Save the 1791 Old St. Paul's Rectory

Help Save the 1791 Old St. Paul’s Rectory

from the “Garage from Hell”

A massive robotic parking garage that threatens Preservation Maryland’s Headquarters in the 1791 Old St. Paul’s Rectory is poised to receive approval by Baltimore’s Urban Design and Architectural Review Committee at its hearing tomorrow at 1:30 pm. Your immediate action is needed to help stop this absurd proposal.

Follow this link to read how you can help and who you can contact.

#3 son's modeling debut

Click on image to go to e-zine.

Last summer #3 son had the chance to do some modeling! One of his classmates from pre-school's parents have an online children's boutique store called Ellie Bellie Kids. The Coopers' were looking for some children to model for the next issue of their e-zine, ClassicPlay! Number 3 is such a ham I thought he would enjoy it and I was right. He, and another little girl from pre-school, posed in Ellicott City for about an hour and a half. Toward the end #3 got up in the middle of a shot and said, "I need a break!" and walked up the street. We all laughed. I said, "Didn't you read his contract?" We are now waiting for the calls from Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren to come in!

Since these photos were taken he has had a total of seven stitches in his face in two different places. But the rugged look is in, right?

Merry Christmas!

(Click on image to see larger)

1,000 on eBay today

Today my feedback rating on eBay made it to 1,000! I now have a red star (opposed to my purple one). I just wished I could say that most of those feedbacks were as a seller . . . :)

ETA on Book #3

I just received word that Baltimore Neighborhoods will be released in April. Now to find my next project . . .

Book #3

I mailed my third book to the publisher last week. Yeah! This book is part of the Postcard History Series by Arcadia Publishing and titled: "Baltimore Neighborhoods". It should have been called "What-Was-I-Thinking-Identifying-Over-200-Old-Postcards"! Every card felt like a little mystery that needed to be solved. There are a few I couldn't ferret out or just ran out of time (thank you, dear Editor Brooksi, for the three-week extension). I believe the chair at the right corner of the last table at the Maryland Historical Society has my ass print forever indented on it. I think I lived in that chair for the last two months (thank you, dear Head Librarian Francis, for putting up with all my questions). I don't have the marketing schedule yet (not to mention the proof) but I'll post it when I know something.

Happy Halloween!

“Time is a great teacher . . .

. . . but unfortunately it kills all its pupils."
-- Louis Hector Berlioz

Book Review: Artichoke's Heart by Suzanne Supplee

I know this is a "young girl" book but this "old" girl (41) loved it, too! I met Suzanne Supplee at a writers meet and greet. She had an advance copy of this book and I fell in love with the cover! I asked, "What is it about?" She told me it was about an overweight teenager learning to love herself. My jaw dropped. Because the woman standing in front of me had first-hand knowledge of the dreaded words "size two". I said, "What do you know about being a fat girl? I thought the old adage was authors write about what they know." She said, "You don't have to be fat to be insecure." She had my attention then, so I ordered my copy in advance.

Written in the first-person, we follow Rosemary's trials and tribulations with her weight. While she works on the outside, she realizes the inside needs some reshaping, too. The transformation is wonderful to watch and you feel like Rosie's triumphs are yours as well.

I recommend this book for the young and old, skinny and fat girls because there is a little of "the fat girl" in all of us.

P.S. I do have to say "shame on you" to the graphic artist who designed the cover. Every time I picked this yummy looking book up I wanted some chocolate!

Symptoms of inner peace

• A tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than on fears based on past experiences.
• An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment.
  A loss of interest in judging other people.
• A loss of interest in judging self.
• A loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others.
• A loss of interest in conflict.
• A loss of the ability to worry. (This is a very serious symptom.)
• Frequent, overwhelming episodes of appreciation.
• Contented feelings of connectedness with others and nature.
• Frequent attacks of smiling.
• An increasing tendency to let things happen rather than make them happen.
• An increased susceptibility to the love extended by others as well as the uncontrollable urge to extend it.

Pat: grace personified

On Tuesday I had to take John for a medical procedure (he's fine thank God!) my sister Pat came to watch the kids for a few hours. We put a 15' x 4' pool up last week so she brought her bathing suit.

