise driving in the ice and snow. This is probably the biggest thing I don’t like about living in town – winter driving conditions. I just dread when the temperatures drop.

However, this time right before it gets really cold; this is probably my favorite time of year. I love autumn not because of the beginning of school, or the football season, or all the birthdays we celebrate in my family. It’s the change in the season that gets me ready to change my pace. The change in the weather and the trees takes me from the hot, busy summer days spent outdoors to the cold, laid-back days spent indoors.

The cooler temperatures mean afternoons napping on the couch in front of a football game on television. It means caramel apples, hot apple cider, pumpkin pie, big bowls of chili, and lots of little smokies on the side. It means breaking out the corduroy jackets, cozy scarves, and buying new kickin’ boots. In our family, a trip to the mall has to fit in there somewhere.

The colors outside are just spectacular. The oranges, the yellows, the reds, and the browns on the green grass under a blue sky are incredible. All the different shades of these colors blended together are something worth taking a minute to appreciate.

It’s this time of year that you look forward to driving slowly through tree-lined residential neighborhoods. If you drive slowly enough, the leaves may gently fall on your car. If you pick up the pace, you can sift and scatter piles that may have collected on those less-traveled streets. Sometimes after I drop the kids at school I might go a block or two out of my way just to find a street full of leaves. Sometimes I’m still a kid at heart – a kid with a big sport utility vehicle.

The tree at the corner of our street is just beautiful. It’s a maple and right now has the most vibrant red foliage. It’s even more vibrant than my daughter’s new red highlights. And that’s saying something. The neighbors who own the tree barely have any grass in their yard and often don’t tie up their dog. But it makes me love these neighbors for having that tree -- and I don’t even know these people.

I took the dog for a walk yesterday. The weather channel predicted that Tuesday would probably be the last day to see 70 degrees for some time. The sights and smells just give you that fuzzy feeling; the kind of feeling that stays with you. The sky was a perfect blue. The sun was warm on my back, but there was crispness in the air that kept the weather from feeling too warm. With George Winston’s Autumn album playing in the CD player, life was just perfection.

There is a street I look forward to walking along at this time of year. It’s a short block with lots of oak trees. The oak trees drop all their leaves on the sidewalk, and the property owners rarely rake. It is a perfect place for piles of leaves that you can kick up as you walk. It has that earthy leaf scent that candle companies spend all kinds of money to duplicate. And when the sprinklers have just run, oh, it smells just awesome. That is the smell of autumn.

I’ve been missing another smell that means autumn to me. We’ve been so busy with school and sports and church activities that we didn’t make it out to my parent’s farm for harvest this year. The kids love to ride in the combine with my brother, the truck with my dad, or the grain cart with my mom. The smell of the corn in the back of the combine and the trucks is another smell that means the end of the warm weather. And the little pieces of corn husk that collect in your clothes and hair are just a precursor of the flakes that will soon fall.

God puts on quite a show this time of year. It’s worth taking a minute to stop and look around. Of course, what do we go and do at our house? We slap spider webs and skeletons on the house and yard (at least when we have the time). I still need to get the Halloween tub out of the basement and place a few gravestones in the lawn. But what’s the hurry? Halloween is only less than a week away. Heaven knows I am only motivated by a deadline. I guess I might as well break out the Christmas lights while we are at it.

I know this blog is a little out of character for my smart mouth. But I thought it was time to take a minute to appreciate God’s beautiful creation. If, however, you are missing the snarky comments, here are a few issues that I have stumbled upon over the past week or two that I think are worth mentioning, but may not be able to carry their own blog. Hope they aren’t too sassy. Enjoy.

--If you ever are presented with the opportunity to serve at your church during a pastor’s conference – do it. These are people who appreciate everything you do, and they will tell you so, a lot. They thank you for the wonderful food. They thank you for cleaning up the wonderful food. They thank you for the coffee. They thank you for the snacks. They thank you for the bottled water. They thank you for making everything run so smoothly. They thank you for just being there. And if you get the opportunity to hear them sing – do it. Pastors sing. I mean they really sing with their beautiful bass and tenor voices, often in harmony. They don’t mouth the words. They belt it out to glorify God. It is a beautiful thing. I would take that as my thanks any day.

--I find lately I often have to ask “Who is this person?” When I am on Face book in the People You May Know section (at the top right corner), I have several people to which I have 25 or so mutual friends. But I have no idea who these people are. How did that happen? I know I am forgetful, but not that forgetful. Also, I think they should put a “Not in a million years” button when some people pop up in this section. Call me catty, but life is too short to friend mean people and I don’t want to look at their faces again and again.

--Why do people with little dogs think it is so funny when their little unleashed dog comes charging over as you pass by, but then freak out if your big dog perks up their ears and stops walking to check the situation? When dogs charge they are displaying aggressive behavior, no matter what their size. So if your dog is going to pick a fight, leave them in the backyard or on a leash. I should mention, however, big 90-pound golden retrievers are generally too well behaved to tear a little dog to pieces, no matter how annoying your dog is. Most of time, the big dog is thinking, “Really? (Eye roll.) You’ve got to be kidding. Take a sedative. I’ve pooped bigger things than you today. Don’t make me step on you. Why don’t you take it up with the German shepherd around the corner? He didn’t have his snack this morning.”

--It only takes one night to have a sleepover, but it takes a week to clean up the mess. I’ve rounded up all the sleeping bags and popcorn residue, but I am still finding unknown socks. I also have an extra pillow and an extra pair of jean shorts. I am hoping to find a home for these items within the next month. Somewhere there is a mom desperately searching for a pink pillow and the match to several lonely socks.

--Why do all the new Top 40 songs feature somebody whistling at some point in the song? What is up with that? And more importantly, why did I never learn to whistle? These are things I want to know.

--Why are the new movies either about super heroes or are remakes of old films? Since we’ve run out of J.K. Rowling’s books, can nobody think of anything original any more? Are we so short of real-life people doing heroic deeds that we have to look to the comic books? I know we aren’t finding any quality deeds coming out the reality television shows. I don’t know. Maybe this might be worth a blog. I feel a rant coming on.

--I’ve stopped worrying if the kids in my neighborhood are going to like the candy I buy. Most of the kids old enough to trick-or-treat go to the mall or the zoo anyway. They don’t go house to house anymore. It’s too cold and too dangerous. So I buy the kind of candy I like (and a nice dessert wine to go with it). Somebody ought to eat good Monday, and it might as well be me.

--I have to say, I am glad my son is on my side. We were goofing around today, giving each other a few shoves, and the boy totally threw me sideways. I’m thinking this whole football linebacker thing has turned him into a little stud. He got low and gave me the shoulder, and I almost came up off the ground from the sheer force. He says that wasn’t even a real shove. It was just a little one. And it totally hurt. I know I’m getting a bruise. So I’m glad I have the boy on my side. He can plow the way through life one step ahead of me, blazing a path. Awesomeness. At least I got that going for me.

--Joe quote of the week: “Once you go chubby, you gotta go Bubby.” Take that however you deem appropriate.

OK, so that’s all I’ve got for you for this week. We are finally done with football games and soccer, so I might actually have a little time to write a blog again. Hopefully I will be able to get back to the computer a couple times a week for more blog updates.

I promise that I’ll do my best. Of course, there might be a really nap-worthy football game on television. Or I might need to take the dog for another walk.

If you don’t like it, take it up with my new complaints department. Of course, you will have to get by the little stud at the door. And watch out. He only takes it easy on his mom.