Amy Writes

It has been said that I am easily amused. Little things fascinate me. I like to know how things work. I like factory tours and behind-the-scenes stuff and those specials on Discovery Channel. I was definitely brought up this way: I remember my brother telling me about a conversation he'd recently had about "Jet Puffed Marshmallows." Topics covered were: What does "Jet-Puffed" mean? How big-a-jet are we talkin? What keeps the marshmallows from exploding when "jet puffed"? Several weeks ago, the girls and I caught an episode of the rarely aired Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. In that one episode, the inimitable Mr. R shed light on two very interesting processes when he visited a sleeping bag factory and a dollmaker's workshop. Have you ever thought about how a sleeping bag is assembled? Me neither, but now I know, and I am a better person for it. So here are a few jobs I would like to shadow for a day (or watch Mister Rogers shadow them), because ev

I have not been sleeping well lately. I haven't been waking up, but, instead, my brain has been moving at a breakneck pace from crazy, intense dream to crazy, intense dream. Think of the boat ride in the original Willy Wonka, with fewer insects. (One of last night's featured me in the cast of Sweeney Todd - speaking of Johnny Depp.) The result: tension, slothfulness, jaw soreness and some very intense headaches. I've been accommodating by relying on caffeine and naptime. I'm treating myself as if I'm sick, therefore not exercising because I don't feel good. The naps perpetuate the bad sleep, and the caffeine perpetuates the headaches. I'm kind of a mess, I guess. So I've unplugged myself. No caffeine, cold turkey. It means that for a few days I'll be relying on Advil, but that's not as addictive. And naps - well, we're going to switch over to "reading" time for awhile, until I feel like I can turn it into exercise time or project ti

But I'm sad that Johnny didn't win.

We were JUST talking about this. Picture if you will: a dozen or so brightly colored rubbery plastic ponies of varying sizes. All with shimmery hair and cutesy tattoos on their hindquarters, scattered throughout the main thoroughfare between kitchen and family room. They have been subjects of a game called "Stuff the Ponies in the Barbie Volkswagens," so the site actually looks like Godzilla's trophy wife went all DWI on the Miniature Pony Farm and left the scene. The command had been given to stable the ponies and impound the cars, but the cleanup crew was distracted by the salty, cheesy goodness of snacktime. I let it slide, as there were no new toys being added to the disaster. A second command was issued when it looked like snacktime was over, but I was informed that we were still eating and again, I let it slide. Then, visiting baby #3 woke up. She has a new game called "Zero to 130 in .3 seconds," or "I Have Been Awake For .5 Seconds It Must Be Time T

I've been hearing the call for some time now. It had grown to "deafening." The daily visual reminders were too much. I had to clean out my closet. No longer could I avoid the entangled mess of wire and plastic and rumpled, dusty clothing. The time had come to purge, purge, purge. It doesn't matter how many times a year I do this, I seem to end up with the same amount (2 large plastic bins full!) of clothing to give away. I can't make it make sense, as I so rarely buy clothes for myself. Especially the kind that hangs in the closet. The only explanation is that they multiply after midnight. So this morning I started digging. Digging and digging and digging. Clinton and Stacy would be proud. Out went the last remaining sweater set, the ankle-length denim skirts, the dress I wore to my cousin's wedding ... 10 years ago. Here is where I always have trouble. Say there's a dress (or suit or shirt) in excellent condition, still sort of "classically stylish&

I don't know if you know this, but the most exhausting activity under the sun is not an active one, but passive. And when I have been intensely engaged in the activity of "being disobeyed," I know I have earned my early bedtime. Want to try it out? Find yourself a relatively obedient preschooler - late 4, early 5 is best. Ideally, the child will have been spending some time with "other kids" recently, and will have eschewed a nap for the last couple days. It is also beneficial if the child believes him- or herself to be a civil rights attorney. Now: ask them to do something. Try something easy, like, "Come get in the car, honey." You'll have to ask again. "Come get in the car, please." For a really good workout, you'll get another 2 or 3 out of this one. "Right now, please. In the car." And finally, "Stop what you're doing and come get in the car RIGHT NOW." Apply this method to every activity for the next 5 ho

I am becoming increasingly aware that more people are reading this blog than I thought. You come, you read, you leave. You don't comment. You know who you are. Speak up!