As John and I were leaving the surgical center in Owings Mills #1 Son calls on my cell phone yelling, "Aunt Pat broke her ankle!" I wasn't completely panicked yet because #2 Son can get a paper-cut and be quite certain he needs stitches. I got #1 Son to take the phone out to her. She says, "My foot is sitting at a weird angle!" Crap! Now I'm worried. She mis-stepped putting her foot on the ground coming down the pool ladder and twisted her left ankle. We called some neighbors but found no one home. John and I discussed how we were going to get her into the car and came to the conclusion that WE weren't going to. So I called 911 from the cell phone and told them there was a woman with a broken ankle in the backyard.

The fire department came right away so by the time we reached home (I played Frogger on I-695 all the way home) they had her ankle splinted and helped her into a deck chair. One of the fireman reached into the pool and pulled at the Bruce the Shark blow-up toy and propped her foot up (I considered pulling my cell phone out and taking her picture but I thought she might kill me). The ambulance soon followed. They whisked her away into the ambulance while I gathered up her purse and clothes . . . Yep, you guessed it, she went to the ER in a fetching navy blue one-piece bathing suit with little white anchors.

At St. Agnes Hospital they x-rayed her foot and decided it was broken in two places (bilateral break) and . . . . wait . . . is that a third break we see? A CAT-scan showed she had the trifecta of ankle breaks. The ER doc said he couldn't set it, she needed surgery. They splinted her ankle. I think she invented some new works for the FCC to ban. They also ran all her pre-op tests so she wouldn't have to make another trip back. The ER doc sent her home to stay in bed and keep her foot elevated and iced and only to get up to go to the potty.

While in the ER she was known as the lady in the bathing suit. That is until she had to pee. Wendy and I had to peel her out of the bathing suit like a banana! We dressed her back in her clothes.

Pat is scheduled for surgery on Tuesday at St. Agnes. She went to the orthopedic surgeon today, Dr. Sam Sydney, but I don't have a report on that yet. He did tell her on the phone that the fall she took should not have resulted in a triple break and will be checking her for osteoporosis. Stay tuned for more Pat news . . .

Never a dull moment at my house!

Save Arden

Arden, located at 110 Forest Avenue in Catonsville, was the former home of Victor Gustav Bloede built in 1924. It is currently at risk of being razed to make room for a 23 unit PUD on the grounds of the estate. The property was given preliminary Historic Landmark status in January by the Baltimore County Landmarks Preservation Commission. The Baltimore County Council held a public hearing on July 7th. The Council will vote on Arden’s final Landmark status on July 29th. We need YOUR help!

Go to http://savearden.blogspot.com/ to read the whole story and how to take action.

Right under our noses . . .

After an exhaustive, tear-filled two-day search Sebastian has been found . . . in the upstairs hall closet! At 1:00 a.m. Saturday morning John heard a "mew" in the upstairs hall, opened the door and there he was! He was reluctant to get out and didn't eat and drink like a cat that had been without food and water for two days should have. I took him to the emergency vet and they gave him some fluids under his skin and ran some blood tests. Everything was fine except that he was border-line dehydrated as expected. Our vet thinks his Prozac left him lethargic for two days and that's why he didn't announce that he was stuck in the closet. We searched this house several times but I guess our mistake was looking for a cat that wanted to be found, not an unconscious one! We go back to see her next weeks so we can change his meds. She wanted to give him this week to get the Prozac out of his system.

I felt like a fool! I had the entire neighborhood looking for him! Every tree was plastered with his face! At least I know I have great neighbors. Everyone let me look in their yards, emailed me words of home, and kept an eye out for him. I will really miss our neighbors when we sell the house. My vet says she will tell me the story of a cat that was stuck behind a dresser for four days the next time I see her. I guess we aren't the only fools out there!

Irony

It takes me nine months to write about the loss of my cat to have another cat heartache the same day. Yesterday evening we discovered Sebastian wasn't in the house around midnight. Last I remember seeing him was around four o'clock. I searched until 1:30 this morning and have been out most of the day since 6:00 a.m. Most of my neighbors are looking for him as I posted it on our community website. I also have posters up on most of the trees. He has gotten out before but has never left the yard and comes to the porch right away.

