Stairs

In psychology stairs can represent...

Reaching new heights emotionally, spiritually, physically, etc.
A higher understanding of learning
Regressing into your subconscious (if you're going down the stairs)
Spiral stairs could mean growth/rebirth

But to me they will always mean fun! I lived in a one-story house with a basement. Not just any kind of basement. We had a completely separate living area that we could mess up to our childish heart's content. And company wouldn't be the wiser. When I was little and my oldest sisters were already married (I was seven) my two older brothers occupied the two bedrooms and shared bathroom. I recall I've had every room in that house (except my parents' of course). When you've lived in the same house for 19 years, you tend to migrate from room to room as the house empties.

We also played a lot on the stairs. I remember playing with an old Hot Wheels set on the stairs, My Little Pony, and church with my dollies. (Yes, I couldn't get enough church apparently.) When I was four we took some family pictures on the stairs and when my parents were getting ready to leave the house that many of us called home we took the same picture on the stairs again. The stairs seemed so few then, all of us trying to pile in. But when I had to vacuum them, endless!

I have stairs in the home that I share with husband and the boy and lined along it are pictures of our parents and grandparents. Most have passed on now and so it's nice to imagine that they are watching over our little family.

If you're interested in analyzing more objects, check out Dream Moods. (It's where I got my information)

"Memries, like the corners of my mind..."

When I was a little girl, I read a story in my elementary school library about a woman who wanted to make the world a prettier place. I loved the book, but promptly forgot about it, except this idea about a woman who could simply walk by a field and flowers would blossom.

Growing up, my mother's parents would come to visit, for months at a time! They would park their motorhome outside my bedroom window. I would come home from school and see granny unclipping her dry laundry from the line she put up moments after her arrival. I would drop off my bag and hop over to the motorhome for Danish cookies. Do you know the ones?

I loved these. (I wish I knew where to buy these).

I remember my mom saying that her rose bushes seemed to grow faster or bloom bigger after granny walked by. And that thought has never left me, imprinted in my heart and memories. So whenever I think of her, I would remember that story of a woman who walked by a field and flowers would bloom.

For years, I have been trying to find the title of the story that has been so much a part of my childhood and I didn't even know what it was called.

The husband and I have been living in our new home for almost a year now and we're trying to figure out how to decorate our bedroom. He had this idea to find scientific drawings for his side of the bed whether it was of sea shells, coral, something. On my side a painting of the same subject and in the middle (above our bed) a photograph of said subject. He brought up lupin. Apparently, there were lupin fields where he grew up. The name alone didn't spring to mind a picture so I googled it.

And this book was among the search results. The cover looked familiar so I clicked on it, revealing a story that I remembered but had long forgotten.

This story that had been in the recesses of my inner memories once again sprang to the forefront. I lovingly attacked the husband with thank yous pouring from my mouth. I almost cried.

Hostess Without

I like parties. I love meeting and talking to people but there's a reason I still haven't held a housewarming party and we've been here for 9 months and 23 days. I crumble under the pressure of being responsible for other people's happiness. Maybe that's why the boy is so bored now that he can walk, talk and basically have other little toddler friends.

I found an old notebook where I planned a pretty cute 2nd birthday for the boy a year ago and to be honest, if someone else had been in charge of carrying out my vision, it would have been an adorable party. He was obsessed with Toy Story at the time and so I thought it would be fitting to have star-shaped cantaloupe, cool ranch and barbecue chips with the appropriate quote from the first film, Teddy Grahams and strawberry frosting for Lotso Huggin' Bear, and other themed food. Sounds cute right? I hope. We did half the stuff that I mentioned and we didn't even really decorate.

So for the boy's 3rd birthday, I kept it really low-key. I mean really low, like two octaves below middle C. We invited our dear friends and their sweet little girl and my parents for a barbecue. I even asked our guests not to bring the boy any more toys (he has plenty to play with and I'm starting to wonder where to store all of it in an orderly manner). I love that the boy was born in March, it is so beautiful in AZ. There was a lovely breeze that allowed us to open the windows and doors and breathe in the fresh spring air. I knew this was the last year I could pull this off, so I did the least amount of work possible.

