Brain Working Again!

It's late and that is when some of my best thoughts formulate.

Tonight this is what came uninvited:

I know we are struggling with a world that is supposedly over-populated (but how many people really live in north Russia and the deserts in Africa?), but if we stopped having kids...like if we decided, as a world, that there were to be no more kids born after...October 2012 (to give those babies just conceived a chance)...and there were NO more babies born...the human race would be EXTINCT by October 2114 more or less, depending on our medical advances!

In just one hundred years, give or take, there would be no more humans on Earth. Scary thought, huh?

Good night! Sweet dreams!

Time.

It's been over a week since my last entry and there were many times I wanted to write. Fortunately, I listened to my body instead and went to sleep.

Without my two other kids and husband, life is quite mundane. Still, I only have so much energy and if I put off writing until night time, there isn't any energy left.

Now it is 10am which seems to be a much better time, but it's harder to write as I know there are chores to be done. Yes, even living in a room instead of a house, there are chores. In addition to E being herself and having to keep behind her in the tidying department, I am also amazed by how I can make messes as well. So every day there are chores.

And errands. And food prep most of the time as my parents cooking differs slightly than mine. They try and quite often succeed in making vegetarian meals, but sometimes this pregnancy tells me I have to eat something else.

Granted, this is much better than when I was pregnant living in Bogota. There, I had no appetite.

And still gained 4.5 lbs a week.

Here, I have an appetite and am no longer gaining which means I am losing a little while the baby is gaining a little.

29 weeks. Augh!

Sorry! I just panic a little when I think I only have 11 more weeks. It's no biggie once I have this little human outside of me, it's just the getting out of me part that scares me half to death!

I think my baby wants out now. She kicks, pushes, and elbows the top and lower half of my front belly as if she is doing gymnastics. Maybe she knows she has an older brother to keep up with and is practicing already.

In spite of all these ramblings, I actually have something to write about. It's rather a delicate matter and I wonder if any of my family members who might read this would feel insulted so I am, as usual, leaving names out of this entry. Unfortunately, it will be quick to figure out who I am talking snout, but I feel quite inclined to write anyway because I am trying to figure out why I...let's start from the beginning.

Just before I left Bogota, I cleaned out and reorganized the cabinets in the kitchen. I had not been feeling well to maintain the kitchen and so things were starting to go a bit crazy. Got beans? Yes, but you have to look in 6 different places rather than one place. Have crackers? Yes, but they are going to be stale because no one put them in a ziplock bag and sealed out the air. I began working in the cracker/snack pantry and found about 20 sandwich-sized bags filled with misc. crackers. The crackers were not stale because they were exposed to air. They were stale because of age. I tried tasting a few, but tossed the whole bunch when I found that the ones I randomly tasted would probably be rejected by the local ducks. I asked J if suddenly our empleada started keeping everything and why would she start to do that. He reminded me that we had family living with us and it reminded him of the stories I used to tell him about another family member who did this all the time. Let's call this person Susan. Ephiany! I just thought this person did this because it was a characteristic trait of this person. Use it up until it is gone. Don't throw it away because you paid for it, now use it. I understand this, yet if the food no longer tastes good and has technically gone bad (even though it's not moldy), it's time to let it go. Also, saving one fourth of a cookie and one cracker and half a slice of bread isn't going to save any money, not really. What are we talking about? Pennies? And is it worth trying to gag it down just to save a few pennies? Getting sick and having to buy Pepto-Bismo would waste the whole wad of money you saved from keeping the old food.

I had always thought that the keeping of tidbits was part of Susan's ability to manage the day on so few calories. Susan didn't keep the morsels of food in her bags because she wanted to save it to munch on it later only as a form of dieting, but also because she saw this habit from when she was very little.

And really, what does it hurt to keep leftovers? It doesn't, but it is just part of a bigger picture which I am slowly getting to. Actually, in a sad roundabout way, it explains why I am always trying to become more like a minimalist.

I am not trying to become a minimalist to save money. I am trying to become a minimalist to regain some of my time.

But I feel that I have jumped too far ahead! Just like my taste buds demand better food, my eyes demand better clothes. This pertains to me, my hubby, and my children. I don't want to wear clothes that have stains on them and I don't want to receive hand-me-down clothes that have stains or holes all over them. Why? I have been asking myself this for days now, trying to figure out why I was being so snobby. Then it hit me. Sure, those clothes are free, but then I am not so dirt poor that I and my children have to wear stained clothes. If we were poor AND lived in a 3rd world country, I could see how I might be grateful and wear stained clothes. But I don't live in a 3rd world country and can go buy non-stained, non-stretched out, non-hole-y clothes at a thrift store for a dollar. I know that if I thought that I was not poor, at some point this would slip out in my speech when I was trying to explain why I don't want my children to dress in stained clothes. I would quickly be reminded that if I spent 'willy-nilly' I would never be rich, that I would always be one step closer to living in the 'poor house'. I would be reminded that this was how my family climbed out of poverty and were able to have what they have now debt-free because they waited and didn't buy things at regular prices.

