Rocks In My Dryer

PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWERS--itty bitty living space!

(Ten points for anyone who can name what movie that title is from!)

So, we took a long weekend and had a mini-vacation last week.  To any bloggers out there that might be in a blogging slump, let me give you one piece of advice:  go vacation in exceedingly close quarters with your children.  You will generate enough stories to keep you hopping for a month.

Our trip is best recounted in pictures, and, as promised, I tried to be a little more artistic in my picture-taking.  And by "artistic" I mean "taking photos of something other than Stephen crossing his eyes".  I aim high.

(I've uploaded these shots in a smaller version, so the page wouldn't take forever to load.  For a better glimpse, just click on them.  And if you're wondering why I've labeled all my pictures with my domain name, it's not some weird ego-trip about the quality of my pictures. I've had some bloggy friends who have had some photos messed with; labeling them is just another way to protect your bloggy stuff.  Darn Internet Mean People.)

We stayed in this campground.  Here's a shot of our camper (borrowed from my parents), otherwise known as The Wind Chamber of Death:

The weather was beautiful, except for the wind--it blew 30 mph the entire time we were there.  That camper creaked and groaned and banged all day and all night.  And I sat up in my bed at 3 am and said, "Oh, how I love creating cozy memories with my family."  Yes.  That's exactly what I said.

But all was well every time I stepped outside our camper and was greeted with this view:

Not a bad way to start the day.

I call this next shot "Brothers".  Don't they look like they're all wrapped up in an important conversation?  I bet they're talking about how much they love their mom.

We made a few side trips, including a drive up to an elevation that let us see the aspen changing colors.  If you've never seen an aspen tree in person, put that on your list of life goals.

I was loving some vintage-looking painted signs we saw along the way.  "STOP THE CAR," I'd yell, so I could take a photo.  Hubs really likes it when I do that.  Just ask him.

But really, aren't these cool, and worth a little uncomfortable brake-slamming?

I really like this shot:

Here's a picture of the inside of the camper.  This is what it looks like when my family explodes:

The boys did some exploring and found several interesting rock formations in our campground.  They led us to this curious one, a heart shape right in the rock (the scope is difficult to see in the photo, but I could almost lie down in it.  If I made a habit of lying down in natural rock formations, that is).  Adam named this The Rock Of Love (that's pronounced lu-u-u-u-uv).

Here are my five favorite people:

And here's me, being a rugged mountain woman.  Thanks to the wind, the Man Hair evolved into Troll Doll Hair:

This next shot is entitled "Hey Mom I Found A Fire Ant THIS Big".  I can't imagine where this child gets his propensity for melodrama.  Cough, cough.

I really love this shot of my daughter's shadow. 

Hubs insisted I take this picture of his killer s'more making stick.  You have to love a man who's not afraid to get excited about things like this:

One of our favorite parts of visiting Colorado is driving across the flatlands of the Oklahoma panhandle and southeastern Colorado.  Even though I grew up in the mountains, I'm gradually beginning to appreciate the wide-open beauty of the plains.

Isn't that beautiful?  There's something very satisfying about knowing I live only a few short hours from land like that.  It makes me think that if things get too crazy, I could just pack up a covered wagon and head west, you know? 

They do outfit covered wagons with on-board DVD players, don't they?

This post was originally published on October 22, 2007.

Where I Belong

*Thanks to the chaos surrounding The Great San Francisco Airport Adventure of 2008, Works-For-Me Wednesday will be posted a little later than usual.  It will go up at 8 am CST on Wednesday.

BlogHer was excellent.  There was an enormous amount of information,  and there was enough meeting-and-greeting to turn my normally extroverted self into a bleary-eyed zombie.

I suspect every woman there, at some point in the weekend, wondered if she really "belonged" there.  I know I felt that way.  At times I felt like I stood out like a red-state Presbyterian housewife at a San Francisco tech convention.

Maybe because I was a red-state Presbyterian housewife at a San Francisco tech convention.

Occasional jitters aside, I'm very glad I went.  There was some good information, but--even better--I met some ladies who are so delightful I just wanted to bring them home in my suitcase.

And I mean that, of course, in the most non-stalker-ish way possible.

Saturday night a group of us ditched the cocktail party for a very loud dinner at a greasy-spoon diner.  The conversation and dessert flowed freely:

Back row, left to right:  Heather of Desperately Seeking Sanity, Janice of 5 Minutes For Mom, me, Christine of The Home Team Wins.  Front row, left to right:  Steph of Adventures in Babywearing, Arianne of To Think Is To Create, Susan of 5 Minutes For Mom, Mary of Owlhaven, Melanie of Blogging Basics 101.  Not pictured:  Nicole of Apron Strings Aflutter and Stephanie of Metropolitan Mama.