I’m going back out when it gets a little darker. Maybe he will feel safer to move from wherever he is. Please send some good cat finding juju my way.

Chas: a biography

Okay. I haven’t blogged in ages. I have felt my next blog needed to be about Chas and, frankly, I just wasn’t ready to do it until now. Yes, I could have written about anything else but him. But in my mind if I couldn’t write about something so important than I didn’t have a right to write about anything else at all. Yes, I would make a hell of a self-flogging monk. Here goes . . .

Chas was my cat. He and I shared 15 ½ years together – the longest relationship I have had with a man thus far! Chas’ stats:

Full Name: Fulinum Sir Charles
Birthday: February 15, 1992
Breed: Himalayan
Color: Seal-Point
Eyes: Blue
Died: October 18, 2007

Up until Chas I was a self proclaimed “dog person.” My conversion to being a “cat person” began in the winter of 1992. I had, at the age of 25, moved out of my mother’s house into my first apartment on S. Charles Street. One day, about a month after I had moved, I was sitting around the conference table at the place I worked at the time having lunch with some of my co-workers. Someone asked me how I found living on my own to be and I replied it was great but a little lonely. Someone suggested a cat. I immediately hopped on my “I’m a dog person” soapbox and emphatically declared that I didn’t like cats. When I was asked why I said, “Cats only like their owners.” Carol, my sage boss at the time, simply said, “And who would be the cat’s owner?” (Thank you, Carol.)

A week later, as I was getting my necessary fix of cosmetics at my favorite Merle Norman Studio, the subject of my recent move came up (yes, I was in there enough that they knew my life story). I mentioned I was considering a cat and one of the girls started gushing about Himalayan cats being the best, most beautiful cats ever. I said, “a hima-what?”

The next day I was browsing the Sunday paper pet sales and saw an ad for Himalayan kittens. This was pre-Internet days and I had no idea what one of them looked like so I called and went to Hanover to ‘just take a look.’

I was greeted at the door of the Freemans’ house by not cats, but a big ol’ Doberman named Dobie. Once inside I found kittens what seemed like everywhere (there were only five of them). Mrs. Freeman told me to sit in the floor and play for awhile. I think I sat there about an hour. I loved their blue eyes. As their masks don’t come in until they are almost adults she showed me their mom so I would see what they would look like. Okay, now how do I choose? It turned out I didn’t have to; he chose me. After we played the kittens all went off to take a nap. Chas chose my leg to go to sleep on. I said, “I’ll take this one.”

I named him Chas after Charles Street and my new apartment. It fit him. He and I settled in together well. He was definitely the last “accessory” I needed to call my place home.

When he was nine months old he had an accident. He was lying in the dining room window watching the birds in the tree like he did every morning when the old storm window fell and broke his foot! I rushed him to the vet and picked him up after work with a blue cast on his leg. The vet tech said she chose blue for him because it matched his eyes. I think he planned the whole thing since he was scheduled to be neutered that coming Friday!

About a year after I brought him home I lost my job of 8 ½ years. It wasn’t a good time to be job hunting and I ended up working two to three part-time jobs at once to make ends meet for over a year until I found a full-time job with benefits. I was a Kelly Girl, cocktail waitress, catering waitress/bartender/sales, event coordinator for a museum, and executive director of the Amputee Association (no, they did not pay me an arm and a leg). I was working 12 hour a day, often seven days a week. Chas missed me. He would wake me up in the middle of the night pawing my face and meowing for attention. My guy was lonely! It broke my heart to realize the only time he saw me was asleep. I considered finding him a new home but I couldn’t bear the thought of him not being there. I was so depressed at the time (thank god for shrinks with prescription pads or I don’t think I would have made it) that he was my life-line. So I called the breeder I bought him from and explained the situation. They offered me a kitten on a payment plan that was, “send us what you can, when you can.” Chelsea (yes, I have been a fan of the Clintons since day one), a blue-point Himalayan, came home with us two weeks later.

It was a love connection from the start. Chelsea turned out to be a whole new financial problem but I’ll save her story for another time. Chas stopped waking me in the night so I know I did the right thing.