I think the reason why I feel so pressured to do something amazing for the boy's birthdays is the recent invention of Pinterest. It's an amazing site for all things, house and pretty much life related, but I wonder how many people actually pull off the parties that have been planned by SAHM, not a professional.

And one more for good measure...

Stay tuned for my thoughts on personality types :)

~Lady Jane

Catharsis

Writing really is cathartic for me.  I find that I work through my problems so much better when I've written about them. It's the release that I need to move on to the next chapter. I'm gonna get pretty personal for this post, so if you'd rather read fluff, wait until next time.

I've recently suffered a loss. Two losses actually. My grandmother passed away. A wonderful, service-oriented, bubbly, caring, cheerful, lovely woman. She wrote music and played the piano masterfully. Every time I play one of her arrangements of music, I feel her near me (even before she passed away), her soul is in music. This is how I will always remember her: forever connected to the piano.

I had a miscarriage. The hubs and I were really looking forward to having another little bundle in our home to love and hold, but twas not to be. I don't think that we'll be a single-child family, but if that is to be the case. I have an awesome little man to be grateful for! I mean look at that face, who couldn't love that? 

When I first found out that we weren't going to be having another baby, it was terrible! I cried all the time at the drop of a hat and was mad at every pregnant woman I knew or didn't know for that matter. But after I went in for a procedure, it was like the last punctuation had been placed on the last page and I could turn it and move on.

So that is what I'm doing, moving on. Due to the recent events, I'm no longer working as a vocal coach. My boss felt that I should take this time to heal and we were nearly done with the season anyway. I thought that was very sympathetic of her. I am looking forward to real meal planning again and just being able to use my time the way I want to.

Until next time,

Lady Jane

Lofty Ambitions

So I'm thinking about writing a play about how my grandpa and grandma met back in the 40s. I've never written a play before. Ever. Sure I've performed in a few plays but writing one seems a lot more arduous and daunting than learning just my own lines and few of the other characters'. The research is going to be difficult because they've both passed on and my own mom doesn't know as many specifics I would need to really flesh out their story.

But I have a wonderful opportunity to display my work. The performing arts group that I'm working for is working on opening their very own theater. I'm nervous, I'm thrilled, I'm a jumble of conflicting emotions. What's better than on opening night knowing whether or not you have the chops to be a writer? Already, you have an assorted group of people, different ages, races, religions all coming to view your work. I wouldn't do this good of a job if I hired the test subjects myself.

I've tried to get my writing out to friends for research sake and I've concluded that unless one of my friends is an editor with an unlimited amount of time to devote to reading, I will never really know what my friends think of my writing.


Lady Jane

Cultural

I should probably do some research before I start complaining, but I hate to research, and I'm an English major (a very complex individual)... Anyway, I would really like it if someone did a research paper on which cultures are the more openly exuberant.

I've met my share of a few cultures, okay I'm lying, most of them have been from watching TV. But I did meet a few rowdy Italians in London on a trip with the hubs back in the day and boy howdy were they loud and proud of it.

So what I'd like to know is if my in-laws' reserved nature is cultural because it's all foreign to me.

Maybe it's the feisty Irish, the boisterous Mexican, the passionate French in me that overpowers the reserved English nature. (I've got quite the pedigree) On a side note, not joking my grandmother's mother was Mexican so that makes me...drum roll please an 1/8 Mexican. Although to look at me no one would consider it.

But I digress.

So who wants to take on that project? Or find the research for me?


~Lady Jane

Lesson Learned

One of the weirdest phrases I heard in my writing class was, "creative nonfiction." What does that even mean? I was at a loss for words. I had no idea how I supposed to get creative without being false or bending the truth. Had I been a reader of Real Simple magazine when taking the class, I would have known exactly what my professor meant. In each issue they have a section called "Life Lessons". I learn the strangest, saddest, and sometimes simple things when I read that section. This is creative nonfiction. These writers just seem to know how to paint a story without brushing over the truth.

So here goes, if I were to actually submit a piece for an essay contest about understanding the meaning of love it might go something like this:

My mother always used to say that I would never understand how much she loved me until I had a child of my own. There's no way that could be true. There were so many ways that my mother showed me love: supporting my talents by attending choir concerts, always being a listening ear, staying up with me to finish that forgotten term paper, always finding time to teach me valuable life lessons as she transitioned into grandmother-hood while I was still only eight. As I grew up with a matriarch overflowing with positive words and love, I never thought it would take me until I had my first child that I would truly understand. As I groggily woke up to feed my crying baby, carefully prepared his food, happily changed his diaper or enjoyed his coos and giggles I was reminded of all the loving attention given to me by my own mother as her youngest.