They were very poor and literally pulled themselves up by their bootstraps.

They climbed out of poverty, but the idea of it hangs right behind them. This is often the case when people struggle to live. Look at 'Betty', another family member. Until the day she died, she kept everything and used it over and over again. Coffee grounds were used two or three times. Shampoo was monitored. Dryer sheets were a waste of money, but if given as a gift, they were used over and over again until they fell apart. Granted, Betty grew up in the Depression era and when her parents lost everything, they had to go pick oranges in another state to survive.

So both families struggled to get out of poverty and therefore, their children learned the value of the dollar. And now their children must live with the idea that they, too, are just one step away from extreme poverty. I assume the children were constantly at war with this which is why I should gratefully wear stained shirts and eat morsels of old food because I am one step from being '3rd world country' super extreme dirt poor.

I'm not, of course. But instead of being able to live and think like a person who has achieved status and wealth, my family and I are chained to living like those that were extremely poor.

Most of my family has been able to enjoy some of their purchases, but there are still members in the family, like Susan, who are not able to enjoy spending any money that they have earned. Instead, they would rather tape up their shoes, wear stained, stretched out, faded, hole-y clothes than to buy some new gently-used ones because it saves a few more dollars.

What is ironic is then these dollars are still uses elsewhere. Gas has to be bought to drive to the store to buy food to eat. I'm surprised cars are a necessity. I thought that was for well-to-do people, not people that are one step up from extreme poverty.

Yet, the rules aren't this simple. Some things are fine to spend money on. A regular coffee at Starbucks is fine. A second car is okay, trips to the beach (gas prices, anyone?) are fine, pets are okay...trips overseas are also cool. And that's just my own family that I am talking about!

So as I try to figure out why my family members think like they do (both sides, including the in-laws), I learn a lot more about myself and my "quirks" on spending money and am quite grateful...

that I have had John in my life for the last 18 years. Sure, I used to feel that he didn't put that much thought into his purchases, but now I realize that he does.

Quality over quantity.

Buy what you want, enjoy it, but limit yourself.

I like this a lot better than some of the other lessons that I have learned from both sides
Of the family.

As for those stained clothes, I will just graciously accept them and then like any good family member should do, I will graciously accept them.

P.s. On red meat and spankings!

Major typos and no way of going back to fix them, at least not know! I am new to the IPad and find that often as I type automatically IPad wants to figure out the words I am typing. It plunks the words in. If i don't immediately change it, I have a difficult time fixing it. So I will fix the typos on my laptop when I have time to walk 100 stairs down to the office (without Emma)so I can have wi-fi on my laptop to fix it. In the meantime, you will have to just figure out wha I was trying to say.

Also, my second post came up originally as my first post. Really odd. I fixed that in a heartbeat, but if you receive my posts via email, you might want to go to the blog itself and read part two about meat and spankings. I actually talk about spankings!

Red Meat and Spankings: good for you, part 2

Food is a cultural thing. Everyone knows that. Second night I was in San Diego, my Mom fried up a bunch offside okra (she's originally from Alabama) and couldn't understand why I would eat only half a cup. I wasn't hungry. What? Not hungry?

My mother-in-law, L, is very much the same way. She's not from Alabama, but she starts off planning a meal by figuring out what meat to serve. Soy milk? Why drink that when you can have good ole cows milk? It's a cultural thing and I have learned to accept that it's engrained in most humans to adapt a certain culture and live by it. I'm fine with this.

So when my mother-in-law is serving meat that is cooked 'rare' and calls 'medium rare' cooked, I have learned to look the other way. It's only a meal or two since we don't live in the same state. If it happens too often, I speak up...but for the most part, I don't. If it makes my mom and mother-in-law so happy that they are jumping in their rain boots that they got a chance to stuff meat down my kids...and it's only a meal or two...I'm okay.

Until they forget and decide to be mean.

Ah, the meany. I don't think it's intentional, but let's see it my way. I am biting my tongue. I am being polite. Why doesn't this work both ways?

The next morning, after my son ate some of the oozing red pig butt (roast beef), he got up for breakfast. L was busy making him pancakes with an unfortunate batter that I had bought and lugged into her house. It was a whole wheat blueberry pancake mix, but because I had not bothered to read the ingredients like I usually do, I was not aware that the blueberries were artificial.

Yuck.

This made the pancakes taste yuck. I wasn't going to eat them so I pulled out my waffles, made my special sauce, and began to chow down. First E saw them. Then G. They both wanted some and G wanted it with the special sauce which is hot peanut butter and syrup. L sees this happening and I apologize for it because she had, indeed, been making pancakes for the kids. Oops! Granted, this was not intential at all to waste her time as I didn't know the kids were going to want what I was eating!

