Friday, March 02, 2007

There ought to be daffodils

Today is Barbara's birthday.
She is both my mother-in-law, and friend. Lucky me!
Last year we were together on her birthday, and the year before that Laura, Barbara and I celebrated her day together, just us girls, in Scotland.

This year I will make do by calling her on her birthday to celebrate, and hope the gift we sent her arrived on time.
Her day of her birth was actually March 3, 1930.
3-3-30.
Easy to remember.

For her 50th birthday, I gave her a gift four days late:
A grandson named Jeff.
Jeff was her third grandson, but the first with the family last name.
That counts for something, I think.
Beginning in early March, when the kids were still at home, we would watch for daffodils blooming in my garden.
One year I had planted 300!
What a feast for the eyes that was!

Every morning Jeff would go outside and tell me how many daffodils were blooming.
Daffodils being the birth flower symbol for the month of March, they seemed to be announcing that his big day was soon to arrive.

Funny how that works. I was born in April, and my mom remembers the cherry trees blossoms falling while she was carrying me. I remember the periwinkle blue jacaranda blossoms falling on my car while I carried my daughter Laura.

While Laura's birth flower is larkspur, (July), the more consistent flower to bloom around her birthday was the belladona lilly, also known as "Naked Ladies" because the bell shaped flowers bloom atop a long stalk with nary a single leaf to provide a dressing around the floral event.
We haven't had any luck with daffodils here in Texas. Occasionally I see a white variety blooming here and there.
But they just don't do well in the heavy clay soil of our area.
Sometimes you just have to make do.
Instead of watching for yellow daffodils at this time of year, I now look forward to the exuberant blooms of the Carolina Jessamine.
The fence on the north side of our house is draped with the Jessamine vine. We can see it from our sun room/TV room/office area through the plantation shutters.
Such a lovely southern feeling to see flowers all abloom through heavy white shutters!
The breeze travels through our narrow side yard with the jessamine on the fence, and with its passing it captures the fragrance of the flower, which delightfully mimics the scent of daffodils.
Isn't that wonderful?
Carolina Jessamine does grow wild here. Or wildly I should say.
When we first moved here I was puzzled to see the forests of Loblolly pines covered in yellow blossoms.
I was pretty sure pine trees didn't have yellow flowers...but being Texas and all, it is always wise to plan on being surprised.
The surprise was that the Carolina Jessamine vine grew up all the trees and was merrily playing tricks on me. Pine trees, with yellow flowers indeed.
I will always think of Jeff and Barbara whenever I see daffodils. But for today, Carolina Jessamine will have to do.
And their blossoms are so abundant, I will not try to count them, but instead just enjoy.
Please enjoy taking a walk with me today.
There is a custom call "Looking for the leading edge of Spring", or Primavera, where you look to document signs of spring.
I took the walk yesterday, and posted the signs here.
If you select slide show, and put the display speed at 3 seconds per picture, the "walk" should take you a little under three minutes.
You won't burn any calories on this walk, but I promise, it will put your mood into great shape!





Recipes: Have you ever made....

I'll bet you haven't.

I'm even willing to bet everything I own that not one person reading this is planning to surprise your family with the following treat for dinner tonight.

Now you should already be aware that it is Rodeo season here in Houston.
Which means it is time once again for meal time creativity involving the Four Major Rodeo Food Groups:

1. Sugar
2. Dough
3. Grease
4. Brown

(The above list is taken from our local paper, the Houston Chronicle. Don't you wish you could trudge out on your wet lawn every morning to get a copy at your place?)

A couple of years ago there was a big flapadoodle about Rodeo Houston's Deep Fried Snickers Bars.

Followed by the still highly popular Deep Fried Twinkies.
At 425 calories per, and 34 fat grams, it is a blue-eyed bargain at only $3.50

Of course healthy minded folks can get Smoked Turkey Leg, a twenty ounce item from a (I can't even imaging) sized turkey.
One leg and a family of four is fed. Done and done.