Due to medical complications, I didn't get to spend an entire week with my newborn and had to leave my son in the care of my mother. She was much older now, and physically less prepared to repeat the routine of a newborn baby. I ached to be out of my hospital bed and be home with my husband and son, but I knew that my son was more than competently cared for, perhaps even more so than by a brand new mommy like me. I knew that my son would be loved and given the attention that I would have given him myself.

My mom with my son

When I was finally discharged from the hospital, I still couldn't hold my son and walk at the same time thus the nighttime responsibilities again fell to my mother. It was after I had regained strength in my leg that I profusely thanked my mom for caring for my boy. She gushed about how much she loved being up with him in the middle of the night and not being sore or too tired (like having her own seven children felt). What I imagine she was trying to say, "You won't understand how much I love you until you have a child of your own." I wouldn't have done any different had it been my grown son and his family in need of service and I an older woman in her latter years. She managed to show me how much she could love her grandson and through this selfless act, I know what unconditional love truly is.

So mom, if you happen to read this I love you for all that you have ever done and still do for me!

~Lady Jane

Endless Possibilities

Another month has passed and my pen is a little rusty. I feel like I haven't written in ages, but I have been otherwise occupied: setting up house. As much as I looked forward to having my own home (9 years in the making) I didn't realize so many projects lay ahead of me. Thankfully, we've had in our budget the ability to hire a painter. I'd probably still be sleeping in the guest room if I was in charge of painting which would have been really awkward when my parents came to stay. At this point in time, all the rooms have a purpose and direction. The husband has his office for the tortuous week he is on-call, although the guest room isn't painted yet, I have a design scheme in mind, our bedroom makes me happy every time I walk in, the kitchen just screams vintage eclectic (I'm screaming too) the living room exudes relaxation with a pop of excitement, the loft will play a key role in creativity as well as organization (my personal office space), and the little man has a mostly functioning bedroom and dresser situation. We bought a dresser for our son at a thrift store and immediately started brainstorming on how we could re-imagine it to fit our needs. However it is still presently in the entry way until we get it painted. (So many projects!) I haven't clawed out my eyes or pulled out my hair (yet) because I haven't gone anywhere in three days. I knew that home ownership would change me. If I waited three days to go anywhere if I was still living in the rental, I would be blind and bald.

I like being home. I am grateful that I get to be a SAHM especially in this economy. I love that I get to spend time with my son and teach him what an anemone is while watching Finding Nemo. I like looking out my kitchen window and seeing the mountains. And once we get around to it, I'll like my backyard too.



Pictures soon to come!

~Lady Jane

Back in 43,200 Minutes

We are officially moving! So I will be on hiatus for a month. Feel free to poke around and explore. Try some Goldberg writing practices if you feel so inclined. I hope you have a wonderful month! See you later.

~Lady Jane

On the Brain

I think my brain is empty. I've had so many things on my mind lately that I don't even know what to post at the moment. BAM! It just hit me. I could talk about my upcoming tea party I'm planning for my 28th birthday with my two cousins and their cousin from their mom's side and my good friend Danny.

Why tea party? Because they're fun. I'm hoping to recreate as much as I can remember about my 8th birthday tea party. I know that we wore Sunday dresses, costume jewelry, hats and faux fur shawls. And we felt like princesses. At least I did. My other aunt was generous enough to send down her collection of hats, jewelry and faux furs that I'm hoping she might let me borrow what she has left.

I am beyond looking forward to this! A couple of years ago, I had mentioned this idea to the original party guests and they all said they were excited to do it again for my 28th. I was worried when one of my cousins moved out of the country, but was immediately relieved when I found out she was coming for a visit. Who cares if it's not on my actual birthday, I'm just glad the original group (plus Danny) will all be here to join in on the fun. So stayed tuned for some fabulous how-tos from me about pulling off a smashing tea party!

Also on the horizon: I love to sing, so I'm going to work on my craft this summer by joining a choir. I'm stoked!