While I was sitting over this issue of upstaging L's preparation of breakfast, L approaches G and asks him what the sauce was. He tells her. And then she said the word.

"Yuck."

What?

My own ears fell on my plate. Peanut butter and syrup mixed together is yuck? Sure, the syrup had high fructose corn syrup in it, but it's the only thing I could find in the cupboard.

I didn't say anything.

Just to make sure that G and I heard L, she said the same comment two more times in the next five minutes about the "special sauce".

I wasn't mad. I was in shock.

So quickly, speaking directly to G, I said that it was okay if his grandmother didn't like the sauce because everyone has their own likes and dislikes...like, oh, for example, some people don't like meat.

There. I said it. G agreed with me and said it was okay if his Nani didn't like the sauce because it meant more for him. There's my boy! Just like his mom, sticking a little humor into an otherwise sticky situation.

Sure, "special sauce" is my recipe...just like I had explained to L and although I could be offended that she called my personal recipe "yuck" I was more shocked than anything. Um, protein, anyone? Doesn't peanut butter have a large fat content and high cholesterol? It's just like...meat!! Except, it never frolicked in the green meadows (but neither did that roast beef).

Shocked that I had kept my mouth shut when I could very well have said "yuck", yet someone older than me couldn't resist. Then I remembered.

Old school.

The younger generation, at least years ago, kept their mouth shut and respected their elders. Oops! Forgot that one so many times! Old school: eat your meat.

Pink Floyd has some favorite lyrics: eat your meat or you can't have any pudding. I say, skip the meat, sprinkle granola and nuts on your pudding, and chow down! It's healthier for you.

So meat isn't good for me, Mommi. How come I have to eat it?

Shut up and eat your meat or you can't have any pudding...or at least at your grandparents house. When I get back home to Bogota, you can guarantee that the only time you will be biting into a once living animal is at school or if Daddy cooks.

I know, I know. The next question is,why do I have the word "spanking" in my title?

Well, I certainly didn't want to pick out one little incident in a two week period and pick on one person for one little thing, so I thought it would be informative if I added that my mother is also old school.

She believes in spankings.

It's never too early.

How early, Mom? 1 year? 6 months? She didn't answer. I am assuming it's either because she couldn't hear me over Emma's screaming or she was just too angry that I wouldn't spanking my 20 month old when she didn't want to get in her car seat for the 4th day in a row.

I have spanked my son a dozen times in his life and have hated it every time. Every spanking is the same. One swat on the butt. I was spanked repeatedly as a child, and it had always hurt me that my parents thought it was okay to hurt me. I don't see the link between spanking and 'learning a leaaon'. In extreme situations where my son was completely disobedient I have used it as a threat (oops) and found I had to follow through. I know spanking is controversial, but I am definitely against it.

Especially for a 20 month old. But my mother is old school.

She's convinced that the Bible verse, "spare the rod spoil the child" means, "(if you) spare the rod (you will) spoil the child.

If I was to let a series of books that tell me to cover my adornments, not accept blood, and war with my neighbors if they don't follow my God, then I guess my translation of that verse would be, "spare the rod (and) spoil the child (with love and time).

So for several days, while Emma had her regular issues, my mother was convinced that the cure would be a good spanking.

Finally, we were in the car yesterday and Emma had another meltdown about the car seattle and the thought came to me...if this was L saying this, you would probably give in just to make peace and not rock the boat. Why are you arguing with your mother? Sure, you don't agree with it, but you also don't want your kids eating medium rare meat and they do at your MIL's house...so why not try one spanking one time.

So while Emma had her back arched fussing about how she didn't want to sit in her car seat, I gave a small slap on her butt. With the cloth diaper and then pants over it, I think it might have been just enough for her to look down and wonder what was going on. Then she decided she didn't like that and began to howl louder than before. She cried all the way home while Mom tried to say, above her crying, "hush" in firm tones.

That was the last discussion that Mom has had with me in regards to spanking.

Of course, being who I am, I had to point out that if we had just ignored E and stuck her in the car seat, she would have stopped complaining within a minute. Instead, we had to listen to her complain all the way home.

Old school. It's not all a bed of roses. Old school is old for a reason. Most of it was left behind, an ancestor to today's thought.



Sometimes that's why old school of thoughts are left in yesterday. Mustard yellow (baby poop) colored couches covered in plastic? Old school. Children out of car seats, left to roam a moving vehicle while the window is completely rolled down? Old school. Liver for breakfast? Eat 3 big meals a day? Go for a drive on Sunday? Children must remain seen and not heard? Old school.

Meat? Hello? Old school. Spankings? Ditto. So why do our Moms cling so tightly to old school. I think it's because they don't realize it is old school and really, am I the one to educate them, to change their mind?

Yes and no.

It's a hard job, so I don't want to. But sometimes I have to, at least for the sake of my kids. If L wants to feed a cow to her other grandchildren, then that's what she can do. And if my sister is wholeheartedly spanking her kids because she believes in it, fantastic-o.

