Aidan was outside this evening when she noticed a robin fluttering around our little blue spruce tree.

I hope they do.

A blue spruce branch. The tree is only about six feet tall:

I literally gasped when I saw the color of the eggs. Astonishing.

Posted by mopsy on 15 May 2008
Filed Under: Life | 8 Comments »

When I was little, I called yogurt “magrins”. My mom says she has no idea how I came up with the word, or why. I still think of it as magrins.

Here’s a fun video about magrins:

Posted by mopsy on 14 May 2008
Filed Under: Life | 10 Comments »

After school, the kids enjoy running amok in our backyard. I like it.

I could live without our dachshund/Australian shepherd mix, Junie, barking her vocal chords into oblivion while the kids are playing. Because of her nature, she loves circling the kids as they tear around the grass, shouting orders at them.

Junie belongs on a ranch, not a suburban backyard.

Consequently, neighbors have complained about her barking over the years. Animal control has visited us, twice. She is much better now that she is older, but we remain hyper-vigilant about excessive barking. Certain activities make her barkier than others, including games of tag and light saber battles. I think she equates the whirl of noisy activity with a stampede of sheep heading toward a seaside cliff.

It must be stopped.

After school today, the kids were in the backyard spinning with an umbrella. This infuriated the Junie. I called her inside.

Three seconds later, a kid opened the door to shout to another kid they were missing out on all the fun. Junie escaped.

I called her inside.

Three seconds later, kid-left-out opened the door to join in umbrella twirling. Junie escaped.

I called her inside and told her to lie in her bed. She did, but she looked at me like I was smoking crack.

I heard the back door slide open. A kid came inside for a drink and Junie bolted for the door, barking commands to cease! Cease!

I followed, telling the kids to stop opening the door. I clapped and whistled for Junie to come inside.

“Get in your bed!” I ordered.

She complied, again, looking at me sidelong and panting.

I went to fill her water bowl, which she promptly began to lap.

We both heard it and looked at each other. The door, sliding.

A kid needed a toy. Junie saw her chance.

“Guys! Please! Keep the door closed!” I bellowed, becoming the Mom Who Bellows Out the Back Door. “Junie! COME!” I added as an before, during, and afterthought because I knew I’d be doing it again.

She did, reluctantly.

I locked the door to keep the kids outside. If they truly needed in, they’d bang and scream, “Mommy, you locked us out!” for all the neighbors to hear. I didn’t care.

I forgot about the kid still inside, who had been in his room. He decided to join the game of Capture the Umbrella and he took a furry black maniac with him.

“BarkitybarkbarkrooooobarkerbarkyBARK!”

This time, I got her to come in with just the look on my face. To punctuate, I raised my eyebrows and made eye contact with each and every kid in the yard, except the one hiding under the umbrella.

I slid the door shut like I was closing a hatch door on the sinking Titanic. Junie slunk to her bed.

I really thought it was over. I really thought I was done.

I had to take a puff from my inhaler.

I went upstairs. From my bedroom window came the frantic bawlings of our working dog. I think I could understand Dog for a split second. She was saying: “Your noises and colorful stick circle thing intrigue me, as does your frantic motion and convulsive dodging and flailing about in the grasses. I thank you for continually freeing me to join in the spectacle and pageantry of your Mother making an ass of herself in front of the neighbors! Please, mind my excrement there and there and there. Or don’t.”

I practically rolled down the stairs like a serial killer was after me.

I flung open the door and blustered, “WHO LET THE DOG OUT!?”

And they looked at me and laughed.

And I did, too.

Posted by mopsy on 13 May 2008
Filed Under: Life | 17 Comments »

My latest Mile High Mamas post hit screens today.

It’s new and it’s about kids, advertising, and labels.

Here is where I am caught in a web of postmodern irony: I am advertising a post about advertising, and I am hoping you’ll go say hello. That’s all advertisers want, right? For us to cozy up to their soaps and cereals.

You can’t blame them (or me) for trying.

Posted by mopsy on 13 May 2008
Filed Under: Life | Comments Off

The boys didn’t have school yesterday, which meant they were home for lunch.

I made a box of mac & cheese.

Sam was unhappy because I only made one box. He was afraid that one box of mac & cheese split amongst five children (Aidan had school) was not enough.

I pointed out that only he, Ryley, and Beatrix liked mac & cheese. There would be plenty, plus chips.

“Well, that’s 17 percent of us!” he moaned.

“Really? How do you figure?” I asked.

“Ryley is nine, I am seven and Bea is ONE! 9+7+1 = 17!” he explained, completely exasperated.

I thought about his computation. If his math is correct, and I’m not saying it is, our family is at 110%.

My only question is how Beatrix, representing only 1.65%, can cause 50% of my daily work?

Something is not adding up.