What do you have planned for the summer?

~ Lady Jane

My Son

As Mother's Day approaches I reflect on the little miracle that made me a mom. I love my little boy and I thank Heaven that he came to me! Ever since he was born I felt like I was taking on a huge challenge to raise one amazing little man. Having received my Bachelors degree in teaching before F was born, I thought of all the wonderful things I could teach him as he grew. Little did I know, he has taught me more than I ever thought possible.

Minutes old

Days old

Month old

Six months old

He has taught me to love. I love him beyond description. When I found out that I was pregnant, people asked me "If you could choose the gender, what would you have?" Every time I replied, "Boy!" I don't know why even but as soon as we found out that little F was going to join our family, I felt blessed. I was going to raise a son of God and teach him how to be a good man like his daddy.

He has taught me to reflect. Because of him, I have appreciated the sound of a bird chirping and leaves blowing in the wind and the rain. All these things are new to this little person and he is helping me remember these simple pleasures.

He has taught me to be patient. There are those days, that every parent has, where fuses are short but they lengthen over time because my son reminds me what is really important. So what if we're a little late for an appointment somewhere because he wanted to learn how to climb into his car seat? So what if we don't make it to the grocery store today if we get to nurture our relationship by playing cars? 

He has taught me to be consistent. Children, especially mine like structure and consistency, once we created a bedtime routine, within days he was reminding us what came next. I have learned that when I give him a heads up on what's coming next, he transitions to the next activity (or naptime) almost seamlessly. 

One Year!

Eighteen months

Two years!

I am grateful beyond words (but I'll try to find them) that I have been with my little man for two years! Four weeks after his birth I got a blood clot in my leg. I didn't realize how life threatening a blood clot was at the time. I just kept thinking about how much I missed my sweet husband and my precious newborn. I wanted to get out of that hospital bed and go home to be with my family. I couldn't even feel like I was with him by sending home breast milk. I was on a cocktail of different medications and painkillers throughout my stay at the hospital that I couldn't even pump. That alone was disheartening. After my thrombectomy (blood clot removal) procedure I recuperated at my parents' house. I couldn't walk without the assistance of a walker, so midnight feedings were taken over by the hubs or my mother. I have been a mother two years now and plan on being one forever! I have enjoyed it too much.

And most importantly, I owe my life to my mother! Even after having the perfect Brady Bunch family, she didn't feel like her family was complete until I came along (that sounds really egocentric). What I'm trying to say is, "Thanks mom, for wanting me!"

June 2007

I hope you mothers out there enjoy your day!

~ Lady Jane

Complexity is My Middle Name

I decided it was about time to get back to my original purpose for this blog and considering all of the events going on in my life that I cannot change, becoming a better writer is one thing I have control over.

"Where do you come from, who are you, what makes you?" One of the best questions posed by Goldberg to help the budding writer within.

The most obvious answer would be to expound upon my upbringing (which I have done a lot of) mention the skills/talents I have and hobbies I enjoy. BORING! So I will try and make it a little less boring.

I come from seekers and believers:

Not too long ago, I filled out a Mormon.org profile and one of the questions I answered was why I was Mormon. I think it's because my family is. It's in my blood. My 3x great grandfather was the first to become a Mormon, he sought after truth and believed. I owe him immensely for the knowledge I have because he looked for answers to his questions.

I come from music:

My grandmother is an amazing pianist! She lived next to me for nineteen years and when I say next to me I mean next to. I could get to her house through our garage. So I would often drop by and listen to her play the piano. Two of my older sisters also played the piano; music filled our house often and sometimes to the dismay of anyone in the house wanting to watch t.v.

I come from laughter:

My dad has the wackiest sense of humor, which I luckily possess a little bit of. He claims it was his mother's father that passed it down to him. I love to hear the laughter of my family and I get to hear it a lot.

I am Cowardice/Heroism/Peace/Contention/Love/Self-Loathing:

I am a complex woman. I am sometimes too afraid to confront a problem and other times, a raging bull out of the gate. I just wish I knew how to be bull when I'm a lamb. And with that cowardice and heroism, I am a blend of peace and contention. I don't like contention, avoid it at all costs and when I should be a peacemaker, I'm too afraid to mediate. I am freely giving of compliments, but not to myself, afraid of becoming narcissistic or egocentric. I'm also noticing a pattern here. Do you see it? I think my cowardly side trumps my heroic side by a long shot!