But for me, I have seen the results of speaking up. My MIL now is on the recycling committee. For the last 15 years, I have been digging cans, bottles, and cardboard out of her trash cans, gently reminding her that those items are recyclable. My mother now calls the doctor when she has pain. For years it was me having to badger and beg her to call when she was sick. See, it works when you gently encourage someone to change for the better.

It's also painful. But, not as painful as...


Eating meat (your poor heart cries every time)!

Spankings!








(to be cont'd)

Arrived in San Diego-now what?

Sunday through today I have spent my time settling in when I am not resting. This is a necessary evil, but time consuming. Still, I am happy! I am mostly free of headaches (minus a few scattered ones), am not exhausted, and except for one particular hour one day, I no longer suffer from nausea! What a glorious life being able to live again! Yesterday I was able to visit the library for the first time since arriving to the United States on November 1st and just the smell excited me. So many books to choose from, so many things to learn!

Leaving My Family

Tomorrow, Sunday, I am leaving 3/4 of my family behind in Texas. It's not an easy thing to do especially since I'm talking about my daughter, my son, and my husband.

I've already had to say goodbye to my favorite snuggly cat, Piglet, and my crazy cat, Tigger. I won't see them for 4 1/2 months. Tigger will be okay, but I worry about Piglet as he's already so anti-social (except with me) that this might make him withdraw more.

But tomorrow morning I board a plane with my youngest, heading off to San Diego, without my two older children. I have to leave them because really, they have to leave me. They have to return to Bogota to go back to school, but if I go with them, I will be plagued with more headaches, nausea, and exhaustion while I am still pregnant. Sure, there's no real way of knowing if this is the case, but it was from July 14 to November 1st (when I landed here) so I am pretty sure if I go back, it would resume if not increase.

34 days.
34 days.
34 days is between me and my kids.

Sucky People Making Others Not Feel Welcome

Why can't we all just get along? Really? In our country, the United States of America, we're certainly not suffering from "demons". That's really a lame idea. If demons were truly living and controlling our country, wouldn't they be a lot more destructive? What makes us think we could control them and really, aren't they a bit tame? Why are there always individuals who are desperate to isolate themselves and push away others rather than love others?

Seriously, isn't time for a change?

If you want to read the article about how a group of people (who think they are "holier than thou") work at trying to alienate themselves and show the opposite of Christ's love, read on:

http://news.yahoo.com/detroit-prayer-event-puts-muslim-community-edge-080208099.html

The Future

A friend of mine, Jessica Hawks, posted on her Face Book wall, "...if someone told you they were from the future, what would it take to make you believe them?"

Frankly, I don't know what I could ask that would convince me that the person was from the future.

I am currently working on a story that's set in the future and I believe it's a path that could happen therefore I'm not going to call it sci-fi. Still, the whole of the story is in the future. Now that my friend has asked me this question, I wonder if I should have a visitor come from the future to our current time...but what could he or she say to make us believe this is a visitor from the future and not just some quack.

Discuss politics? Anyone can make stuff up.
Technology? It would have to be really good stuff and even then, we might think it's been leaked from the Apple lab.
Medical breakthroughs? It depends. I mean, if the person looks like they're 200 years old but can still do the hula hoop, that might be convincing, but wouldn't plastic surgery also be available in the future?

I can't believe that such a question stumps. I thought I had an answer for most of these things, but this time I'm stuck.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Too close to home? Am I nauseous because it's late or because Rise of the Planet of the Apes that I just paid $1.50 for was too close for comfort? Rupert Wyatt put the whole concept on speed, but while I watched the events unfold, I wondered just how close to the truth Rupert Wyatt, Rick Jaffa, and Amanda Silver (the producers of the movie) could actually be. After a few credits, we're left watching a disturbing scene where the infected neighbor is walking through the airport sneezing blood. Yuck and OMG in the same breath. I left thinking about the bird flu scare that flooded our news channels a few years back and had a new appreciation for the hype behind it.

I didn't realize that it was to be another 3000 years before the apes were discovered by astronauts that had been lost in space. I find it fascinating that we skip back to see the beginning of how the planet is changed by apes just as I find it interesting that the first 3 books of Star Wars was made into movies years after the second set of books.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I was supposed to try and keep this blog strictly on children's literature. I was terribly bored and felt like I was running in circles. Then I realized that most of my childhood stories that I grew up with were probably grownup stories tweaked just a bit for children. Why not scare my son's pants off with a little story about how apes take over the world? Sure, I won't give him the gory details, but since he loves scary stories, I could tone it down a bit. In the meantime, while I "blog", I can stretch out and just write about what goes on in my life.

Like watching movies late at night in Houston with my hubby and oldest daughter.