Sunday we spent a long day seeing the sights, including a boat trip out to Alcatraz.  That is one creepy and oppressive place.  I'm glad I saw it, because I had been considering a life of crime, but after seeing the consequences, I believe I'll stick with PTA and soccer practice.

Back on the wharf, just to prove I was there, I had Melanie snap this photo (the downside of sightseeing with only one friend is that you have to be in all the photos by yourself):

(P.S.--that's my super-cute Couture Moms t-shirt buried under the layers of clothing.)  Layers were necessary, because San Francisco was COLD.  I had about two dozen people e-mail or Twitter me to be sure and bring a sweatshirt.

So you might think I would have, you know, brought a sweatshirt.

I didn't, though--I guess I couldn't bring myself to believe that when it's 95 degrees in Oklahoma it could be sweatshirt weather on the Pacific ocean.  And I suffered freezingly for my naivete.  It all worked out, because the hundreds of sweatshirt stores along Fisherman's Wharf do a very brisk business (pun intended) selling their wares to unsuspecting Southerners like me. 

Happily, I'm home now.  While it's interesting to slip into a semi-sophisticated life of panel discussions, PR pitches and cocktail parties for a few days, it's even sweeter to slip back into my real life.  I belong right here on this couch with my holey socks and three-year-old yoga pants, smooshed into a crowded pile with my five favorite people.

There is absolutely, positively NO place like home.

I Left My Self In San Francisco

It's Tuesday morning.  You might think I'd be home from San Francisco by now.

But you would be wrong.

I'm supposed to be home, but a bizarre set of airport delays straight out of The Twilight Zone grounded us for another night.  Sleeping on the floor at our gate was a very real possibility for a while.  Finally, the airline agreed to put us in a hotel, thanks in large part to Melanie's willingness to use The Look.  (And, may I say, hooray for Southwest for doing the right thing, although--and you might want to step back so I can yell this--PERHAPS AN EVEN BETTER SOLUTION WOULD BE TO AVOID TWO-AND-A-HALF-HOUR BAGGAGE-CHECK LINES IN THE FIRST PLACE.)

There.  I feel better.  (Actually, as long as I'm shouting, may I send a GIANT SHOUT OF PROFOUND GRATEFULNESS TO MY MOTHER, WHO IS RESCUING US FROM THE CHILDCARE EMERGENCY.)

Now I'm done.

This morning, at the crack o' dawn, we woke up and headed back to the aiport for another go at this deal, and mercifully, we made it out.  (Although, interestingly, it has turned out that plane crashes and earthquakes have not been my enemies on this trip--it turns out I should have been fearing menacing, plan-altering FOG).  I'm writing now from the Phoenix airport, where we will be spending many hours today happily enjoying the (free! free! everybody cheer for Phoenix!) internet access.

Since I have so much time to kill, I thought I'd upload a few of my photos from yesterday.

Here are several of the now empty shampoo bottles from our hotel.  I am not kidding, no matter what kind of souvenir I bought for my daughter, this will be the thing she is the most excited I brought home.  Her little collection of random plastic containers is surely taking over our house:

We did a little window shopping.  This colorful display came from a little shop that sells only Swiss chocolates.  I'm thinking that might be a very fine place to work:

Look at these pretty little soaps:

The entrance to Chinatown:

I think this was the most colorful place I've ever been in my life:

A kite store, which is what my children would've wanted as a souvenir from Chinatown, although instead they're getting chopsticks, because I am a big spender like that:

Signing out for now, with sincere hopes that this evening will find me cuddled on my couch at home with my peeps.

BlogHer, Day One

I am in San Francisco, and I am happy to report that there has been no crashing of the planes or trembling of the earth.  I am sitting in a gorgeous, 1920's-era hotel, with my sore feet propped up, and (for real!) there is an honest-to-goodness cable car clanging just outside my window.  It is lovely for the ambiance, but perhaps not so good for the sleeping.  We'll see.

Today was as full a day as I've had in a long time.  I was up and not-quite-at-'em by 4:30 for mine and Melanie's early morning flight.  After many hours of flying, including a layover in Los Angeles in which Sheryl Crow and Elvis Costello boarded our plane (no, not really, but they looked a lot like Sheryl Crow and Elvis Costello, and it was, after all, Los Angeles, and anything could happen, couldn't it?), we finally landed in San Francisco. 