I had adjusted my Southern California Sushi powered brain to accept all these items as legitimate food, at least during Rodeo Season.

But then there was today.

Ah, but for today, I would probably still be able to think through difficult questions, and create complex designs.

Instead, I carelessly read the Chronicle.

And learned about the latest and the greatest Rodeo Houston pop food.

Are you ready for this?

Have you thought all the thoughts you want to think for the rest of the day?

OK then.

Here it is:

Deep-Fried Frozen Coca-Cola

Here's the recipe:

First you freeze the Coke and then crush it into little pieces.
Then you drop the pieces into batter, and then you deep-fry it.
When it comes out of the fryer, you splash on pure Coke syrup or chocolate syrup or strawberry syrup.

"It looks like squiggly fried clams and tastes like hot, greasy, doughy Coke."

Did I or did I not win that bet?

And how goofed up did my brain stay after reading this?

Well, I went and bought this:

Yup, a bag of multi-colored cotton candy, that was advertised to look like little bunny cotton tails.

Actually, it came out looking more like this:

(There's an Anna Nicole joke in here somewhere....if only I could just think....)
Anyway, I had fun. Did you know if you push your tongue up against the cotton candy where the yellow meets the blue it turns the candy GREEN?
How cool is that?
You don't even need to ask.
I tried all the color combinations.
Yellow and pink made orange.
Blue and pink made purple
Sigh.
How fun.
I just love colors!
So tell me; what are you making for dinner tonight?
Any ideas?

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Hi Kids!

Oh what the heck. My family misses me, so here's a picture for them of me in the brand new scarf.
I just got home from a shift at the library, so my hair is pulled back into a nice librarian bun.
Love you!

Wearing of the Green, Orangemen, Peace and Grandmas

Well, the weatherman here says our March will be coming in like a lamb. Mild temperatures, and some rain, and mercifully, some cooling.

If it doesn't cool soon, my pansies are going to be cooked. There is only so much I can do to tweak their environment by tucking ice cubes around their little toes every day.

It IS starting to rain, and the trees outside are swaying in the wind. Around here, the trees have already begun to re-leaf. Spring has sprung in Kingwood, regardless of the calendar's notations.

I'm up for the whole March thing. Today is my college chum/MOH's birthday. (Hi Jennifer! How's April this morning? Did you go for a frosty ride yet?) April is her horse, and Jennifer raised horses while I raised children. I'm not sure which adventure was cheaper, but at least her little girl April is there with her on her birthday.

I've changed my side bar to show green hats, so if you need inspirations for avoiding a pinch later on this month, go ahead and take a peek. Why not wear a green hat this year? You're likely to get a kiss for your efforts, or maybe a fun little pinch from your someone special. (wink!)

Spring always makes me feel giddy and alive. But I realize I am called to be serious and sober minded in all things, as part of my Christian faith, so let me begin by pointing out that for years there has been trouble in Ireland between those of the Catholic faith, called "Green" and those of the Protestant faith, otherwise known as "Orangemen."

Thankfully, much progress has been made recently to create a state of peace in that troubled land. For that, I am truly thankful.

Now around here, it's another story.

My Mom recently sent, like all good grandmothers do, something in the mail for her "grands" amusement. In this case, it was to her grandcats, Tiggie and Hart. Neatly folded up in an envelope was dried catnip leaves from her garden. Isn't that sweet?

Don't all of us Mothers know what happens when children receive new toys?

Of course you do.

They fight over them.

Humans, cats...not so different.

I gave our Orangeman Tiggie three leaves configured as clover to celebrate the new month.
At first it went pretty well.He thought about it.Took a couple of "nips" of the nip... And then, oh dear, a fight broke out between the Orange Cat and the (Greeneyed) Grey Cat.

Tiggie said Hart was trying to steal his catnip.

Hart said he didn't touch Tiggie's catnip, he was just looking at it.

I don't think the UN should get involved.

But remember, as much as it is up to you, try to live in peace.

And don't mess with cats who are nipping their catnip!