So, "where do you come from, who are you, what makes you?"

~ Lady Jane

Already a Slacker

I've only had this blog for how many weeks now, and I've already missed a deadline?!?! I blame it on everybody else but me. Other people I know have been busy and planning parties and weddings but then I thought, "Oh yeah! I was busy planning a bridal shower for my husband's sister, so there!" I had a good reason. That was a couple of weeks ago now and I really haven't had anything pressing on my plate and nap times haven't been used as efficiently. I knew that I was going to be busy a couple of weeks ago so that's why I got prepared, but it's already almost five in the evening (my time) and I'm just now starting to post!

A couple of things about the bridal shower, at least I didn't have to plan it all myself and I had the help of my incredibly talented SIL to help me decorate the concessions table in the theme of "Night at the Movies." I decided to go with this theme because the bride-to-be worked at a movie theater when she was in high school. I figured it would be a fun theme for her. It turned out darling, if I do say so myself. Hopefully I will get pictures posted soon, I can't seem to figure that out right now, what with buying a new camera and hubby and I trying to figure out using one laptop. Turns out that my user can't access our shared pictures, weird.

As guests came in, they wrote down a word of advice for the happy couple on ticket stubs

The concessions table

No movie theme is complete without Red Vines!

Boston Baked Beans and Tropical Lemon Heads

Whoppers, Mike&Ike's, Reese's Pieces

Popcorn!

My sister in-law (the bride to be) and me!

Well, whaddaya know?! Turns out I figured out how to get the pictures I wanted to post all by myself. I'm so glad that she liked the theme and that she had some good friends turn up to support her.

Next up on my social calendar, planning a little shindig for F's second birthday! We'll be doing a Toy Story theme, seems appropriate since F is completely obsessed with the franchise. My hubby is even talking about purchasing the Hawaiian Vacation short film just to add some variety to our collection. To be honest, I love that about hubby, he's willing to put off his own happiness for his son's. I'm sure there are more awesome things that he would want to spend money on.

In case you were wondering: I was able to pull off this theme due to the fact that my sister threw a baby shower for me using popcorn as the jumping off point. The blue/teal framed chalkboard as well as the other one and a movie themed canvas was borrowed as were the plates, popcorn machine and glassware for the service of Red Vines and Pretzels. I got the idea of the red and white striped tablecloth from my baby shower that I recreated. We just used the empty candy boxes as decor to make the table look fuller and had a couple of candy bar prizes (Skor, Whatchamacallit, and Mr. Goodbar) for a guessing game. We had a mad-lib for the bride and groom since the bride is a fan. The center pieces were already assembled from my baby shower so we just covered up the reference to pregnancy and added our own catch phrase, Popping with Joy! Since my mother in-law and I split the cost of stamps, the bridal shower only cost me $50 dollars (happened to be my budget)! The key to keeping functions inexpensive-BORROW, BORROW, BORROW and ask for help!

Walk to School

I decided to reflect a little more on what Goldberg meant by composting and I thought of a place that I know very well, still to this day. Even though it's been almost a decade since I've been to said place, I walked this stretch of road five days a week for a total of eight years! This stretch of road lead from my home to my elementary school. I remember walking down my driveway over the two speed bumps (installed because of my aunt's worrisome nature) and up to the main street of my little county island neighborhood. I would veer left heading towards what seemed another long driveway, towards my school. Once I passed under the steel-fence frame's opening I was greeted by a huge expanse of grass separated by a berm. I even still remember thinking about how funny the word "berm" was the more and more I said it. Berm, berm, berm...it's just funny.

I would get to school about fifteen to twenty minutes before the first bell. I dropped off my backpack at my classroom's spot on the edge of the basketball court and immediately ran off to play or gossip as the morning sun slowly brightened in the east.

I loved walking to school in the winter time, fascinated I could see my breath and absolutely convinced that it had snowed when in fact it was frost.

I had wonderful teachers at my elementary, still remember them all. Even the music, art, and P.E. teachers. They all had a profound effect on me as I grew up.