Chas never liked having other people around. When someone visited he went under the bed. I was dating a guy I'll call Mitch for awhile. He was a jerk. A royal A-hole but since I was in a bad place already I really didn’t see it for what it was until it was over. Chas, on the other hand, was very smart and had jerk radar. He peed on Mitch, not once, but twice! Talk about non-verbal communication!

In the fall of 1994 I met John. Chas didn’t like him either but at least he didn’t pee on him. Although he did pee on a tie John left lying around. I think that was because Chelsea got really sick the same time John came into our lives and Chas blamed him for her trips to the vets. When John came over he would go under the bed and when he left and shut the door I’d turn around and there Chas would be with an I-thought-he-would-never-leave look on his face. It really took Chas two years to warm-up to John and we were living together!

John didn’t like it that I had two cats (“cats only like their owner” problem again) so we adopted two more cats, Ali, a “mini-me” of Chas, and Alex a black Persian. Now that self-proclaimed dog person lived with four felines. Whoever said “cats are like potato chips, you can’t just stop at one” was obviously living with a house full!

Chas was there for all the many changes in my life, or I should say our life. . . we moved in with John in Otterbein, I married John and moved to Odenton, #1 Son and #2 Son were born, Chelsea died, Sebastian the cat came to live with us (a Maine Coon wannabe), we moved to Baltimore and #3 Son was born. All through the years he just rolled with the changes and never asked for more than a hug, chin scratch and some turkey which I did often.

Chas was not really fond of moving. He would hide and be out of sorts for a week or so every time. When we moved to this house he was 10. I promised him that he would never have to move again because I thought we had finally landed where we wanted to be. Of course we discovered three years later we needed to sell and move again to find a better school district for #1 Son. I apologized to him when we tried to sell the house two years ago. We didn’t sell the house then so I guess I kept my promise after all.

One night in October last year John picked Chas up and he suddenly couldn’t catch his breath. I took Chas to the vets to find out that his chest cavity was full of fluid and pressing on his lungs. No wonder John hugging him caused him so much distress. The x-rays showed a tumor and the test confirmed it was cancer. My vet said some tumors responded well to chemo and one treatment would tell us. Chas had the one treatment and by the next day he was even worst. There was nothing left to do but put him down. I sat up all night with him, waiting for the vet to open and saying my goodbyes. By morning we were both ready. It was definitely one of the hardest things I ever had to do. He had been with me for most of my adult life. It just didn’t seem possible that he wasn’t going to be there anymore.

He and Ali were very close and I think she misses him as much as I do. I was really worried about her since they had been together her whole life (even though Alex is her litter-mate Chas was her favorite companion and she filled the hole for him that Chelsea left). Ali has amazed us! Our timid, little six pound, now 13 year old girl didn’t go off and mourn for long. She decided the best way to honor his memory was to imitate him! Chas always kneaded my stomach every morning when I woke up (the times that I was pregnant he figured out that he had to temporarily move to my thigh. Like I said, he was a very smart cat). Ali, the cat who never kneaded anyone the first 12 years of her life, now kneads me every morning. She seeks us out to be petted and lies close to me when the kids aren’t around just like Chas (she used to be a bit of a recluse). My vet is convinced that she learned Chas’ behavior and decided that someone had to take his alpha-cat role. I guess Chas is still with me through her.

So here I am nine months later finally writing about him. A day still doesn’t go by that I don’t think about him or expect to see him sleeping in one of his favorite spots. He was the greatest cat ever and there will never be another like him for me. I love the three cats that are left but none will be my first cat or share all the mile-markers in my life that he did.

Rest in peace, my beautiful boy. You will always own a piece of my heart.

(P.S. to see his photos and captions click here)

Good-bye my beautiful boy

Chas
1992 - 2007

In loving memory . . .

Melissa "Stanley" Cohen

1971 - 2007

You lived these words:
"Dance like nobody's watching;
love like you've never been hurt.
Sing like nobody's listening;
live like it's heaven on earth."
-- Mark Twain

That did not just happen . . .