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

My Colors


I've always, always, always been fascinated by color. A big box of crayons, paper and time is all that is needed to make me happy.

Yesterday I had a gift certificate to use down at Nordies. It's an hour drive from my home to go there, so I don't usually haunt the place. Plus the piano music played on the baby grand on the ground floor drives me insane. I need to concentrate when shopping in an environment where everything seems to have three or more digits in the price (before the "dot" indicating the cents.)

Nordies majors on black and white clothing. The majority of people on the planet look fabulous wearing black and white, so that is a smart marketing move on their part.

Asians, Blacks, Hispanics, Canadians (whoops, maybe not all Canadians...) all seem to have dark hair and dark eyes. Perfect for those high contrast colors. Add a splash of deep red, blue, purple or grey and Katie bar the door, Snow White has arrived, looking just grand.

I can not compete with their glorious coloring. I felt a little better after reading that Meryl Streep was described as having porcelain skin as she was photo'd for the Oscars. That sounds so much nicer than pale.
Or even washed out, which is how I am usually described. All that has changed; I too now have a porcelain complexion.

Even though I may navigate around my bland coloring via semantics, black and white and other saturated primary colors still overwhelm my appearance. Pastels make me appear as though I am recovering from a bout of the flu. This was a such a puzzle to me. The only colors I ever felt alive in were lime green, peachy pink and turquoise. You see those colors all the time in department stores. (Not!)

Back in the 1980's there was a big to-do about having your colors done. I turned out to look best in Spring colors. Imagine the flowers in a Springtime photo shoot, and you've nailed it. My mom, my husband and son have coloring that looks great in Summer colors. Imagine the misty blues and pinks, greys and lavenders of a dawn on a lake and you've got it. Other friends are winter, imagine a walk through snow, with bare trees etched in black, and rainbows of colors sparkling up from the snow, and you have the image of those colors. I've met few a Autumns, but imagining a walk in a flaming autumn forest, and you are there.

After trudging the Nordie store I was feeling pretty down. Until I saw the fish above. One of four fish that swim on a lovely lime green silk background on a wonderful scarf that called out to me: "Jill, I'm over here! It's US! We belong to each other!"

I was ecstatic! I wanted to wrap the scarf around myself and dance. ( Thankfully the piano player was taking a break!)

Bernie's face lit up when I showed him my find that evening. "It's perfect. It's you!"

Signature colors just feel great. The scarf goes with so many things in my closet, and rescues me from the "I'm being buried" feeling that comes when I wear serious business colors like black and navy.

What are your signature colors? The ones that make you feel great, and that other's always think of you when they see?
I'll bet you lime green isn't one of them (Kate, you are excluded from this comment.)

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

WWMD?: An Open Letter to Mommy Bloggers (Or: Time For Another One of Jill's Reactions. Take cover...)

Dear Young First Time Mommy Who Blogs;

Let me begin by expressing my profound delight in being allowed the privilege of reading about your adorable new baby. Your babe is truly a miracle, and the wonder and awe that you so rapturously express, both verbally and visually, within your blog, is a delightful miracle as well.

I congratulate you on your skillful management of your household, which has afforded you the time needed to take to your keyboard and openly share your unfolding adventure in the fascinating world known as motherhood.

How well I remember the early days and weeks of first time motherhood, when every moment of time was precious. I appreciate the sacrifice you make to keep the world updated upon the domestic bliss found in your new role as a mother.

When I was a new mommie, a few decades ago, blogging was a miracle yet to be realized. Instead of electronically sharing the details of my new life as a mommy with family and friends at a distance, I made do by taking part in a young mothers group at our church.

As young women became mothers, we would begin attending a Friday morning two hour study and prayer time, during which we bonded as friends, and shared our joys and our frustrations as we purposed to be the best mommies possible to the little bundles that heaven had so richly bestowed upon us.

It was fascinating to hear how labor went, and encouraging to know that other children had sleep schedule mix-ups, rashes, and colic. We shared and prayed our way through teething, digestive upsets, marital re-adjustments, childproofing, and potty training.

