Things learned during a visit with my fam:

1. The joy of a band concert is quadrupled with every extra family member attending. (So are the trips to DQ afterwards!)

2. A casual attitude with pets will make for embarrassing moments when company visits. Having cats that walk across the counters and sleep on top of the fridge is one thing. Having a cat sit in your sink waiting for someone to turn on the water for a fresh drink of water is another.

3. Filling your deck with plants and container gardening will leave little room for anyone to actually sit out in the sunshine. Luckily, Judy didn’t seem to mind.

4. Sometimes, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. (Seeing my dad and Judy constantly picking up books to read over the weekend provided evidence #1 that I might actually be related to my dad.)

5. Evidence #2 that I might be related to my dad: for the first time in 35 years someone seeing us together for the first time said we looked alike. (Must be the mischievious twinkle in our blue eyes, huh, Dad?)

6. You can stock your entire fridge with mostly healthy items, but your guests will not be fooled into thinking this healthy eating is the norm when they see the expiration dates on the salad dressing. (How bad can balsamic vinaigrette be from Sept. 06?)

7. Never underestimate the power of $4.50. At the local redneck haven, I mean, flea market, LM purchased a billfold, snakelight flashlight, laser pointer and a pocketwatch for less than $5. Even better? When Papa slipped him $5 later.

8. It is critical to allow enough time in a weekend for a rematch of cut-throat mini-golf. Papa still won. (Again.)

9. Despite Papa repeatedly expressing his frustrations with the project to the point of exclaiming that it is not a ‘keeper’ item from his woodshop, the bookshelves he made for LM’s birthday are gorgeous and will be treasured for a lifetime! (Do I have to let him take his furniture with him when he leaves home? Really?)

10. It is the ultimate flattery to use a recipe from the person visiting for Mother’s Day dinner. (At least I hope it is. Thanks for the lasagna recipe, Judy!)

11. Despite being the British spelling of the word, ‘cosy’ is not permissible in a game of Upwords. (Neither was ‘mele’, ‘lan’, or ‘chilt’.)

12. Boston Market needs to open a restaurant in Knoxville, TN. Although, if they did, my dad might not have any reason to visit us again.

13. Even if you have installed the exact same ceiling fan without help less than a year ago, installing one with an extra set of hands can actually prove to be more difficult. (It wasn’t the extra set of hands that was actually the problem. I think trying to install a fan WITH a remote was the real beast of the issue. Thanks for your help, Dad! Left on my own, I think Jacob might have had a broken bedroom window and pieces of a ceiling fan out in the lawn!)

14. Sometimes you can fix the ‘zen’ of your home by changing the direction of a battery. Sure wish other things in life were as easy to fix as the pendulum clock. Although truth be known, Judy seemed the most bothered by the fact that it was always 2:44 in our home.

15. Even if you try to hide the frayed edges of your nicest towels, your company will still take notice of their decrepit state. Fortunately, when it’s your parents visiting, they will suggest a trip to Kohl’s and will insist upon buying you two new sets of towels to match your bathrooms. (Thanks, D & J!)

16. The best Mother’s Day ever might just be homecooked lasagna (with a salad made by the boys) and watching NASCAR with Judy. (Who would’ve thunk it?)

17. Some things never change. While my dad might not record which exit off the highway has the best fast-food options (there are always DQ Blazier notations in our Rand McNallys), he still records where he found the cheapest gas so that he might make the same stops on the return trip.

18. Even a dog can appreciate company. I think Eli is in withdrawal from all the lovin’ he received while Dad and Judy were here. I think “Elijah” is Hebrew for “charmer”.

19. Time really does fly when you’re having fun. Four days just wasn’t enough time to soak up all the goodness that a visit from family brings. Dad and Judy, thanks for all the laughter, the shared bottle(s) of wine, the great food, fun and conversation. You did my heart good this weekend. LM’s, too.

For as much as I enjoyed All the Pretty Horses, The Crossing left me puzzled and searching. I’ll first note, that all but the setting, there is no relation to the first novel, and I disappointingly suspect the same of the third in the trilogy. I must also note that while much of the time the context will help the reader along, there are times in the novel when I think it would be of great service to actually know Spanish.

The Crossing depicts three journeys of a boy from New Mexico to Mexico. In the first, the reader is a captive audience as McCarthy tells the tale of a young boy spontaneously deciding to return a wolf to the mountains in Mexico from which he believes the wolf came. The second and third crossings were not nearly as interesting to me, nor could I find the rationale behind theboy’s decision to return to Mexico. Even his original decision, though honorable, makes the reader wonder what he was fleeing from, as it seems unlikely that a simple wish to restore nature would provoke such a long journey away from home without warning or preparation.