The Woes of Technology

Saturday, November 5th, Nanni, G, E, and I went to the Elizabeth Kaiser Meyer park which is near Nanny's house in Houston Texas. We had a picnic and then E played on the playground while G biked on the paths. It was really nice, but in the 2 hours I was there, I must have exerted too much energy because by the end of the trip, I was beat. Most of the time, Nanni was involved with taking care of E, but I did walk to the pond twice which is about 500 feet from the playground.

When we got home from the park, we all took naps. Obviously, mine was not as restful as I had hoped because after I awoke at 4pm, I never quite fully had the energy back like I usually do when I have had a nap. J did remind me tonight...I'm in my 7th month of pregnancy, so it's normal to feel zapped all the time...especially now that I'm older.

At 5pm I began checking emails. I'm behind in them on account of the migraines that took over my life from August to September so most just sat in my in-box unread. For two hours I delegated, deleted, read, and responded to a bunch of emails. When I felt that I had knocked out as many as I could without my brains bleeding out of my ears, I went back to count how many I had answered. Twenty emails. Two hours and I was able to read and answer twenty emails. I know I'm a slow reader, but seriously, how slow can I be? Granted, I had plenty of interruptions from E and G as well as I was tired, but it made me realize why I don't often check my emails. It sucks so much of my day away. If it takes 2 hours to read 20 emails and I receive at least 20 non-spam emails a day, this means I am spending 14 hours a week reading and responding to emails. Technology is a blessing...and a curse.

At 7:45, I crawled into bed and fell asleep. Nanni bathed and dressed E and G. I was exhausted and was relieved she volunteered to take care of them. Unfortunately, at 10:00, G woke me up and I've been up ever since, trying to read and respond or delete more of my backlog of emails. Finally, at midnight I decided that spending an additional two hours of reading emails was going to kill me.

I know, I know. Checking emails is a necessity, right? It's also beginning to feel like a chore and I'm thinking, I'm going to start guarding my email more and rely more on texts as it's a little faster. If I can think of any other solutions to the current 15 emails a day problem, I'll certainly be here brainstorming!

24 hours in a day:
8 for sleep
2 for hygiene
10 for other

Yes, I've changed the name of my blog!

I started this blog with the idea that it would be about my children stories. Then I decided that was boring so I started to write about other boring stuff. Now that we've finished our trip to Villa De Leyva (which I would so like to write about but it's sooo late), I have to rethink what I want this blog to be named. For example, this was one of our conversations in the car today on our 6 hour drive home.

My Son: Mom, is Pima a diplomat? (Pima is the dog)
My Daughter: Sort of.
Me: Actually, I would think so.

I know, boring, right? There were some funny conversations, of course! But this made me think, oh yeah, maybe I should blog about some of those other things in my life besides my children stories and the battle of clutter when you have kids.

I thought of naming it "Diplomatic Dog" but then I'd have to spend time writing about my dog.

It's late. No one wants to read about what I have to say about Pima.

Good night.

My E Fell Off, Again and other really boring thoughts

We own The Simpsons Movie in English, but for some reason, J switched channels and we are watching it in Spanish. Well, he's not as he's left the room, but I have been listening to it for the last 30 minutes. I never thought of the Simpson's teaching me Spanish.

J's laptop is about 5 years old. It has been loyal, traveling across the United States and every member of the family has used the key board minus the dog. Yes, even the baby and the cats have had their fingers (and paws) all over the laptop, possibly trying to type the message, "feed me". Nevertheless, this laptop has put up with our abuse and has had enough. It spit a letter at me on Monday to remind me it has feelings. It gave up it's "e" key. Feeling sneaky, I super glued the "e" back on, but tonight it has fallen off. The "e" key is important. Think of all th words I can't spll if I didn't hav an "e." I should trat my laptop bttr, but th truth is, I thought I was. S what lif would b lik without an "e"?

Pima, our new pup that we purchased 3 weeks ago (or so) is already spoiled. Just like our best pointer, Rory, Pima isn't entirely happy until she's sitting in our lap eating off of our plate. I guess all German Pointers are whiners. I had just assumed it was our late Rory, but Pima is only 3 months old and is quite good at whining. I suppose the lap part is okay as Rory was heaviest at 10 years old weighing in at 70 lbs. That's like a small child sitting on our lap.

Rory farted a lot, and so does Pima. I guess that is another Pointer thing.

I suppose I should write something that is meaningful, but half the time,I am laughing at these little things. It's the little things, anyway, that really make up life. The big stuff is just a collection of little things.

J says not to superglue the "e" back onto the keyboard, but I'm afraid that I don't, it will become lost. We change apartments next week (oh joy) and I am not going to be organized for a very long time. I just fear that somehow in the shuffle, the "e" will be lost.

Pima just perked her ears up, stopped moving in her puppy ways, and started to watch the Simpson's Movie. Awesome. Maybe it's because her first language was Spanish.

The Joy of...Bowling (what did you think I was going to say?)

After I try not to freak out about putting my feet into shoes that have had hundreds of other feet in them, I lace them up and head off to find my bowling lane. This happens every time I go bowling.

