Mother Nature Misnomer

As a literature teacher, I fully understand the symbolism behind Mother Nature, named such because of the parallels of fertility, fecundity, and over-all nurturing bounty between the two.  (And even if I weren't a literature teacher, the connection between the two life-bearing entities would still be obvious.  It's one of those things you just know.)

Four hours in to what meteorologists across the world purport to be unlike any winter weather system to hit Missouri in years, I can confidently assert that Mother Nature is neither a stay-at-home mom or a single mother.  Think about it.  If Mother Nature was sole entertainment provider for her children during severe weather systems, she would be more sympathetic to mothers.  But no, she's too busy climbing the ladder and leaving her mark on the world to think about the middle woman--the actual mothers of the world.

Drive on roads covered by .5 inches of ice to pick her child up from school...not Mother Nature; purchase groceries for a potential three (if not more) days isolated to the house...not Mother Nature; shovel the driveway while her son begs her to build a snowman...not Mother Nature; explain to her son that just because there's no school tomorrow doesn't mean he can stay up as long as he wishes...not Mother Nature; watch countless episodes of "Johnny Test" as well as sequels of movies that shouldn't have even produced in first runs...not Mother Nature; play Scrabble and Sorry and Battleship and Uno and Monopoly until she's numb...not Mother Nature; hum the background music to Mario Bros in your sleep...not Mother Nature; lose personal mental capacity to such severity that you YouTube search the "Mario Bros" music and find this:  Big Band performs "Mario Bros" theme...not Mother Nature.

Nope.  Mother Nature lacks the compassion and heart of a real Mother.  Because I wasted thirty minutes of my intelligence today looking at Mario Bros YouTube videos, I have no other suggestions of names.  For lack of something better, I'm just going to call it nature.

Mother, my ass....

Put a little math in your love

While I know Braden comes up often in my musings, I consciously attempt to keep my Braden blabber to a minimum when I write.  I do not intend for this personal preference to offend anyone; if it does, I am sorry.  I see nothing wrong with blogging about your children (and if you want to read a blog that carefully, whimsically, and poignantly chronicles 'baby' adventures, check out my friend Amy and her family at Herman Nation).  But I feel that I started blogging a little late in Braden's life to journal about it for prosperity.  (Seeing as how he's only 8, it's funny to think of it as 'late in his life', but I had no other words.)

This evening, however, I abandon this resolve to impart a story to you.

Braden's bedtime routine begins with a shower around 7:30, after which we snuggle on the couch until 8:30.  A small fight over oral hygiene segues to tucking and kissing good-night.  Then we play a friendly game of "I love you more than ____________", a game most often played by trumping the other in the grossest manner imaginable.  (For example:  I love you more than a snotty nose.  I love you more than puppy poop.  etc.  Disgusting--absolutely--but it's a game suited for an eight-year old boy with a vivid imagination.)  Finally comes the "I love you" exchange, yet another opportunity for one-upping the 'opponent'.  Tonight's exchange went as follows:

Me:  I love you multiplied by two.  It's huge.  Beyond infinity.

Braden:  I love you, too, mom.  Good night.  (Obviously, based on his commonplace reply, I won the "I love you" exchange.)

Braden (from up in his room, several commercial breaks later):  "Mom, I figured out the solution to your love multiplication problem.  It's 'I love you I love you'.

Me:  Really, how do you know?

Braden:  Well, two multiplied by two repeats and so does four multiplied by two and so on.  I love you multiplied by two must be 'I love you I love you'.

Me:  So how would you add I love you plus two?

Braden:  It would be 'I love, love, love you'.  Just like addition.  It's really simple math when you think about it.  Plus, love is better multiplied.  You have more when you multiply than when you add and what's better than more love?

I'm not much of a math person, but it sounds pretty logical to me.

And so I ask you, dear reader: what's better than more love?

Song of Myself....kinda...

Thursday, after a 36-day struggle, I severed Procrastination's vice-grip from my soul.  That sneaky bastard approached me somewhat seductively, whispering sweetly, "you deserve a break" or "there's no crime in taking time for yourself" or "papers can be graded after you watch all five seasons of Psych."  He had me at Psych and I accepted that tripe like girl in a Harlequin paperback (or Jerry Maguire).

But no longer. 

Days of sitting and waiting and wishing and putting of until tomorrow what can be done today are no more.

I will be efficient and effective.  I will be productive and positive.  I will be less encumbered and more gratified.  I will be less like her and more like me.

And it will be awesome!

Best of 2010

I know.  Trite.  But I think the new year serves as the perfect moment to revisit the best moments of the previous year.  After all, reflection is a crucial component of progression.  The latter half of 2010, the year of the pilgrimage, has been frequently chronicled in this blog.  I strive to make this list concise and non-redundant but apologize in advance for the repetition.