Our second born offspring were equally interesting...who knew two children born to the same parents could be so very different? The proud mother's of laid back first borns were shocked to discover that it wasn't their skills as a mother that made it all so easy, but rather the first baby was easy, unlike their household's second born terror.

By the time the third child arrived, the mommies became "old hands" at all of this, and generally stopped attending the Young Mother sessions. I had the privilege of leading this group for a few years, and recall many discussions of young mothers along the lines of "needing the older mothers to do their part and help us!"

It was arranged that some "older" mothers (mothers of teenagers to be exact...) would come to one of our meetings. The questions of the young mothers, babe at the breast, were pressing:

How do you get the baby to sleep through the night?
How do you get the baby potty trained?
How do you get the baby to stop biting other kids?

The questions went on and on.

I still recall Margie, a woman about eight years older than myself, her children approaching the teenage years, laughing hysterically, and saying something along the lines of :

"Trust me, you'll figure it out, and when you do, your kid will come up with a new behavior that will drive you crazy. This will continue the rest of your mothering life. Get used to it. Come on ladies, let's go out for lunch."

And the older mothers, for the most part, at that point got up and left.

How wise they were.

We really were able (gifted, actually) with the ability to solve the unique issues of each of our children, usually exactly at the same moment that said children cropped up with an even more vexing behavior.

And Margie was right, this vexing did (and does) continue the rest of our mothering life. I hear from eighty year old mothers who are just now learning how to relax in the challenges presented by their fifty year old children.

Nowadays "Young Mothers" connect and share via blogs. Having friends scattered around the globe is no barrier to sharing the joys and trials of young motherhood. How wonderful for your generation! The ability to gather hints and ideas from others while formulating your own modes and methods of mothering is very useful. What a blessing.

But I feel a strong need to gently speak a warning. While some young blogging mothers fear cyberstalkers, and have taken the precaution of making their blogs "by invitation only", let me suggest another consideration to be pondered before you freely share your mothering experiences in any form or anywhere in blogdom.

Your closest family and friends are eager to read about your new baby. They will remember the picture of your sleeping infant gesturing in fanciful or bizarre configurations, and will laugh with you at that rakish bit of humor. They will do their best to stomach your detailed description of the color, texture, and aroma of what your infant produced as an end product of digestion. Even if you later chose to delete your post that showed your cherub in disarray, you will not be able to delete the image from the minds of those who enjoyed your sharing.

I still can recall a madcap story that a dear friend told about her baby Rachel. Adorable baby Rachel experienced a digestive malfunctions that overwhelmed diaper absorption capabilities while being strollered through the finest department store in our area.

Baby Rachel is now Dr. Rachel
It happens. Babies do grown up. A couple of the Young Mother's Group children have become doctors, ministers, college professors, teachers, nurses and other exalted figures within society.

Sadly, when the glory that is Dr. Rachel is spoken of by her mother, my mind meanders back to the previous mental image so richly first created via her mother's detailed description decades ago when Dr. Rachel was still in diapers.

It's not just me. To this day, some fifty years later, my mom tells everyone who will listen that she always thinks of Richard Whitney, (who is now a judge), as the little kid running around with droopy diapers.

No matter how high of status anyone obtains in life, someone will always be there to recall your most demeaning circumstance.

The award winning author Dave Barry wrote a masterfully send up of a young parent's journals in his book Babies and Other Hazards of Sex.
He wrote:

"Baby Albums:

Baby albums are probably the single biggest cause of violent death in America today. The reason is that when people have their first baby, they record everything that happens:

January 5-Today Rupert is exactly one and one half weeks old! He weighs 8 pounds, 3.587 ounces, up 2.342 ounces from yesterday! He had two poopy diapers today, but definitely not as runny as the ones he had January 3! Also not quite so greenish!

And so on. By the time these people have their second baby, they're sick of albums. Oh they try to slap something together, but it's obvious that their hearts aren't really in it:

1966-1974: Byron was born and is now in second grade.

