A Musing Mother 6

Here's the real truth - I'm in a blogging funk. I just don't feel like writing as much anymore. Partly because the computer is all the way downstairs and Scott's tablet is upstairs and if you've ever compared the two, well, it's like trying to walk a 5 K in somebody else's shoes. Another part of it is that I have less to say and more to do. Blogging has been a wonderful outlet for a tongue-tied stutterer like myself and I've enjoyed it immensely over the past 4 years. But I noticed something tonight while I was at my daughter's jazz concert. I forgot to take the camera out for most of the concert and was caught up in the moment completely. My toes were tapping, my mouth was smiling, my hands were clapping and my attention was riveted. When I stopped trying to capture the moment in the frame of a camera lens, I captured more than just an image. My memory is sharp and includes emotions along with the mental photographs and sound bytes. Sometimes when I

I went to lunch with my dance friends on Saturday. It's been awhile so we had a lot to catch up. Kari and her husband are building a house together, her house sold, her ex-husband is planning his Wiccan wedding in Washington... you know, the usual. I got to share my pictures of the family, recap the trip to Maui, my upcoming job transfer, my tiny breakdown leading to my chicken obsession, their demise and replacements. I was able to answer so many questions about the care and keeping of chickens that I would not have known until recently. I also announced my Mother's Day gift from my reluctant family. Just in case there is any question, it is a wireless fence unit. In other words, Sunday the dog has a perimeter that is all hers. When she crosses that perimeter, she gets a zap on the neck. I set it up on Saturday, marking the perimeter with those white flags. I also accidentally dropped the plastic tester that fits on the shocking part of the collar and received a zap. I think i

We have new neighbors. I really hadn't met them yet but Scott had. They have four children ages 8, 6, 4, and 2. My 7 year old is in heaven. Yesterday the 6 and 4 year old came over to play. After awhile the father, Travis, came to check on them. "Is Hayley here?" he asked. "Was she invited or did she just come over?" I was sitting in the living room so he couldn't see me but my 12 year old son gave the appropriate answers. Yes, Hayley was invited. In truth, I have no idea. In truth, I don't care. Come one, come all. An hour later Travis showed up again. This time I answered the door and he got his first exposure to me. "Hi. I'm Travis. James' dad. We're going out to eat now." "Okay," I answered. Pause. "We're taking everybody to Olive Garden," he continued. "Sounds great," I countered. Pause. "Not to be rude or anything but why are telling me this? Oh! Are you inviting me? Great! I'll go gr

I talk a lot about my chickens. I am obsessed with their care and safety. I spend hours pounding and drilling in their coop, redesigining and planning their life. I go dumpster diving after the construction workers go home at night. I gather scraps of wood I think I can use. I spend a lot of time at ranch stores, browsing and collecting ideas. I buy chicken wire, mesh, and finally secured a small dog run I can rig to a decent chicken run. I draw on scraps of paper, plan the remodels, wish I paid better attention in geometry and algebra. I talk obsessively about my chicken project. "I'm glad you've got a hobby that keeps you so active," my husband relented the other night. Truthfully, he's never understood this hobby. He tried to discourage me from replacing the chicks the dog killed. It didn't work. "You are very invested  in the chickens." He meant obsessive. I have been asked by many why I got chickens. I usually shrug my shoulders because it would