We have all had that moment when we find ourselves amazed, dazed and muttering, "that did not just happen?!" That is what I found myself saying today.

Now before I relay this story I must preface it by saying that it takes a great deal of choreography to pull this maneuver off . . .

I was preparing to leave the house, placed my cell phone in my pocket and decided to use the potty before I left the house (I can hear you beginning to snicker already). After I was finished tinkling I flushed, stood up and turned to put the lid down when PLOP! something hit the water and immediate went down the toilet. In that split second it registered that it was my phone! So there I stood muttering, "that did not just happen to me?!"

To add insult to injury the phone lodged itself in the drain and I had to call the plumber to get it out! He left laughing and telling me in over 20 years of being in the business that was a first for him.

On the upside I should have a new phone by Sunday! New toy! Yeah!

RIP Big Scary Tree

You have all heard my story of the Big Scary Tree in our back yard. It was a 150 year old black oak. Saturday she came down. It was the most nerve wracking day of our lives. It was so close to the house we had to sign a waiver that if they hit the roof the tree company wasn’t liable (but they were liable for the fence and deck they hit). It was sad to see something so large go but she had been dead since last summer, three years after her sister came down in the wind storm. Every time I heard the crack of the wood splitting I held my breath and alternated between cussing and praying.

I guess the part I didn’t anticipate was having to make a run to the Carrie Murray Nature Center in Leakin Park by our house. The workmen came and laid four fledgling Flickers (like a woodpecker) at my feet that they found in a knot hole of a limb they had just cut down. They immediately started to climb the good tree I was standing next to. I put them in a box (very soft and cuddle little critters). While I was doing that they brought me a hurt female squirrel. She kept trying to climb Big Scary Tree and then jumped from too high up. She was just twitching. I was sure she was going to die but I didn’t want to watch so I had them lay her in another box and I took her with me as well (10 min. ride). When I opened the car and took the box out she leaped out, albeit limping, and headed up a tree. The wildlife expert at the Murray Center said the fledglings were about a week away from being on their own and he was going to take them home and feed them bugs all weekend. After the workers were gone yesterday I was in the back yard and discovered why the squirrel was determined to get back in the tree. I found a very new baby squirrel dead on the deck. I just stood there and cried. My nerves were shot and that was about all I could take. When I told the tree guy when he came back today to finish up he said, “you just saw what a difference one tree makes to wildlife. Image what happens when they clear cut to put up these planned communities.”

#2 Son's movie début

The boys were at Vacation Bible School this week. The Catholic Review came and shot a video during the week and #2 Son is in it. Following the link:

http://www.catholicreview.org/subpages/video.aspx

and click on the St. Mark video.

Disney World -- 2007

Here are our vacation photos. Just click on the image below!

Disney World -- April 2007

Drive-thru rage

For those of you who know me, know that last week was the week from hell for me. For those who don’t know me you will have to stay tuned because I’m not ready to blog about those events yet. The wounds are still too fresh.

I want to take this opportunity to thank the thoughtless woman who butted in front of me in the drive-thru lane at Chick-Fil-A on Friday. I was being kind and let a car exit out of the drive-thru lane. The Thoughtless Bitch (TB) in the red 4-door took advantage of the opportunity to jump in front of me.

I was pissed. I was more than pissed. I was enraged. How dare this TB think her time was more important than mine? It took every ounce of what was left of my sanity to not let my foot accidentally on purpose slip off the brake peddle.

So for the next five minutes I stewed and intermittently flipped her The Bird if I thought she was looking in her rearview. And then, to quote Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas, “Then he got an idea! An awful idea! THE GRINCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!”

Now it was the TB’s turn to shout her order into the talking box. When she opened her mouth (covered in way too red lipstick) I leaned on my horn! The look on her face was priceless. The kids thought it was funny. So did I. So funny in fact I did it about three more times! I laughed my ass off.

So thank you, again, TB for giving me the comic relief I so desperately needed after the week from hell!

“Let’s watch people get hurt and laugh!”