Kindergarten: Mrs. Alvin Music: Mrs. Cluff

1st Grade: Miss Brinkerhoff Art: Mrs. Taylor

2nd Grade: Mrs. Painter P.E.: Mr. Mullins

3rd Grade: Mrs. Walton Principal: Mr. Salisbury

4th Grade: Mrs. Peterson Office Ladies: Carol, Debbie

5th Grade: Mrs. Johnson Playground duty: Shirley

6th Grade: Mrs. Henkel Groundskeeper: Jay

I participated in talent shows, and assemblies. I embarrassed myself on more than one occasion. I learned that pulling the seat out from under a kid and trying to push it back in quickly warrants a note home and disappointment from your teacher as well as the truth that it always looks better in the movies.

Since I walked to school, I would sometimes go home for lunch. This kind of thing was only permitted if I told the playground duty where I was going before I left and when I came back. By the time I was in sixth grade they said I could just call the front office. I had such freedom and I felt like I was treated like any adult that worked at the school because I was trustworthy.

After I graduated from high school I worked at my elementary school for my childhood principal and with a few teachers that were still there when I was a student. I loved working with the kids and teachers which all helped me to discover that I wanted a career in teaching.

There are some good things that come from never being the "new kid". My family was established and by the time I was moving on from elementary school I had saved my family name that had been tarnished by a couple of older brothers (one mostly).

Ode to a Macbook/Writer's Unblocked!

I love to write. I have always loved to write. I'm not sure why or when this particular fancy first made its appearance, but I love that I can sit down at my computer and just jot down any thought that comes to me. I remember a time, not long after my grandmother passed away that I decided to write about all the things I could remember about her. It started with the most recent, the time of her death. I was fortunate enough to be with her and my mother during her passing. That experience alone has been one of the most spiritual I've ever had. Like Goldberg said, you make sense of your life when you write. I think that's what I love about writing; I can make sense of my life and who I am in my own eyes, not through the eyes of others.

"Writing is physical and is affected by the equipment you use." ~ Natalie Goldberg

This is the equipment I use. I've had it since my first semester at ASU, five years ago this fall. Has it really been that long? We've worked on many projects together, written dozens of papers on Shakespeare, films, teaching methods, and books. But my favorite thing to do with my Macbook is write about nothings, somethings, whatever might pop into my head, conscious or subconscious.

I think I type as fast as I think, that's why I prefer using my computer than a notebook and pen. I liked using a notebook and pen when I was in school and had to carry a book bag, but now that I'm a SAHM, I much prefer this method during nap time. I do agree that "Handwriting is more connected to the movement of the heart" but I feel just as connected to this medium as I do to writing. However the key to all this searching and making sense of your life is experimentation.

Just keep writing, just keep writing...

Goldberg suggests:

1. Keep your hand moving

2. Don't cross out (This tip is especially hard for me as I am in editor mode often. One of my favorite pastimes is looking for errors in books I'm reading, or cereal boxes, pretty much anything printed.)

3. Don't worry about spelling (Um, sorry. I pride myself on being an excellent speller.)

4. Lose control

5. Don't think. Don't get logical

6. Go for the jugular (This is the scary stuff deep down inside that you don't want to admit to yourself that you think or have thought about. This is also the stuff that I will never show anyone, EVER!)

Just keep writing, just keep writing...

When I Think of Home...

Due to my incomparable upbringing, I have always had an active imagination. I grew up in the same house for nineteen years, I had freedom to roam our expansive three and a quarter acre lot with trees, grass, our cats and friends. Many nights were spent gazing up at the stars on the trampoline. Running, climbing, and eating filled my days. My paternal grandfather, who I call Papa, planted fruit trees in the backyard. For seven years at least, my cousins and I enjoyed picking the ripe plums, apricots, and pears. Our saliva, sufficient enough to clean them allowed us to move onto our next adventure.

Even when I was a little girl, I dreamed of bringing my children to the home I grew up in to play on the swing set in the backyard, to show them that with enough sweat they could climb the walls with their feet, slide down the stairs on an old mattress or fall asleep on the living room couch as the din of family chatter in the kitchen wafted through the house.

My dream came to an end in 2006. I had no children yet and my parents were being forced out to rebuild a dying company that my father had put his life into. No longer can I bring my children to that home to see their Gigi and Papa and play with cousins uninterrupted in the basement, play a round of 9-hole golf around the house or come over for Sunday dinners.