So Byron grows up, seemingly normal on the outside, but knowing on the inside that he has this pathetic scrawny album while his brother's looks like the Manhattan telephone directory, and eventually he runs amok in a dentist's office with a Thompson sub machine gun. So if you want to do a baby album, fine, go ahead, but have the common decency to notify the police first."

(Note the dates Barry ascribes to this imaginary journal. I'm waiting for his updated send-up of Mommy bloggers.)

I'm pretty sure that Mommie bloggers don't need to notify the police if they wish to detail every minute excretion their child produces, and verify the exactness of their verbal description with a digital photograph. Barry is just exaggerating for fun!

(And yes, lucky for all of us, I am not inserting a link to the mommy blog described above. You are welcome.)

What I would like Mommy Bloggers to consider is the effect their blogs will have on their child's future. Imagine, if you please, that your child, as you naturally are expecting will happen, becomes famous, or important, or (pray not) a cautionary example of failure.

Try to remember this as you write and post:

People remember.

And what they remember can not be deleted. Your humorous story about what did or didn't happen in the diaper, or at the breast, or whatever might not be what your child will appreciate having everyone share with him/her in the future.

This sharing may even occur in the somewhat immediate future when children begin to talk. Imagine what an older cousin, over hearing talk about newly born cousin's antics, will be able to share later, using that unflattering story against your child in a group setting at a later date.

All mothers have a favorite subject: Their children. Blessed is the mother who learns early on to edit what they share about what their children did, and what they thought about what their children did.

US President Jimmy Carter had a mother who went by the name of Miss Lillian. She had four children including a famous beer guzzler son named Billy, a woman evangelist daughter, and of course the President.

In one interview, following her description of her children and their very public adventures and miscues, she was famously quoted as saying;

"Sometimes when I look at all my children I say to myself, "Lillian, you should of stayed a virgin.""

The political enemies of President Carter enjoyed having that statement on record. I can not imagine how Jimmy Carter, the person, felt about having that observation in the mind of all that he met. Who knows how many "stories" about Little Jimmy growing up were recalled to undermine his governmental authority. How sad that Miss Lillian was not watchful to practice restraint from the earliest days of her motherhood.

Naturally, one of the joys of blogging is that you CAN and SHOULD say whatever you would like on your own blog. As a librarian, I fight for every writer's right to do so, even when I sometimes think what is written is revolting. I also fight for the right of readers to speak their mind about what they have read.

As a reader, I am going to suggest an idea that may assist an overly enthusiastic blogging mommy from drifting into areas that may not be tasteful, or in the best interest of the child:

Whenever you blog, before you hit "publish" think "What Would Mary Do?"

WWMD?

Mary, The Mother of the Most Remarkable Child EVER born upon this earth.
Surely she should have been given the right to express every detail of her experience as a first time mommy to Jesus.
But instead of writing or talking about every detail, she chose instead to "pondered these things in her heart."

Jesus, fully human, must have been as all other infants born upon the earth. Had Mary the option of blogging, would we have be privy to baby Jesus' diaper load color, texture, and odor? Pictures of Him on the potty? Her moments of hormonal mood swing?

I think not.

Mommy Bloggers, we love you and your baby.

But please, next time you write, would you just take a moment and ask yourself before you hit that publish button:

WWMD?

And occasionally chose to be like Mary, and ponder your baby's less flattering moments only within your own heart.

Monday, February 26, 2007

It's gonna be another one of those Mondays.

You know it's gonna be another one of those Mondays when:
  • You get up and make coffee, then can't find your husband. You remember (after leaving a cup of coffee on his desk) that he said he had to go somewhere this morning, but can't remember where or for how long. He could be five states away right now, or just taking a walk.
Note to self: Make notes about where B. says he's going to be.
  • Reading the front page of the paper (I decided not to worry about B. unless I get a ransom note...) and finding the word dang used smack dab in the middle of the page, under a picture of rearing white horses pulling a carriage. The complete sentence:

"It ain't going to be an easy deal to win, but it's going to be a fun deal. And whoever wins dang sure will deserve it."