My flight to New York left at 9:50 Friday morning. I wasn't on it. Without going into too much detail, I will say this: it was either a shining moment in our (almost) 8 year marriage, or one of those you'd like to forget. Don't know yet. :) What I do know is that instead of gallivanting through the Big Apple with my girlfriends, bundled and shivering while waiting for a cab, developing blisters from my new shoes and pinching pennies ordering only appetizers and salads, I was relaxing in flip flops with my family in North Central Florida. Instead of circling the Central Park Reservoir, I traipsed through the woods with my girls to hunt alligators in Lake Alice. I traded Serendipity for Harry's and SoHo for Newberry. We hit the Oaks Mall instead of 5th Ave. and watched movies made in New York instead of waving fanatically at cameras in Rockefeller Center. Another opportunity will come soon (it has to - I have an airline credit that has to be used in a year!) but the moral

I wanted to call your attention to something that is going on this week. Compassion International has taken 15 popular bloggers to Uganda to blog about their experiences visiting abject poverty. Two of them are heroes on my blogroll over there - Shaun Groves and David Kuo. Please go visit their blogs this week and be moved. Here's a list of all of the bloggers involved. Thanks!

While perusing the church bulletin this morning, I noticed an announcement about an upcoming Senior Adults' retreat. It was actually called an "Enclave," which I am assuming is another word for "Retreat," because it's being held at a retreat center. I wonder if they use a different word because that demographic has generally reached the phase in life where they spend most of their time retreating, and need to do more enclaving? Anyway, I took particular notice of the ad because my Presbyterian grandmother attends the Senior Adult "Baptist Bible Study" at my church. But she never refers to it as my church. I mean, she will never say, "I was up at your church today." It is always: "I was up at the Baptist church today..." I don't understand, but I'm guessing it comes from a long ago time when there were two churches in town: Baptist and Presbyterian. There is a point to this little blog. And here it is. The announcement g

Heading to NYC soon. Recommendations?

This time, I got a picture. Look carefully. That is, indeed, a guy riding a unicycle west on Commercial Blvd.

My first piano student walked through my door a few minutes late and plopped down on the bench. As usual, I was buzzing around her, collecting my necessities for my four hour stint at the piano. Chair, water, pencil, gum. I collapsed into my chair with my customary "How was your week?" and when I shifted my eyes from her notebook to her face, I noticed something was off. "Oh, you're sick?" I said compassionately, noticing red-rimmed eyes and pink cheeks. A quiet shake of the head. Gulp. "Sad?" (please don't be sad...please don't be sad.) My suggestion was enough to turn on the faucet. Tears overflowed as my precious little 5th grader spilled the events of her day - how, on the playground at her little Christian school, one of her "friends" started spreading rumors and calling her a liar, and how all of the rest of the girls in her class ganged up on her and started telling her they hated her, and how she was made fun of for getting 10

Yesterday, my almost 5-year-old chose not to nap. This is understandable, as she is almost 5 years old. But I try to make it clear that she cannot choose not to nap, and then get up and do whatever she wants to do. So after the lecture, when she gets the usual lines about "choosing to be obedient" and "napping keeps us healthy," etc., she started asking for things. Computer? (me: nope.) Movie? (me: nope.) Snack? (me: nope.) (It was close to dinner time, I was not depriving my child) Well, what about my little sister? Will she get a snack? (me: maybe. She's taking a good nap.) Well, that's not fair! (me: i'm not concerned with fair.) Well, you know what? Martin Luther King worked so that everything would be fair for all people and if you give my little sister a snack and not me then that's not fair and Martin Luther King would be VERY unhappy about that. (me: ...stifling laughter and walking away)