McCarthy can certainly write like few I have read. It is not for his story-telling ability, or choice of words, or poetic descriptions that I am left with a restless sense of unfulfillment, but for the actual plot, and character development.

Perhaps I am just not studying the meaning enough, perhaps I am not dissecting the novel to its core to truly understand the point. Perhaps this is a novel that I have simply taken too lightly to completely appreciate, but I have little interest now in reading the third in the trilogy. Maybe down the road, when this novel has had time to sit and simmer in the back of my mind, perhaps I will find some deeper lesson, some core value that might give it purpose. Until then, I think Cities of the Plain will just have to wait.

I know, you all (that’s ‘ya’ll’ for my P’s) want to hear how my weekend was with my dad and second mom. It was great. Better than great. It was awesome. (and no, I’m not just saying that because they read my blog.) Anywho. I’ll get to posting about it and sharing pictures and so forth shortly. I promise. No, really. Pinkie swear.

I’m just really tired.

And the camera is at home with all the pics still on it.

So it’s going to have to wait.

For now: suffice it to say that in addition to a great weekend, I also have an interview on Wednesday afternoon. Yes, I’ll keep you posted on that one, too.

Happy Belated Mother’s Day to all who are, wish to be, might be, or have a mother out there!

P.S. Katrina wrote a great post with a call to action that we should all consider. Go take a look.

(I took this shot during a competitive round of mini-golf (is there any other kind?) with my fam on Friday night in town. This child was walking around like this, with his mother right behind him.)

I woke early this morning, anxious to get the day started. I grabbed my sheets, knowing I needed to get them in the wash so I could move them to the dryer before I left for work. With company coming, I needed the one set of sheets to be clean and back on the bed for tonight.

LM got up to use the bathroom and then fumbled back to bed, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep. I quietly opened his door, careful not to let the dog out and tried to lay next to LM on his single bed. Eli, eager to be up and to get outside was all over us on the bed. He tried to lay between us, pushing me nearly off the bed. Anytime we successfully got him off the bed, he would bound back up, landing square on my stomach. LM laughed and we enjoyed a few minutes of joy together as our day started.

I took Eli out in the yard. I went back in to rouse LM. He crawled to the shower with a blanket over his head. Holding on to the last clutches of sleep. Eli followed me around as I folded a load of laundry and put the winter blankets, fresh from the wash, away in the closet.

The kids wanted to take Eli with us to the bus stop again this morning, but I had errands I needed to run on my way to work and I have to leave work early, so I insisted we drive. Kaitlyn got on her bus just fine and LM rode with me to help return a movie and a library book.

Near the library we saw a young boy riding a bike to school. The bike was low to the ground, which looked quite comfortable to me. Like a recumbant bike, but for the road. LM said he knew the kid, it was Brian, from his school. I handed him my book and he ran up to the drop box and returned the book.

Around the corner from the library parking lot is a four-way stop. As we pulled up to it, the car across the intersection was already there and stopped, but he made no motion to proceed. Another car approached from the right, but with the car across from us confusing the order, the car to my right started into the intersection when it was really my turn to go. I hadn’t yet moved forward, so I just sat and waited for him to cross in front of me.

Which is when the car came flying through from our left. He never saw the stop sign. He came up over the ridge, over the railroad tracks and right through the intersection. He just ran right through the stop sign as if it weren’t even there.

He was well through before I thought to honk. The car across from me was still stopped. I made my left turn and realized if we had gone a second before, when it was our turn to go, I would have been hit. Hard. On the driver’s side.

A block down the road we saw Brian, peddling along to school on his cool bike. What might have happened to him, if he had been just a few moments behind?

I dropped LM off at school, wishing him great joy for his concert this afternoon, reminding him that I was so looking forward to his band concert tonight secretly knowing that my dad and Judy are on their way and will hopefully be there to hear him play, too.

And as I pulled out of the school driveway, all I could think was how different our morning might have been if that car hadn’t hesitated at the stop. If the other car hadn’t taken a turn ahead of me. If I had been more impatient and just pulled out. What a different day altogether, this might have been.

But for the grace of God, go I.

I know better than to count my eggs as chickens, but…

I had applied to a marketing position with a local non-profit (which, amongst other things, does foster care) last week. I received an email requesting a phone interview, but within the email she implied that the position was part-time. Upon further clarification, it was confirmed that this position was in fact only part-time and I was forced to withdrawal my application (the ad specifically mentioned paid time off and 401K benefits, so this was a surprise to me that it wasn’t full-time).