Note to self: Avert eyes, ignore basic grammar structure until rodeo is over.

  • Below the above mentioned article is a story about a Houston woman who in her early 50's decided to stop being a couch potato, by testing her limits by running a marathon AND beginning to pursue her doctorate degree. Actually, more specifically, run a marathon on each of the continents. Right now, she is off and and running in Antarctica. She's dodging hostile leopard seals as she goes, running around two kinds of penguin rookeries and continuing her studies via satellite hook up each evening.

Note to self: Remember, you do not want to work on your doctorate, and you certainly do not want to run where there are leopard seals waiting to eat you.

  • The society section covered the Oscar awards. Best Supporting Actress Jennifer Hudson wore a lovely Oscar de la Renta gown,(with a lizard capelet no less...) and the paper commented: "Unfortunately, she kept putting her hands in the pockets of the gown."

Note to self: Write Erin over at Dressaday. Her "pocket in every dress" campaign is working big time...but I still am not sure formal gowns ought to have pockets. Something to think about.

  • There is a dead baby English sparrow on the patio. Both cats claim they had nothing to do with it.

Note to self: The cats are grounded.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Duh!

Another one of those on-line tests.

You Are an Excellent Cook

You're a top cook, but you weren't born that way. It's taken a lot of practice, a lot of experimenting, and a lot of learning.
It's likely that you have what it takes to be a top chef, should you have the desire...
The thing is, I only like to cook as a creative exercise. Not to feed hungry people. Never make anything twice is my motto.
Now if I could just pay attention while I am cooking instead of wandering off to check email and stuff while the pot is coming to a boil.
I darn near about burned the house down Friday when I was hard boiling some eggs.
Boiled that pot dry and the eggs were exploding inside.
What a mess.
What a smell!
This losing my mind thing is a real drag.

WWMD?: An Open Letter to Mommy Bloggers (Or: Time For Another One of Jill's Reactions. Take cover...)

Dear Young First Time Mommy Who Blogs;

Let me begin by expressing my profound delight in being allowed the privilege of reading about your adorable new baby. Your babe is truly a miracle, and the wonder and awe that you so rapturously express, both verbally and visually, within your blog, is a delightful miracle as well.

I congratulate you on your skillful management of your household, which has afforded you the time needed to take to your keyboard and openly share your unfolding adventure in the fascinating world known as motherhood.

How well I remember the early days and weeks of first time motherhood, when every moment of time was precious. I appreciate the sacrifice you make to keep the world updated upon the domestic bliss found in your new role as a mother.

When I was a new mommie, a few decades ago, blogging was a miracle yet to be realized. Instead of sharing electronically sharing the details of my new life as a mommy with family and friends at a distance, I made do by taking part in a young mothers group at our church.

As young women became mothers, we would begin attending a Friday morning two hour study and prayer time, during which we bonded as friends, and shared our joys and our frustrations as we purposed to be the best mommies possible to the little bundles that heaven had so richly bestowed upon us.

It was fascinating to hear how labor went, and encouraging to know that other children had sleep schedule mix-ups, rashes, and colic. We shared and prayed our way through teething, digestive upsets, marital re-adjustments, childproofing, and potty training.

Our second born offspring were equally interesting...who knew two children born to the same parents could be so very different? The proud mother's of laid back first borns were shocked to discover that it wasn't their skills as a mother that made it all so easy, but rather the first baby was easy, unlike their household's second born terror.

By the time the third child arrived, the mommies became "old hands" at all of this, and generally stopped attending the Young Mother sessions. I had the privilege of leading this group for a few years, and recall many discussions of young mothers along the lines of "needing the older mothers to do their part and help us!"

It was arranged that some "older" mothers (mothers of teenagers to be exact...) would come to one of our meetings. The questions of the young mothers, babe at the breast, were pressing:

How do you get the baby to sleep through the night?
How do you get the baby potty trained?
How do you get the baby to stop biting other kids?

The questions went on and on.