We had exactly five minutes to scarf down some Mexican food before a mad dash to the hotel.  You know what?   The words "mad dash" and "Mexican food" should not appear in the same sentence.  Especially when one's first destination is a very fancy shmancy video interview with 5 Minutes For Mom, and the burping of guacamole would be somewhat less than professional. 

In our first hours in San Francisco, we had six--count 'em, SIX--events of the social variety.  Considering that my idea of a big night is renting two--count 'em, TWO--DVDs from Blockbuster, this was a little overwhelming.  There was talking and networking and chatting and OH, I have shmoozed until my shmoozer is positively broken.  But I have met some lovely ladies, among them the 5 Minutes for Mom girls, Arianne from To Think Is To Create, Anne Glamore from My Tiny Kingdom, Steph from Adventures In Babywearing, and The CrockPot Lady.

And we're only just getting started. 

Tomorrow after lunch is the panel discussion I'm participating in, on MommyBlogging: Public Parenting and Privacy, and I'm hoping to be able to post a summary as soon as I can.

See you then.

In Which I Actually Have To Pack a Jacket

(If you're looking for Works-For-Me Wednesday, scroll down.)

I am getting up at 4:30 tomorrow morning to head to the airport for BlogHer.  Does the world actually exist at 4:30 a.m.?  I would have no way of knowing.  Tomorrow I'll be leaving you in the good hands of an excellent guest poster in the What I'd Like For You To Know series--I can't wait for you to read what she has to say.

I have no idea how much I'll be posting while I'm away.  Hopefully I'll be able to bring you frequent updates of the things I'm learning, but (oh, the irony) blogging conferences don't always leave a lot of time for blogging. 

In the meantime, I just happened to look ahead at the forecast, and I'm thinking that earthquakes might not be a bad trade-off after all:

I just might need a parka for Alcatraz on Sunday.

It's Shaping Up To Be an Eventful Week

There's just too much be done this week, and not enough time for the doing of it.  There's plenty of packing for BlogHer and last-minute prep, and there's a hefty amount of reading Isaiah 26:3.  I'm a girl with a anxiety issues about flying, public speaking, earthquakes, so I thought I'd fly halfway across the country, to a destination that sits squarely on top of the San Andreas fault, to speak (publicly! to people!) on a panel about blogging.

Eventful indeed. 

In between the laundering and the packing and the toenail painting and the hyperventilating and the lasagna freezing, I'm joining Melanie (of Don't Try This At Home and Blogging Basics 101 and Bloggy Giveaways--my word, when does that girl sleep?) and Karen (of Simply Amusing Blog and Simply Amusing Designs) on their brand new talk-radio project:  Behind the Blog.  It airs today (Tuesday) at 12 noon CST, and you can get there by clicking here to listen.  You can listen live at noon and call in with your blogging questions (instructions are on the site), or listen afterwards to the podcast version.  I'll be their guest, and I'm almost certain to confirm once and for all why I don't have a future in public speaking.  Don't miss it.

Arkansas

Earlier this week, I took a long-planned trip to take the kids to see some extended family in Arkansas. 

My roots.  My home.  Arkansas. 

As it turned out, Hubs and I were doing some channel surfing the night before I left.  We surfed past an episode of PrimeTime/Dateline/20/20/Whatever-They're-All-the-Same.  It was an old unsolved mystery set deep in the hills of rural Arkansas, not too far from where I grew up. 

I don't know if you've ever watched a news report or documentary set in Arkansas, but I can positively assure you of one eternal truth about such a show:  at least one of the characters will have a chicken in his yard.

It's true.  Every time.

It doesn't matter what area of Arkansas politics or history or culture is being discussed by the particular media outlet.  It could be a hard-hitting report about the Wal Mart corporate culture or a timeline of the Clinton presidency. 

But there will be a chicken.  Always, a chicken.

And I've always felt a little indignant about the media's portrayal of my home state, truly.  I know that Arkansas has its fair share of...well, of yards with chickens in them, but there is some lovely culture there, too.  There are rivers and mountains so beautiful that the scenery would take your breath away, and there are some very cosmopolitan and brilliant Arkansans living very enlightened lives. 

How dare the media make such assumptions, I thought to myself, as I finished packing for my trip.  I set out the next afternoon, the van loaded down and my heart happy to be headed toward home.  I passed over the Arkansas state line and breathed deeply, my eyes gazing at those lush, green, rolling hills. 

What a treasure this place is, I thought to myself, knowing that those media types would never get it.

And I'm not kidding you, the words had barely left my mind when I noticed a mound on the side of the interstate.  I looked more closely.

It was a pile of dead chickens. 

I laughed to myself and I reached for my iPod, cranking up the Toby Keith. 

It's good to go home.