My 35th birthday.  Mom, Aunt Melanie, Aunt Debbie, Tessa, Nicole, Meggan, Catherine, and Amanda came to Georgia from Missouri to celebrate--the first and last shindig all of them would attend at my Georgia home.  Stephanie and Sabrina, my best Georgia gal pals (as well as Sabrina's sister, Robin) also attended.  A limo.  Libations.  Dueling pianos.  Singing.  Dancing.  Laughing.  Girls' Night at its finest.

April Fool's Day.  On this day, I got my acceptance letter for the NEH course of study at Yale.  "Over the moon" mildly describes my reaction.  When I texted the news to my family, both of my brothers and two cousins thought it part of some elaborate AFD joke.  Joke was on them.

Accepting a job in Missouri.  If you know me well, you know the soul searching that went into my decision to return to the state of my youth.  While I have not completely acclimated to the changes--and being a creature of strongly ingrained habit and ritual, the sense of home will come slowly--the job with Jefferson City Public Schools sinews me to this place.

Yale.  Sorry, reader, to bore you yet again with this topic, but it goes without saying that my six weeks at Yale were the highlight of 2010.  For reasons too numerous discuss, especially since I have discussed them ad nauseum in the past several months, Yale exceeded my expectations in every possible way (except for the food; the food was insanely expensive).  Above all else, Yale taught me that I have the mental fortitude for a doctoral program.  Now I have to find the time to actually pursue one...

Saucy Wench's Words.  When I find the time to pursue a doctorate, I also want time to blog (or some other form of writing) more frequently.  I find blogging cathartic (even though the perfectionist in me reviews and rewrites each sentence tediously and meticulously, meaning it's very time consuming).  I truly enjoy writing, though I sometimes feel like the words are whispers in the wind.  While I write for myself--as a public dialogue of personal ideas so to say--, I get giddy when you leave a comment.  Are you familiar with the Love Languages?  My love language--words of affirmation (aka: your comments)--lets me know the blog touched you in some manner.  So I implore you, faithful reader, to leave a comment when the fancy strikes.

Braden.  He's my favorite thing of every year.  Enough said...

What are your favorite moments from 2010?  (Like how I tricked you into commenting?)

Trivial tidbits, New Year's Eve edition

Get out your pointy, rubber chin-strapped, party hat.  Warm up your paper blow horn.  Dust off your dancing shoes.

It's New Year's Eve!

Regardless of how you celebrate:  watching the ball drop in Times Square (or from your couch), partaking in all you can eat and drink offers at a local bar, or staying safe at home, surrounded by friends and loved ones (or completely alone), odds are you will end the evening with a toast and a kiss and a song.  More precisely, this song:

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

Chorus.-For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

In honor of acquaintances, old and new, I bring you today's trivia:

Who wrote the 10-stanza poem from which the above verses are drawn?

And today's bonus trivia:  Which Young Guns movie includes a scene where the boys return home from a New Year's Eve celebration to find one of their own murdered?

I will drink two tequila rose shots in honor of the winner of today's trivia questions.  Good luck! 

Any other name

Braden and I saw Gulliver's Travels starring Jack Black with some friends this week.  All-in-all, the movie was good.  Of course, it took poetic (and oftentimes dramatic) license to the novel written by Jonathan Swift in 1726, but Swift may very well have appreciated Black's unique flair.

What bothered me about the movie was the leading lady's name:  Darcy Silverman.  Each time another character spoke her name, it caught me off-guard.  Because Darcy is rather unique, it is always odd to hear it used frequently in public places by someone other than my family and friends directing it toward someone other than myself.  In my life, I have known one other real Darcy; we worked together in college and have invariably lost track of each other since the employment ended oh so many years ago.  I occasionally hear tales of "a Darcy I knew in high school" when people learn my name, which further supports how unique it is to be named Darcy.  (I hardly imagine that Sarahs are often met with a similar response.  After all, who didn't know a Sarah in high school.)  Literary Darcys don't bother me so much.  Maybe this is because it is common for me to see my name written, but hearing it repeated in movies and television shows is odd.

And so I wonder, does anyone else feel this way or am I alone in this peculiar trait?

(And yes, I am aware of the name theme of the past few blogs.  That's just what's on my mind right now.)

The TBR Dare

My friend C.B at Ready When You Are, C.B. has challenged his followers to a reading dare to start the new year.  It's a non-threatening resolution, of sorts.  No grueling counting of calories consumed or burned.  No daily search for inner peace and acceptance.  No unattainable goals of any kind.  Instead, you simply read.  Confused?  Seek out the details here.  But I'm all in.  You should be, too.