My family book club

Over Christmas, when we were in Dallas, I bought Bianca book one of the Spiderwick Chronicles. The cover of the book seem like another Harry Potter book, something like that. She finished it in one day and asked for book two. So, instead, I just ordered the entire five-book set.

I never read Harry Potter--merely for the reason that everyone told me I HAD to read it--so I didn't think I'd read this either. I liked the pictures in the books, however, so I thought Bianca would definitely like them. And she did.

But during church on Sunday, while Bianca was reading book two, I leaned over her shoulder--out of boredom--and read too. Suddenly, I found myself scouring her backpack for book one, which Eric had just finished the night before. I then brought Portia home from church to get a nap she desperately needed and sat in front of the fire and finished book one.

We were all trying to convince each other to finish the books we were on, so that they could pass the books along so we could keep reading.

I admit these are not my typical type of book. But the strange thing is, at the beginning of page one, the illustrator thanks Arthur Rackham--an illustrator from the turn of last century who I've collected his books for years--for inspiring him. As I read along, I realized the author made this illustrator (who always drew a lot of goblins/fairies and such) as one of the characters in the book.

We devoured these books in a matter of days. Now we can't wait to get a babysitter for Portia, while the three of us have a "book club" (Bianca calls it) and go to see the movie when it comes out in a couple weeks.

Open evenings, writer’s strike

I don't know why the writer's strike bothers me so much. I don't watch that much t.v. It just seems silly that people just stop working. I mean, let's face it, when you work and think you deserve more money, you ask your boss for a raise. If you don't like the answer, you either look for a new job or you just accept it. But a strike just seems so ridiculous. Almost barbaric.

I know what they're thinking: why is Jennifer Anniston getting paid a million and a half per episode and I'm just getting ----. I'm sure it's not that small an amount. And although the shows depend upon the writers, these people chose to be writers--not actors/actresses. They probably aren't pretty enough to be actors/actresses and you just accept whatever talents God's given you. And writers don't usually make that much money (except on the rare occasion like J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter, etc.)

The other reason I'm a little irritated about this is being this is Scrubs LAST season and what if they never finish it off and it's just left hanging. . . I guess I'll live, but it just seriously bothers me. Now, I find myself so much more interested in the presidential election merely because it's the only thing that interests me now [and even that I can only stomach for about 15 minutes]. I still can't handle reality shows. I'm also getting more reading done and have started on a new story.

I guess I should be thankful that they've stopped writing. Do we really need them?

Okay, yes, we do for when we want to stop thinking and just have things happen in front of us while we lounge on the couch. We all have those nights.

Aghhhhh! Stop the stupid strike already!

A lot of emphasis on emphasis

I've been learning Spanish. No, I'm not taking a community college class. I've been learning along with Bianca (who fortunately has Spanish once a week in her first-grade class). I figured, why not? Now maybe I can understand what the cleaning ladies are saying while they're cleaning and ensure it's not something bad about me or the cleanliness of my house. Plus, I need to help Bianca study anyway.

But there's one problem. All I see is a list of words in Bianca's homework folder every Monday. I quiz her from a sheet of paper where I'm destroying these words with bad pronounciation (and ruining Bianca's pronunciation in the process). I spent the greater part of the evening during our Christmas in Dallas asking my brother-in-law how to pronounce colors, months, body parts--you get the picture--in Spanish. I was embarressed to find out I'd been butchering the word nariz (nose) from not putting the emphasis in the correct place. It's amazing the difference that makes. It's like a totally different word.

It reminds me of the English word candelabra, which I'd butchered in college. The problem? I read. I read a lot of books (I'd read the word often). Yes, I knew what it was, but I'd never heard anyone pronounce the word. And having taken grammar classes in college, I knew that in the English language the emphasis is usually put on the third to last syllable. I was pronouncing it can-DEL-abra, instead of candel-A-bra. Kind of embaressing, really, when the truth came out. Which proves my next point--I think you can learn a lot, A LOT, from books, but unless you have smart people around you, talking to them about what you're learning, I think something will always be missing. I'm glad my husband's cerebral and talks to me a lot, even about grammar (as long as he's not making me feel stupid for not knowing it in the first place--not the grammar, I'll trump him anytime on that--but most other things, especially history).