I hate it when people say, "Let it go" or "It was a long time ago", that doesn't make me feel any better. It doesn't make feel any better to believe that my parents are giving another family the opportunity to make memories in that house too. As childish as this sounds, it was my house first!

The song, "Our House" by Madness, perfectly illustrates the kind of home I had. Needless to say it has become our anthem for my family. We even used it on a video montage for a family reunion.

Father wears his Sunday best

Mother's tired she needs a rest

The kids are playing up downstairs

Sister's sighing in her sleep

Brother's got a date to keep

He can't hang around

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Our house it has a crowd

There's always something happening

And it's usually quite loud

Our mum she's so house-proud

Nothing ever slows her down

And a mess is not allowed

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Something tells you that you've got to get away from it

Father gets up late for work

Mother has to iron his shirt

Then she sends the kids to school

Sees them off with a small kiss

She's the one they're going to miss

In lots of ways

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

I remember way back then when everything was true and when

We would have a very good time such a fine time

Such a happy time

And I remember how we'd play simply wasted the day away

Then we'd say nothing would come between us two dreamers

Father wears his Sunday best

Mother's tired she needs a rest

The kids are playing up downstairs

Sister's sighing in her sleep

Brother's got a date to keep

He can't hang around

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our street

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Our house, was our castle and our keep

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, that was where we used to sleep

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle of our street

I loved my house, still do to this day. I've even thought of knocking on the door just to ask if I could look around. I wonder what stories my house would tell me since my family's been gone? Don't you wish if you just pressed your ear up against the walls hard enough you could hear everything the house has been through?

Monday's Child

Do you know the poem, "Monday's Child"? It was my earliest memory of reading. My mother had one of those Little Golden Books full of nursery rhymes and that one was always my favorite.

Monday's Child

Monday's child is fair of face,

Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is full of woe,

Thursday's child has far to go,

Friday's child is loving and giving,

Saturday's child works hard for his living,

And the child that is born on the Sabbath day

Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

I too was born on a Monday and as far as this poem serving as a horoscope goes, it is still true to this day. Even growing up in a hot climate-where the sun shines 345 days of the year-I managed to stay fair. The European roots of my ancestry holding too hard onto me, I suppose. Always jealous of the girls in my class that could tan, I bet they don't get confused with teenagers. That was really embarrassing when I was six months pregnant with my son and working at a high school. I even wore a different ring on my left hand that was more obvious to prove I was in fact a married lady. Speaking of which, I have been married over eight years and have an almost two year old little boy.

My little guy was born on a Tuesday, and he is the most observant little boy I've ever met. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or a Mormon as we're more commonly known, I think. And my little boy has been close to heaven since the day he was born. At a young age, he's learned to fold his arms for prayers and says "Bless you" after he or someone else sneezes. My little angel, born on a Tuesday is full of grace.

My husband, was born on a Thursday. When I think back to the poem I chuckle quietly to myself because it is so fitting for my little family of three. When I first met my husband, he wanted to study international business, then he decided to go the route of business management (not that different right?) all while working for a student loan company. Then he got laid off and had to find a job. He doesn't do well with not having anything to do. He came across a company that seemed to fit for him, however menial his tasks seemed. It was while working at this job that he got heavy in economics, specifically the Austrian Economics philosophy of economics (if you are even at all interested, my husband would be so proud first of all and secondly, here is the address http://mises.org/) Then, he decided he wanted to become an Economics teacher. When he realized that he would have to take too many classes to cover an undergrad degree in Economics, the idea of becoming an instructor in the field waned. He, I hope, has found a joy in his current line of work. It would certainly open a lot of doors for him to attend economic conferences with the Mises Institute in his spare time as a hobby. This Thursday's child has far to go and has gone far too.

I will try and post once a week as I work through Natalie Goldberg's "Writing Down the Bones" an excellent book to help the writer who doesn't want to give up on writing. I wish I could say I was this excited to go through her book when I had to for college creative writing class, but here's to trying. I'm somewhat glad that college bookstores are terrible for trying to sell gently used books back, but I probably wouldn't be in possession of half the books I bought if the bookstore took them back.

~ Lady Jane