This is how my three year old starts our “family time” each evening! My kids’ favorite way to spend their pre-bedtime television time is watching “America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

I guess watching countless men get hit in the family jewels with baseball bats, golf clubs, soccer balls and small children’s fists is the perfect end to the day. Heck, I saw one episode where they gave $100,000 to two little boys who were apparently wearing their first cups that day and were bouncing baseballs off of their crotches.

AFV has been on the air for 17 years and has gone through a lot of hosts. How do I know this? Because we watch this show six days a week and most of them are re-runs. I have watched Bob Saget’s nose get bigger with each episode (or maybe his head shrunk). And I have marveled at the unending number of phony-ponys, hair rats, and extensions Daisy Fuentes’ hairdresser uses to make her look even taller.
Taking one in the bits ‘n pieces isn’t the only way to get on AFV. Piñata mishaps seem to be quite popular. As soon as a piñata appears on screen #3 Child starts yelling, “he’s going to get hit in the head” and he is rarely disappointed.

It may not be the most Leave-It-To-Beaveresque family time. But the way I look at it is we pop some popcorn and laugh together so I guess I can over look the minor detail of the source of the hilarity – other people’s pain!

Just arrived!

Just arrived! Photos from my birthday dinner in January :
(click on photo to see entire album)

Shorty's Forty

Whoever said money can’t buy you happiness. . .

. . . never planned a trip to the Happiest Place on Earth (Disney World) for five people! So far it will cost:

Hotel: free (thanks, Dad)
Airfare: $1,800
Park Tickets: $1,700
Rental Car: $600
The look on our kids faces when they say, “I’m bored” and I smack them in the back of the head: Priceless

And who said teenagers are selfish?

I know a great teenager who isn’t: Annelise. She is willing to go 30 hours without food to raise money for children she doesn’t even know. On February 23-24 Annelise will be participating in World Vision's 30-Hour Famine. The goal is to raise funds to feed starving children around the world. High School and college students give up food for 30 hours in order to gain compassion for those suffering hunger and poverty. Annelise would like to be able to feed one child for one year and that would mean getting 12 sponsors who would pledge $30 each. If you would like to support her, send me an email and I will put you in touch with her. Annelise, you go girl!

There is a support group for everyone . . .

. . . but for parents who are too cheap to throw their kids a decent birthday party? Gimme a break!

Yes, Dear Readers, a group of parents have formed Birthdays Without Pressure because they think children’s birthday parties are getting out of control. I guess if you can’t keep up with the Jones you make them feel like bad parents!

I happen to be one of those parents who enjoy throwing my kids a fun, interesting birthday party. We have jumped for joy at Pump It Up!, pet a python at the Safari Place, had a pirate hunt for treasure, made green eggs and ham for a Dr. Seuss party, had a magician with rabbit, a mad scientist in my home showing kids how to make their own slime, and two parties at ExploraWorld.

But do I look down my nose at the parents’ who throw simpler parties? Of course not. You do what you can/want to do. I had a nurse tell me when I was in the hospital after giving birth to #1 son, “it doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks, as long as you know you did your best at the end of the day that’s all that matters.” Of course it was two o’clock in the morning when she delivered that advice and we were both staring at my bared breast frustrated as to why #1 Son wouldn’t latch on and she was trying to tell me I wouldn’t be a bad mother for giving up breastfeeding . . . but I digress . . . The point is, as parents we do what feels right for us.

So to the parents who formed the Birthdays Without Pressure I say, “Just because you didn’t get the clown you so desperately wanted on your ninth birthday or your parents didn’t rent out the Disco-Skate-O-Rama on your thirteen birthday, don’t take it out on everyone else!”

Homeschooling . . . not for wimps!

I homeschool. Why? Because I think I’m better than the people who actually went to school to be a teacher? No. Because I possess such a high moral standard I feel the need to micromanage my child’s every exposure to the real world? Nope. Because I don’t think social interaction is important to learning group dynamics later in life? Nada. Because I just don’t have anything else to do? Absolutely not!