I still recall Margie, a woman about eight years older than myself, her children approaching the teenage years, laughing hysterically, and saying something along the lines of :

"Trust me, you'll figure it out, and when you do, your kid will come up with a new behavior that will drive you crazy. This will continue the rest of your mothering life. Get used to it. Come on ladies, let's go out for lunch."

And the older mothers, for the most part, at that point got up and left.

How wise they were.

We really were able (gifted, actually) with the ability to solve the unique issues of each of our children, usually exactly at the same moment that said children cropped up with an even more vexing behavior.

And Margie was right, this vexing did (and does) continue the rest of our mothering life. I hear from eighty year old mothers who are just now learning how to relax in the challenges presented by their fifty year old children.

Nowadays "Young Mothers" connect and share via blogs. Having friends scattered around the globe is no barrier to sharing the joys and trials of young motherhood. How wonderful for your generation! The ability to gather hints and ideas from others while formulating your own modes and methods of mothering is very useful. What a blessing.

But I feel a strong need to gently speak a warning. While some young blogging mothers fear cyberstalkers, and have taken the precaution of making their blogs "by invitation only", let me suggest another consideration to be pondered before you freely share your mothering experiences in any form or anywhere in blogdom.

Your closest family and friends are eager to read about your new baby. They will remember the picture of your sleeping infant gesturing in fanciful or bizarre configurations, and will laugh with you at that rakish bit of humor. They will do their best to stomach your detailed description of the color, texture, and aroma of what your infant produced as an end product of digestion. Even if you later chose to delete your post that showed your cherub in disarray, you will not be able to delete the image from the minds of those who enjoyed your sharing.

I still can recall a madcap story that a dear friend told about her baby Rachel. Adorable baby Rachel experienced a digestive malfunctions that overwhelmed diaper absorption capabilities while being strollered through the finest department store in our area.

Baby Rachel is now Dr. Rachel
It happens. Babies do grown up. A couple of the Young Mother's Group children have become doctors, ministers, college professors, teachers, nurses and other exalted figures within society.

Sadly, when the glory that is Dr. Rachel is spoken of by her mother, my mind meanders back to the previous mental image so richly first created via her mother's detailed description decades ago when Dr. Rachel was still in diapers.

It's not just me. To this day, some fifty years later, my mom tells everyone who will listen that she always thinks of Richard Whitney, (who is now a judge), as the little kid running around with droopy diapers.

No matter how high of status anyone obtains in life, someone will always be there to recall your most demeaning circumstance.

The award winning author Dave Barry wrote a masterfully send up of a young parent's journals in his book Babies and Other Hazards of Sex.
He wrote:

"Baby Albums:

Baby albums are probably the single biggest cause of violent death in America today. The reason is that when people have their first baby, they record everything that happens:

January 5-Today Rupert is exactly one and one half weeks old! He weighs 8 pounds, 3.587 ounces, up 2.342 ounces from yesterday! He had two poopy diapers today, but definitely not as runny as the ones he had January 3! Also not quite so greenish!

And so on. By the time these people have their second baby, they're sick of albums. Oh they try to slap something together, but it's obvious that their hearts aren't really in it:

1966-1974: Byron was born and is now in second grade.

So Byron grows up, seemingly normal on the outside, but knowing on the inside that he has this pathetic scrawny album while his brother's looks like the Manhattan telephone directory, and eventually he runs amok in a dentist's office with a Thompson sub machine gun. So if you want to do a baby album, fine, go ahead, but have the common decency to notify the police first."

(Note the dates Barry ascribes to this imaginary journal. I'm waiting for his updated send-up of Mommy bloggers.)

I'm pretty sure that Mommie bloggers don't need to notify the police if they wish to detail every minute excretion their child produces, and verify the exactness of their verbal description with a digital photograph. Barry is just exaggerating for fun!

(And yes, lucky for all of us, I am not inserting a link to the mommy blog described above. You are welcome.)

What I would like Mommy Bloggers to consider is the effect their blogs will have on their child's future. Imagine, if you please, that your child, as you naturally are expecting will happen, becomes famous, or important, or (pray not) a cautionary example of failure.