Some Thoughts On Flying

I'm sitting in here in the O'Hare airport, on my way to SheSpeaks, pausing for a moment of thankfulness that I have no sense of direction.  If I did, I might be a little stressed out that I'm heading from Oklahoma to North Carolina via Chicago.  My husband, who has a compass embedded somewhere in his brain, would be having a stroke right now.

I've told you how I feel about flying.  You might think I'd be getting more comfortable with it, since I've done a good bit of it lately.  Instead, I'm just assuming I've significantly raised my odds of crashing in a fiery deathtrap.

But other than that, I'm doing fine. 

Am I the only one who feels very self-conscious when flying?  Like I should be trying very hard, in every way, NOT to look like a terrorist?  I arrived in my home terminal this morning carrying my perfume in my hand, after forgetting it and grabbing it on the way out the door.  Just before I checked in, I opened up my luggage to get the perfume packed securely.  But as I sat there in the terminal with my (open) bags around me, a bottle of liquid in my hand, I felt like making an announcement to bystanders:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS A BOTTLE OF LIZ CLAIBORNE PERFUME FROM TJ MAXX.  IT IS IN NO WAY FLAMMABLE OR TOXIC OR OTHERWISE EXPLOSIVE, AND GOD BLESS AMERICA."

With national security on my mind, I finished checking in and proceeded on through the security checkpoint.  The man in front of me did not have his boarding pass.  The screener, a sweet girl of about 21, giggled and said, "Well, I'll forgive you this time, but next time you'll have to pay me off with chocolate."

AND THEN SHE WAVED HIM ON THROUGH.

And there you have it, folks.  The security of an entire nation can be bought with a bag of Hershey's kisses.

(Though I will confess that there are certain days of the month when I think that is a perfectly reasonable price to pay.) 

I thought about drop-kicking the guy--it's my patriotic duty, after all--but then I remembered that I don't know how to drop-kick.  And also that it might be inappropriate to be arrested on my way to a conference sponsored by a group called Proverbs 31 Ministries.

Last thing, and this has nothing to do with anything, except that it was hilarious--when I boarded the plane back in Oklahoma, I sat in front of a guy who was...well, he appeared to be a first-time flyer.  Sometimes you can just tell.  He wore a giant ball cap and an even bigger belt buckle and he chatted cheerfully (nervously?) with everyone around him.  He was positively delightful.

We taxied down the runway, sped up, and at the precise moment of lift-off--I'M NOT KIDDING YOU--the guy went, "Wheeee, Doggie."

It was adorable.

I love Oklahoma.

Barring any techincal difficulties, I'll check in from North Carolina with a report about the fantastic stuff I'm learning.  See you then!

Soccer Mom

We went to Dallas this weekend.  The LA Galaxy was playing FC Dallas (major league soccer), which meant this was a one-of-a-kind opportunity to see David Beckham and Landon Donovan play in person.  Because there are three rabid, over-the-top soccer fans in my house, we couldn't pass it up.

But before I tell you about it, I have to ask you Texans a question:  when did they pick up your state and move it to the equator?  Because THE SUN!  And THE HEAT!   It was the kind of sun that scoffed at our four layers of sunscreen.  We all sat in that stadium and just fried like chickens.  It doesn't help that when they made the state-of-the-art major league soccer stadium in Frisco, TX (just north of Dallas), they included every possible amenity...except shade.  I guess there's a little shade, but you shill out big bucks for it.  I think it's right there on your ticket:  seat 23, row 7, section 142 AND SHADY.

All the frying was worth it, though, for my little guys to have such a big day:

The big guy himself:

My nine year old would like for me to include a picture of Landon Donovan.  According to my boy, Donovan is the real star of the team, and Beckham just came to America and stole all the limelight.  These are the nuggets of wisdom I would never have known if I weren't the mother of sons.

An interesting thought occurred to me as I glared in the blazing sun at the skybox just across from us:

Actually, she probably wasn't, Hubs informed me.  He said that Victoria Beckham doesn't generally travel with the team.  A shame.  That would've made for an awesome post.

Here is what my daughter Corrie thinks of major league soccer:

I will tell you that there is nothing sweeter than having a sweaty toddler draped in your lap when you're sitting under the equatorial sun.  Late in the first half, she and I wandered around in search of some relief. 

Corrie was the first to see it.  She squealed with delight and made a bee-line for this:

Lord have mercy on us!  It's a SHADOW!

Here's another David Beckham picture, because I want to be sure I get my money (and sunburn's) worth:

We're home (and a little crispy) now.  But when I can get the rest of my pictures downloaded, I have to show you a picture of the Texas version of Sonic.  It's just almost too much to take in.