I homeschool because I have to! Plain and simple. And I hate it. This is not what I signed-up for. I thought when I became a stay-at-home-mom I would be putting my kids out the door to school around the time I became disenchanted with the whole June Cleaver/Martha Stewart idealization. Nopers! I had to have the highly intelligent kid who doesn’t fit the “mold” Catholic schools have set for their students, aka, automatons. And since we live in Big Bad Baltimore City, public school is not an option.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my son and would do anything for him, thus I’m homeschooling. It’s just that I don’t understand the zealots who feel the need to homeschool by choice! I’m a college graduate (not in education) and feel like I’m winging it every day. I don’t understand why someone would want to spend five hours a day repeating the third grade (as I consider it) if they have adequate public schools. I can’t believe that the parents of the 1.1 million children being homeschooled in this country don’t have a better alternative.

Children need social interaction, which is the groundwork for understanding group dynamics later in life. If they do not learn to “play well with others”, or understand that there are people who don’t, it will not matter how high their IQ is; they will be doomed to fail. Yes, I know there are those who do it for religious reasons. Guess what? God is everywhere if you truly believe! News Flash: God created Charles Darwin!

I only homeschool #1 Son. Number 2 Son goes to Catholic school. Number 3 Son isn’t old enough to go to school yet (and if he doesn't get on with potty-training, he may never go to school; but that's for another post, on another day). Yes, I know I just said that Catholic schools suck. But currently it is our best option. The day that I can burn that bridge, this blog will be humming with what I think about Catholic schools, and St. Mark specifically.

Move you say? HA! Been there, tried that, and cleaned the house for no reason! The real estate market went directly into the crapper the day we put our house on the market! When September came with no real bites or showing traffic, we withdrew from the market. It isn’t possible to keep a house show ready with three little boys AND homeschool five hours a day. We went off the market in hopes of going back in the spring.

And now for the real conundrum: We can’t get the house show-ready because of all the time I spend homeschooling, and we need to sell the house so I can stop homeschooling!

And thus, my Dear Reader, is another fine example of how life just isn’t fair!

Blogging for Dollars

This is my new blog. My previous blog will still exist and be maintained. Why a new blog you may ask? I need a place to be myself, rant, and rage and share pithy observations. My other blog is for my family but had begun to become my soapbox, so here we are. You will notice there are some previous posts. I moved them over from the other blog. Think of this has the “Not Yet Rated” blog and the other blog as the “General Audiences” blog.

Did you know people actually make money off of their blogs? Reportedly there is money to be made by selling advertisement. First you have to create a readership. So I am asking everyone who reads this and likes it to:

1. Subscribe to this blog by going to Google Reader (the easiest for the less geeky) or use RSS (if you don’t know what that is then you should be using Google Reader).
2. Tell all your friends that you found a great blog to read for those mindless moments and they should check it out at: http://marshawightwise.blogspot.com/ or click on the envelopes on my blog.
3. Then come back often and see what’s on my mind today!

If you want to see the type of blog I’m aspiring to be you need to visit Beth Armstrong, AKA Dooce’s blog. She and I could be best friends if she wasn’t living in the Land of the Mormons. We are too much alike (and I’m not sure that is entirely a good thing). Our philosophy on parenting is very much alike and she only has one child. Have another one, Dooce, if you really want some material to write about!

Stick with me . . . this should be interesting!

Damned deer have aggravated my sciatica!

Okay, so the deer wasn’t exactly at fault for my sciatica, but it all started with Bambi! The day after Christmas, we all piled into the van and headed to Columbia to see the Symphony of Lights at Meriwether Post Pavilion. Suddenly, a herd of deer came running across Route 103 (I said about eight, John says more like a dozen). There were three of them directly in front of me when I hit the brakes and closed my eyes. BANG! One of them ran into the side of the car. Opened my eyes and there were no deer lying in the road! Thank God for the adrenaline rush the damn deer must have had! We pulled over and looked at the damage to our bumper. Not too bad.

On Monday, we dropped the van off for repairs at O’Donnell Honda. Yesterday, I got a Dodge Grand Caravan as a loaner. It is impossible for me to adjust the seat so I can actually reach the peddle comfortably. So now my sciatica is KILLING me from stretching for the gas peddle.

I have had a revelation. I now know why I like Japanese cars so much – Japanese people are short and design their cars to fit themselves! American cars are designed by big macho men! . . . or that’s my theory.

So now you know how Bambi aggravated my sciatica!