Bowling happened by accident.

It's not something that I thought I would pick up as a hobby and I only bowl twice a year, but there is nothing more wonderful than literally throwing a 13 lb. ball down a lane!

Unless you slip, which I often I do.

I know, that's why the shoes are for, to keep the wood from getting skid marks so the ball will roll nice and smoothly. Still, it doesn't help clumsy people like me.

Bowling is beautiful. My actions can cause the pins to fall.  How beautiful. I mean, being a mom and a writer, I don't normally have the priviledge of watching my actions create other actions in such a dramatic way. Everything I do causes a little ripple in the pond, not a big one (which is ok, I guess).

But with bowling, I get to watch something actually happpen.

Land Rover Love

It happened. I fell in love, at last, with a new vehicle, besides helicopters.  And submarines. And airplanes. Now I can add Land Rovers to my list of vehicles that I absolutely love.

The Way Life Happens-And My Spanish Isn't Improving.

I could be working on my homework or perhaps writing, but instead, I've ended up watching "About A Boy" by accident as Emma is on the couch next to me sleeping and the remote control is in the other room. She's had a fever for 2 days so I would rather her be with me than in the crib as it's a thing Moms do. We worry.

Now, why the remote is in the other room is because my other half says the other remote for that room is missing. I suppose I could order another remote, but my Spanish still sucks. Yeah, it's my fault as I've dropped adding new words since December, but I really really do plan to bring that part of my life back into play. In March.

A little something about a side of a Mountain and what it can do for me

I just returned from a party that was for a lovely friend who I have known for nearly 4 months. Here, in Bogota, I think I live in "hyper-time." My slow lazy life that I once knew is now gone. I am happy, but sometimes I feel that the life I once had, where I drifted along in a row boat without oars would be nice to have once in awhile. Now I feel like I'm on a cigarette boat in the middle of a tornado.

I got up at 5 am for a hike up a mountain with a friend whom I begged to take me there. She says the hike will beat my butt and with me eating all these "arepas", fresh pineapples, and drinking "avenas", I need a little beating on the side of a mountain.

The Regional Security Office at the United States Embassy must be a dreary place to work at. Every day the employees have to listen to terrible accounts of how someone almost got run over a donkey and cart or how they had to drive through Bogota traffic blindfolded because they were too scared to look. The RSO warns us about what not to do in Bogota, like drink lots of beer and then visit tourist traps.

I think they also warned us about going outside of Bogota to the country. They didn't warn us about going on a trail up the side of a mountain probably because they didn't think we could hack the elevation. I mean, since Bogota is already over 8,000 feet in the mountains, who would be stupid enough to volunteer to go even higher.

I am not saying that I am stupid, I just think that the RSO (Regional Security Office) thinks that we Americans wouldn't be that stupid, but here we are, pushing our heart and leg muscles to the max just to walk up a beautiful trail alongside a mountain.

Granted, it's worth it. The hike, that is. Bogota is a BIG city and I have only lived in Washington DC which feels 1/4th the size. I've visited NYC. I have never lived in such a big city with so many people so it's nice to take a little break and get away from it. Sometimes, on the trail, the sounds of the city are completely gone and all I hear are the trees rubbing back and forth. It sounds like some troll is opening and closing the door to his little cave.

I've finally accepted that no two journeys are alike. And of course, "...the best laid schemes of mice and men Go Often Askew" as Robert Burns once wrote. "It is what it is" Plato said and I often say this, like every day. I wish I had started hiking before this month, but maybe my friend Karen thought I had enough on my plate (I still love you Karen) or that I just wasn't in shape after having Emma.


At any moment, there can be crazy things going on, like my daughter eating dirt from a plant or my son trying to skate off the side of a mountain. It's okay because there's alwasy tomorrow morning where I can go hike for two hours and forget about everything.

-typing with one hand or maybe a nose while the other hand(s) are holding my baby who thinks she can walk.

Knowledge of deadly biological pathogens=good.

Crazy as it may sound, I actually do have a few "deep thoughts" when I am not trying to prevent my 9 month old from eating paper. The following is dangerous to your health if you have worked in an office or lab all day as it may cause you to fall to sleep from boredom. Or, it may wake you up! Nevertheless, it's not my usual blog about children, minimalism, travel, or life. It's my second favorite subject: SCIENCE!

I am, by nature, a believer in preventive medicine. I am a vegetarian who exercises, takes extra vitamins beyond the minimum, have added spirulina to my diet, and overall, attempt to take care of my health to prevent possible problems in the future. Therefore, I would have wholeheartedly supported the U.S. government in studying harmful biological pathogens. I believe that we would be crazy if we choose to blindfold our eyes, sit on our hands, and let the “other guys” in those other countries research these incredibly dangerous pathogens.