Anyway, I feel like I'm starting to get the hang of it. As we were driving back through Dallas and stopped for gas in Amarillo, I laughed at the way we Americans were pronouncing the word yellow (amarillo) in our language. Amarillo, Texas--it sounds so blah. The Spanish way is definitely better, which is why I practiced my pronounciation all the way through the city. Amarillo. Amarillo. It's Yellow, Texas to me now.

So, it’s that time of the year again . . .

and by that, I mean it's HGTV dream-house time. Yes, I admit it: I actually think that one of these years I'm going to win it. I watch it every year and enter and think, this is definitely the year.

HGTV's dream house is more "New Year's Day" to me than football is, even though that goes along with it too--at least the sound of it somewhere in the background. And for some reason, Hickory Farm's beef sausage stick and cheese along with board games completes New Year's (I'm pretty sure that one came from my childhood though).

New Year's Eve was always eating chips with the top 100 songs of the year. That's what I remember most, anyway.

But back to my dream house. It's usually dreaming of living there that gets me though the bleakest days of January and into spring. And the perpetual entering and touring the house online. This year it's in the Florida Keys. Yes, I'll move. Anything. Just give it to me.

I know it's sad. I actually feel like I have a better chance of winning the dream house than of having my novel published. Yeah, I know, I have to submit it somewhere to have it published, but I'm not quite ready yet. I guess I'll keep entering to win my dreamhouse. One thing at a time. Next up, submitting my novel.

So I don’t profess to be a design star, but . . .

I have watched my fair share of HGTV and read enough home magazines that I think I know my way around a room. Well, after a very short trip back to St. Louis and barely sitting down, unpacking a lot of boxes, moving furniture, hanging pictures and organizing, I think we got mom's house to be pretty comfortably situated. Here are some photos:

Moderation in All Things?

Saturday morning was white and cold and required Eric going out with the snowblower to take care of our sidewalks and driveway. It's funny--how I didn't think about the fact that snow removal would be our responsibility when we bought the rental house downtown. But we realized we'd have to take care of that on Saturday too.

So after a quick breakfast, Eric started up the engine on the ol' snowblower and began clearing the snow off our driveway, then our sidewalk. He didn't stop there. He continued around our cul-de-sac and did all the sidewalks. Good for him, I thought as I glanced out through the front window. A good deed.

Then next time I looked out, he was doing the entire driveway of our neighbor on the other side, then continued to go around doing everyone's driveway in our entire circle. I was about to explode. I was sitting in the house with a crying baby and was trying to finish up all the breakfast dishes and fold the laundry, then Bianca kept traipsing in and out the front door leaving piles of snow to melt in the entryway. Next I was trying to get myself and Portia dressed and brush Bianca's hair so we could all head downtown to take care of the snow there.

After what seemed like two hours, he came back in. I wouldn't talk to him, then we started fighting. I'm ashamed to say that I used the term "moderation in all things" when arguing with him. Do you think it's meant that way too? Moderation in doing good deeds?

I know it sounds selfish of me, but I sometimes feel like Eric would help everyone on our street and completely forget about me in our own house. It drives me crazy.

After the fighting was over and we were trying to leave the house--with snowblower safely packed in the back of my car--Bianca wouldn't get up from the computer where she was replaying the "Christmas Time is Here" song from The Polar Express movie that's on my playlist. She was trying to learn all the words and playing the song over and over and over and over. "Bianca, moderation in all things," I told her as I turned off the computer.

I think I'm safe using that term for my own benefit.

If you knew my dad . . .

It's the weirdest thing. I was in Draper at this live nativity, taking pictures for an article I'm writing. Anyway, tonight when I got home, I was sifting through the pictures I took and came across this one.