Try to remember this as you write and post:

People remember.

And what they remember can not be deleted. Your humorous story about what did or didn't happen in the diaper, or at the breast, or whatever might not be what your child will appreciate having everyone share with him/her in the future.

This sharing may even occur in the somewhat immediate future when children begin to talk. Imagine what an older cousin, over hearing talk about newly born cousin's antics, will be able to share later, using that unflattering story against your child in a group setting at a later date.

All mothers have a favorite subject: Their children. Blessed is the mother who learns early on to edit what they share about what their children did, and what they thought about what their children did.

US President Jimmy Carter had a mother who went by the name of Miss Lillian. She had four children including a famous beer guzzler son named Billy, a woman evangelist daughter, and of course the President.

In one interview, following her description of her children and their very public adventures and miscues, she was famously quoted as saying;

"Sometimes when I look at all my children I say to myself, "Lillian, you should of stayed a virgin.""

The political enemies of President Carter enjoyed having that statement on record. I can not imagine how Jimmy Carter, the person, felt about having that observation in the mind of all that he met. Who knows how many "stories" about Little Jimmy growing up were recalled to undermine his governmental authority. How sad that Miss Lillian was not watchful to practice restraint from the earliest days of her motherhood.

Naturally, one of the joys of blogging is that you CAN and SHOULD say whatever you would like on your own blog. As a librarian, I fight for every writer's right to do so, even when I sometimes think what is written is revolting. I also fight for the right of readers to speak their mind about what they have read.

As a reader, I am going to suggest an idea that may assist an overly enthusiastic blogging mommy from drifting into areas that may not be tasteful, or in the best interest of the child:

Whenever you blog, before you hit "publish" think "What Would Mary Do?"

WWMD?

Mary, The Mother of the Most Remarkable Child EVER born upon this earth.
Surely she should have been given the right to express every detail of her experience as a first time mommy to Jesus.
But instead of writing or talking about every detail, she chose instead to "pondered these things in her heart."

Jesus, fully human, must have been as all other infants born upon the earth. Had Mary the option of blogging, would we have be privy to baby Jesus' diaper load color, texture, and odor? Pictures of Him on the potty? Her moments of hormonal mood swing?

I think not.

Mommy Bloggers, we love you and your baby.

But please, next time you write, would you just take a moment and ask yourself before you hit that publish button:

WWMD?

And occasionally chose to be like Mary, and ponder your baby's less flattering moments only within your own heart.

Blue birds, grey cats and ribbons

Yesterday I got a whimsical comment about how I made hat trims from Becky. Of course I have bluebirds helping me with my hat trimming...I WAS a Blue Bird growing up! (Blue Birds was the youngest division of Camp Fire Girls back then.)

Actually, the only help I get as I make hat trim is the rhythmic snoring from our grey cat Hart, as he sacks out on the white chair in my hat room. He really does look good there with his little pink nose.

Anyway, for those of you who would like to create ribbon trim, may I suggest two books:

The Artful Ribbon by Candace Kling

A Passion for Ribbonry by Camela Nitschke

May I also suggest that you can usually get these titles on Ebay for around $5 USD a title? You can also get them on Amazon.com, and a lot of libraries carry the titles as well. I think they are worth owning though. Once you get the hang of sculpting flowers from ribbons, you can start creating any flower you see...I have done all the wild flowers of Texas for one hat.

Added bonus: All it takes is a needle, thread, small scissors, and ribbon, which usually fits into a small ziplock baggie. Perfect for taking along, so when you have to wait at a Doctor's office or for kids to finish their event, you can be whipping up flowers to decorate anything and everything.
People stop and talk with me while I am creating, and I often long to spend the day at arboretums creating from nature.

Enjoy your Sunday...it is sunny and beautiful here. We had coffee and juice out in the garden as we read the morning paper while the cardinals and titmouse serenaded us with their song. Bliss...my sympathy to all you out there stuck in the heavy snow and ice storms up North!