Posted by mopsy on 10 May 2008
Filed Under: Life | 18 Comments »

Our neighborhood fire station had an open house yesterday. We went, of course. It’s not like us to pass up an opportunity to ride in a vintage fire truck while devouring free hot dogs and Pepsi. The fire truck doors were wide open for up-close inspections of the steering wheels and gauges. A 75-foot ladder was extended to the sky.

“No climbing,” said the fire fighters in their dark blue uniforms.

There was something for everyone.

Posted by mopsy on 04 May 2008
Filed Under: Life | 14 Comments »

He makes a good point.

A Denver man named Jeff Peckman wants the city to create a panel, whose purpose will be to create plans to deal with space alien crashes within city limits. Peckman is in the process of collecting signatures to get the issue on the November ballot. He notes:

“It is important because if you’re driving down the highway and you saw a crash of a small spaceship and a car or a bus full of kids, you really wouldn’t know what to do,” Peckman said Thursday. “Do you wait for the hazardous materials experts to show up because of potential contaminants from another solar system? What do you do? People really don’t know.”

I wouldn’t know what to do if I happened upon a crashed or disabled spacecraft. If the alien was thrown from the craft, I suppose I’d hold noddley appendages in a comforting manner while trying not to make much eye contact, simply because my eyes could be outnumbered and that is intimidating. Maybe I’d get our picnic blanket out of the back of the car to cover the alien so it won’t go into shock as we wait for the ambulance. I’d let the alien keep the blanket, because I am nice that way. I could dab some bottled water on the less viscous areas of it’s “skin” while I whisper calming thoughts into what appears to be an ear. I hope it’s an ear.

The story is here.

Posted by mopsy on 02 May 2008
Filed Under: Life | 15 Comments »

The flowing robe was aqua blue, trimmed in white lace. White buttons held it closed as I posed for a photo. It was my fourth birthday, and I loved my gift.

I used my blue robe more for playing dress-up than for warmth. When friends from houses across and down the street came over to play, I shared all my other dress up clothes—but never the blue robe. I do not remember who I pretended to be. Was I Marcia Brady? Barbie? Annette from the Mickey Mouse Club re-runs on channel 2? My aunt Anna? They were the pretty girls in my early-70s preschooler eyes.

One day, my robe was gone. I looked all over my room. Under my bed, in my closet, in my drawers, down in the basement. It vanished, and I was heartbroken.

I can’t discern how much time passed between my sad discovery and the betrayal. It could have been the next day, it could have been a month later.

Sometime after my robe went missing, I played at a neighborhood girl’s house. As we pawed through the toys in her closet, I caught a glimpse of blue fabric in a wooden hinged box. I pulled the fabric out. It was my robe.

I was very surprised and too young to realize a crime had been committed. I was just happy to see it again. The girl said it was hers. I said no, it was mine—I could tell. It was worn and dirty in familiar spots. I told her I was going to tell her mom. She grabbed the robe and held it tight in her arms.

I found her mother in the kitchen.

“She has my robe!” I told her.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“I saw my robe in her room!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” She called her daughter into the kitchen.

The girl said she didn’t have my robe.

The mother turned to me, “See, she doesn’t have your robe. You should probably go home now.”

So I did.

I remember walking across the street, by myself, contemplating how the mother lied to me and how that was very, very strange. Grown-ups don’t lie. Grown-ups like when things are fair. Why didn’t she tell her daughter to give my robe back to me?

Here I am, more than 30 years later, thinking about that robe and that girl and that mother. It was never found.

It was lost, twice.

Posted by mopsy on 01 May 2008
Filed Under: Life | 13 Comments »

I’ve been back from Chicago for several days and haven’t written why I went or what I did.

An online community I’ve belonged to since 2001 organized the trip to Chicago. Picture sixteen mothers taking over a hall in a downtown hotel. We talked, ate, drank, shopped, saw the sights, slept for a few hours, threw a baby shower, and bonded.

I arrived home thoroughly exhausted, but somehow refreshed.

~~~~~~

Today is May 1st and we woke to cold and snow, after nearing 80 degrees yesterday. Snow on plum blossoms is really beautiful, though. I had to go outside and shake the trees because they were bending under the pressure of the wet and very heavy snow.

~~~~~~

Aidan had a wonderful time in Albuquerque with the grandparents. Her flight home went well. I was in Chicago the day she flew home. While she was there, she baked cookies and homemade pizza, played with their Wii, went swimming, to the zoo, the aquarium, the botanic gardens, on a train ride, bowling, shopping, to the park, on walks with the dog, to see Nim’s Island, and—best of all—spent time with her grandparents.

On Sunday night, all eight of us were under the same roof again. As I tucked her in bed, she told me she wanted to go back to Albuquerque. Immediately.

I totally understood.

Posted by mopsy on 01 May 2008
Filed Under: Life | 5 Comments »