I vaguely recall when CDC in Bethesda, Maryland was under construction for a new building that was going to be for research. This occurred a few years after the “sniper” was in the area (after 9/11) and mysterious packages began arriving around the area at different offices. There was a lot of publicity about CDC’s new building and the amount of security that was being created just to enter and exit the facilities.  It was fascinating to look at as I drove by each day on my way to work.  I figured the security was to prevent unauthorized people from entering the building to swipe samples for their private collection and I was sure it was to keep that one employee from going “postal.” I guess CDC never considered creating internal security measures to prevent insiders from changing their mind about what to do with the pathogens in the future

According to Jeremy Patterson, the writer for Arms Control Association and author of Weapons Labs Biological Research Raises Concerns “...the labs will not be under the jurisdiction of any oversight mechanisms designed to ensure or publicize compliance with the BWC or U.S. laws governing its implementation other than internal Homeland Security Department review boards.” 

 I shouldn’t have read this late at night as it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up and will probably give me nightmares. I was okay with the idea that the United States government has a lab that tests new vaccines on horrible ‘freaks of nature’ such as anthrax, botulism, brucellosis, plague, Rickettsia, tularemia, and valley fever as I believe we should study how we could control an outbreak or create vaccines to protect people from these horrid deaths.  I hope that the Homeland Security Department review boards has many members who are intelligent, peaceful, open-minded, and not trigger-happy people.

In my opinion...

Knowledge of deadly biological pathogens=good.

Labs not under jurisdiction of any oversight mechanisms=bad.

My good friend Mark would disagree with me when I say this, but if we lay down our weapons, do you truly believe the “other guys” will, too? If you were at school and you didn't throw the first punch, will the bully not? There will always be bullies in the world. I know we don't want our country to be one, but even if we aren't, we should be prepared to protect ourselves. There just might be that “other guy” who is working in a secret lab on a nasty creation...planning for that day when he can deliver it to us. Anyone watch the 1995 sci-fi thriller, 12 monkeys? I mean, that particular bad scientist was truly anti-American or just crazy.

Simple Misunderstanding of what a blog means to me. Duh!

Simple misunderstanding. I figured, since I wanted to be a children's writer, I should keep to things of that nature. I shouldn't write about other things, but by not writing about those other things, I find myself with a terrible case of writer's block. It's because those other things sit on my mind and I want to write about them, but was determined to keep this blog professional. There's only two problems with this concept.

First, do I really have time to keep two blogs? I would like to write children stories, not two blogs.

Second, we come full circle to where I don't know exactly what to write for my professional blog. I have looked at other writer blogs for inspiration, but find that either they don't know what to write or they bore me to tears as they write about what stage they are at in publishing their book or what flight they booked to attend the next SCBWI conference...or if they are some of my favourite like Stephen Kellogg and Gail Gibbons, they don't even take the time to write online journals.

I'm tired of raking my brain for ideas on what to write about in my blog pertaining to children stories, so from this point on, I am going to write about what I want to write about and not worry about what my editors might think. Who knows, this may actually help them determine as to whether or not they want me to write more based upon my writing style (one can only hope!).

Night Tremors. As Usual.

 Even though I am limiting myself to movies and tv shows that are mostly "PG-13", I have begun having those wonderful night tremors again. The cool thing is, I now look forward to them because as soon as I wake up, I grab my notebook, and write down what I remember. Isn't this how horror films are created, through someone's nightmares?

 On a healthier note...


Ok. For all of my friends and family who read this blog, you would know what the title of this entry means.

I can finally spend time writing. This statement sounds a little crazy considering I have been blogging for years, but with two children, a husband who is often traveling overseas, and living in or around the District, I had no time to sit down and finish stories. Now with an additional blessing in my life, my little 9 month old, I actually find time to write. I won't go into the details as to how or why because it's not the important part.

The important part is that my beloved husband agreed to go on a new adventure that also allowed me to explore new cuisines, discover different cultures, and still find time to write.

Weblogs, not Blogs

Hi Empty Air. Miss me? Did you wonder what ever happened to your non-blogger? I was taking 12 credits at Old Dominion University and 4 credits at Tidewater Community College. We were trying out the 'one car lifestyle' and my body was adjusting to having a living, growing, feeding life inside. Finally, December 15th, school ended and then the holidays came. We left Norfolk to visit family in Maryland and in Blacksburg, Virginia. Finally, January 3rd, we arrived back at our little home to unpack and resume our normal schedule, minus my attending school. I was 28 weeks pregnant when we returned (6 months for people who don't care to do the multiplication) and had to purge my closets of non-basketball hiding clothes. I was also dreadfully tired which I believe is partly a pregnancy issue and partly from non-stop going for the entire fall and winter.

Fortunately, between Oct. 19 and now, I have had some time to think about what I wanted to write about and decided that first I must address the whole "blog thing." If I am going to be "blogging" but claiming that I'm not, then I must decide why I detest the word, "blog".