Today, I received an email from the company stating that they had further discussed the position and have agreed to make it full-time. Would I be interested in a phone interview considering the change?

And did the angels sing GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST?! Did the heavens rejoice?!?! Were the skies opened and the sun….

well, okay, I simply replied with an “absolutely” and we’ll see where this goes (which potentially could be to a full-time position that I would thoroughly enjoy but only pay me half of my current salary) but nonetheless, this news came at exactly the time I needed to hear it most.

(forgive me if I make a run to the ladies’ room to do a little private happy dance.)

I come by it innocently enough, my love of great American western novels. I can remember my mother picking out books and sending them to her dad – all but the last ten pages, which she held onto until he had read the rest of the novel in an effort to make sure he didn’t read the ending first.

I read All the Pretty Horses years ago, but never the following two novels in the Border Trilogy. I thought I would re-read this one before following up with the other two. I wasn’t far into it when the plot and characters came flooding back and my heart rate quickened. I am certain I have also seen the movie (Matt Damon, perhaps cast as Grady?)

In All the Pretty Horses, McCarthy introduces us to Grady and Rawlins, two teens set out from Texas, crossing the border to Mexico to escape a life they would rather leave behind. They know little of Mexico, other than that it isn’t Texas. En route, a young man named Blevins befriends them and joins them for a short while on their travels. While Grady and Rawlins have their reservations about Blevins, they are unable to shake loose their moral sense of doing right by him and at the very least, helping when they can.

Eventually, we see the heart of Grady’s character when they are taken in by a rancher and Grady’s talent and natural gift with horses comes shining through. There is little time for the reader to relish the beauty of the horses, or to become engrossed in the plan for the ranch, or even to follow the complicated romance of Grady and the rancher’s daughter, as Grady and Rawlins are arrested and thrown into a Mexican jail.

It is here where the heart of the story comes alive. There is so much cultural influence, of matters of justice and legality that we are forced to reckon with in our own minds as Grady and Rawlins struggle in theirs.

The novel comes around full circle, bringing Grady around to face his own sense of justice and righting the wrongs in his journeys. As readers, we are left with the keen understanding that while this novel (and movie) can (and did) stand on their own accord, a sequel is a much welcome gift and I look forward to following this journey onward.

I cannot even begin to explain today how badly I need a new job.

Sigh.

Suffice it to say I would love to be posting nothing but pictures this morning, in a birthday party recap, but the pictures are all blurry. Yes, that sound you hear is me, banging my head on my desk after spending a near fortune on a new digital camera not six months ago, only to have a dozen blurry birthday photos to show for it. A manual will be consulted. A remedy will be found. Or Circuit City will be fixing the problem.

So, the party went well. Other than Eli nipping at LM’s best friend (who is already afraid of dogs.) I think it was just all the excitement, and they made up as friends by the time the party was over, but still. The boys bowled (three games, the last one without the aid of gutter blockers. High score in the previous games? 98. High score with real gutters? 52.) They had pizza and laughter afterwards and then headed for home where they hunkered down in a fort they had built and I hid out with Eli in my room, only emerging to serve up cake and to quiet things down around midnight.

And the cake. After years of LM not liking whatever cake I labored over, I have long-since learned to give up all hope of being appreciated for my remarkable cake decorating abilities. Last year I ordered an ice cream cake from Cold Stone Creamery, but since it’s ice cream layered around actual cake and then covered in (heaven forbid) icing, LM still didn’t like it. This year, HE ordered it. It was a DQ cake (flavorless, cheap and remarkably bad decorating) and he loved it. Go figure.

In the end, my house was still intact, friendships were still well bonded, the boy is officially eleven and I am officially old. Or at least that’s how I feel.

At what point did I become the grown up telling them to stop goofing off at the bowling alley, and to point your thumb forward in order to better ‘steer’ the ball? At what point did I become the one telling them that no, we were NOT going to play arcade games, they were simply a waste of money? At what point did I become the grown up telling my son that if he was only going to eat the crust of the pizza that was a huge waste and he needed to eat the whole piece or leave it alone? At what point did I become the one telling them to quiet things down around midnight because I could barely keep my own eyes open any longer? At what point did I become the adult who could barely work the portable DVD player in my bedroom while the kids watched a DVD and then played PS2 games in the living room? At what point, exactly, did I become a mother of an ELEVEN year old?!

yes, the crisis has begun.

Just wait until my birthday. When I fall over to the dark side in the “over 35” category.

Yeah, that’s going to be fun.