I figured it out one night while I was folding laundry. Folded laundry, by the way, is a very comforting thing once it's done, as it promises clean warm clothes, but the actual act of folding is one of my chores that I abhor. It's a process that never ends. Wear the clothes and then when the clothes are too stained, smell too bad, or are covered with kitty cat hairs (or doggie hairs as Rory doesn't want to be left out), put it in the washer. Then out it goes, wet, so it must be put in the dryer. Tumble a little, pull out, fold, put away, and then what? It's time to wear it again and the cycle starts over. I guess a person who is single would wonder why I would waste brain cells to think about this, but once one is married and has children, it's no longer seven shirts a week to wash, fold, and put away. It's seven shirts times the number of people in the house. I often chuckle over how the public fawns over Angelina Jolie's little family of 6 kids. Do we really believe that she's washing 42 shirts a week, 42 pairs of socks, 42 pairs of undies (assuming they change them every day), in addition to her own and Brad's? The phrase, "with money comes privilege" should be changed to "with money comes maids" because that's the trick. Have a cleaning lady to do the laundry and then you are free to adopt as many kids as you want. I know there are other families that have more children than 6, but since Angelina Jolie's name is like saying "Coca Cola" because it's so well known, I've decided to use her as the example. I could use the Duggar family as an example as well. If there are 19 children, that's 133 shirts to wash each week. I could pretend that a shirt can be worn twice, but most children managed to spill at least two different items per day on their shirts and can be considerably unsightly.

Ah, see, this is a blog. There's no doubt about it. It's a journey into my musings and thoughts about life. There are so many blogs about everything now that I could probably look up "paw prints on couch" and find a blog written about it! Yet, the very word, "blog" in itself, is the part that I have a problem. I don't care if a person has a blog. I finally decided why I don't like the word "blog" and refuse to call myself a blogger and do not want to openly acknowledge that I have a blog. Who came up with the word "blog" anyway? It's a terrible word. Blog. I understand the word, "log" or "diary" or "journal" but I don't understand why the letter, "b" was attached to the word, "log". It's a terrible blah sounding word.

In Wikipedia it states that the word, "blog", is "web log". Instead of spending the time paraphrasing the article I found, I would recommend reading it for yourself if you wanted the whole scoop.

I think I fell asleep a little while I was reading it, but as a quiet linguist, I actually like word origins. I think that we could call it "journaling", "keeping a public diary", or something else besides trying to say, "blop" and messing up the last part of the sound by adding a "g". Blop. That's a great sound when something wet hits the floor. Playdoh makes a sloppy blop sound when it hits the floor. It's like something fell from our brain and onto a website, "bbbbllllloooooppppp." Then someone said, hey let's call it "blog" instead of "blop".

Maybe I'm reading too much into this word. Or maybe there are other people out in this world who think the same thing.

The good thing about have a "blog" is that technically, it can be a networking device, a connection to others of the same thought, or more importantly, a way to write ones' thoughts and get it out even if it means it's not a published article in a newspaper or journal. If I was a dedicated writer to this blog I could conceivably build up a following of readers. Unfortunately, this would not happen, at least not now. I have a son who has interrupted me every 30 seconds for the last hour that I have tried to write this one entry. It's a no-no for me to think that I could sit and write down anything at the computer while there are people awake in this house. I had thought that with the whole family being out, minus my son, I would have an opportunity to write. Alas, I always forget that the best action packed movie will only hold my son's attention if he knows that I am off doing housework. The moment I sit to type he is by me asking me questions, begging me for attention, creating a small mountain of mess in the other room, or cutting the cat's hair off with a pair of scissors that I forgot to lock up. This is when I remind myself that I could very well wait until the school week when he's in school. I have the opportunity to write between 8:45 and 11:45 but so far, for all of January, I have used this time to catch up on the backlog of items I wasn't able to touch last fall while I was in school. Or sleep. Those promised 3 hours go fast as I use them on napping, errands, and endless "cleaning out" of stuff that had accumulated over the months while I was busy at school. Then, the next opportunity to write would be after my oldest daughter goes to bed. This would be sometime after 9pm but by then my brain is fried and I barely know my name, especially these days, with every brain cell being kidnapped by my unborn baby.

Wow! That was a whole 6 minutes before my son came in to yell "duh" in my face and tell me how he's not going to take a nap. His red jello covered lips are so red in comparason to his bare chest; he insists upon not wearing a shirt even though it's only 65 in the house. I must go put the little guy down for his nap for it's going to be a very long day otherwise. We're without a car and it's snowing. So we're a bit confined to the house for the day which isn't an easy feat with a preschooler who also happens to be a very active boy who doesn't like to play with his toys for very long.

I'll end up falling asleep next to him, naturally. He did, after all, not realize that he could sleep in past 6 as it is a Saturday. Still, last night was bliss as I slept a whole 8 hours not counting the 3 bathroom breaks and 1 time to check that the alarm was on. Emma, my unborn daughter, likes to jump on her "water bed" which is in medical terms, called a "bladder".