I sit on the old pale green sofa, tugging on my knee-high purple rain boots. My sister is rifling through stuff on the indoor porch.
"Hurry up, sister!" I call to her through the giant glass windows that separate the living room/kitchen from where she is. I absentmindedly fiddle with the cord of the rotary phone on the stand next to me.
"Ah-ha!" My sister walks through the door, carrying a big net. She's also wearing rain boots.
We walk over to our Oma, who is baking a peach tart in the kitchen. She hands us two mason jars.
Giggling, we run outside, jumping down the giant first step. We continue to run as fast as we can in our boots all the way down the lawn, until we reach the brushy area at the bottom.
We follow the path cut in the brush, up and down small bumps and large rocks, until, out of breath, we finally reach the pond.
I slowly walk around the edge, my sister following closely behind, holding out the net. PLOP! The bullfrog jumps in the pond, out of reach. PLOP! We giggle as she tries to catch this frog, but she only manages to stir up a bunch of mud. Now we can't see much of anything.
For a while, we try our luck at catching the newts near the shore. They're a lot slower than the frogs. We put our catch into a mason jar.
But I really want to catch a frog. I walk back to the part of the of the pond that is the most shallow. It is where the spring near the house trickles all the way down to the pond. My dad recently had an excavator dig a trench so all the runoff goes into the pond, and it is the perfect place to walk in.
I feel the suction on my soles of my boots as I take my first step into the muck. Brown muddy swirls spiral up from the bottom. I slowly take another step, trying not to stir up too much mud.
"Sister!" I hiss, motioning her near me, "I need the net!" She gingerly walks to the edge of the trench and leans over until I can reach the net. Ever since she tried to walk all the way across the pond and her boot was sucked off her foot, never to be found, she has been wary of going in the water, even at the edge.
I eye the pond in front of me. SPLASH! The net sweeps through the water and I bring it out quickly, grabbing it closed. And there he is, struggling to find a way out. I walk back to the grass where my sister is, and take the frog out of the net.
RIBBIT! He jumps out of my grip and makes a beeline for the pond. My sister tries to get him, but he gets away from her too. We chase him to the edge of the water, where he jumps in ans swims out of reach. He stares at us, and we stare back. We giggle.
A whistle breaks the moment. We look up towards the house and see Oma on the porch, waving at us. We know that means it's time for lunch. My sister grabs the net and I take the mason jar full of newts. We race each other back up the hill to the house.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Swarovski Crystal Link Bracelet
Here's a tutorial for my favorite bracelet ever. I wear one every day, and I also sell them in my Etsy Shop.
6 3-inch long pieces of 24 gauge craft wire
6 8mm Swarovski round beads, in the color of your choice
40 4mm Swarovski bicone beads, in coordinating colors (10 each of 4 colors)
40 24 gauge headpins
1 TierraCast spiral toggle clasp set (choose either type of toggle in either copper, silver plated, or gold plated-make sure links, wire and headpins are all the same color-I used silver)
2 TierraCast spiral ring components in 16mm
2 TierraCast spiral ring components in 19mm
1 TierraCast spiral ring component in 25mm
You will also need:
a wirecutter
chain nose pliers
round nose pliers
1. Take a piece of the wire and made a loop about an inch down. Add a the bar side of the toggle clasp, and make a wire wrapped link. Add a 6mm round Swarovski crystal, then make another loop, add a 16mm link, and complete the wire wrap. The loops should be on the large side, since you will be adding wire wrapped beads to them.
2. Continue to make wire wrapped links with one bead per link in this order: After the 16mm link, connect to a 19mm link, then the 25mm link, then a 19mm link, the other 16mm link, and finally, the other end of the toggle clasp.
Voila! This bracelet should take about 3 hours from start to finish. If it is too loose on your wrist (it tends to be on mine), you can put the toggle bar through a 16mm link so it is snug.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
I Remember
I remember it like it was yesterday. The day that changed this country: September 11, 2001.
I had just started going to school at the local community college. I hated high school and I was smart, so I was given the option to do my senior year at college.
That morning, I got up and went to my 8am Economics class, with the African professor whose accent was so thick I couldn't understand most of what he said.
I walked across campus to my gym class, weightlifting. The teacher told us that she knew some of us were upset about the accident that had happened in the city, so we could skip class and not get penalized.
I had no idea what was going on. The radio was on and I heard bits and pieces, but all I gathered was that a plane crashed somewhere in the city.
When I got home after class for my break, I turned on the TV, just in time to see the first tower collapse. I stayed glued to the TV for the rest of the day, horrified.
People's parents worked near there. I live in the suburbs, but Manhattan is only 20 miles from my house. I knew tons of kids whose parents were New York City firefighters, or stockbrokers, or myriad other occupations which put them in the vicinity of the tragedy.
I was in shock. I called my parents at their schools to talk to them. I didn't go back to school that day for my afternoon classes. All I could do was watch the news.
Thankfully, no one in my family or my friends' families were injured or killed that day. But so many were, and so many people in my town, and at my school, were suffering from losses. The tragedy impacted everyone so heavily, and continues to do so still.
Now, on the tenth anniversary, the news is airing all the footage from that day. I refuse to watch it. I saw it once, and, as far as I'm concerned, there is no need to open the floodgates of feelings that day by re-airing it. And honestly, my kids are too young to see that, and way to young to understand it.
I can remember without the footage. All I have to do is look at the skyline. It's forever changed. And just because I won't watch anything about it doesn't mean I don't care. I will remember in my own way.
9/11 really affected me and made me grow up a lot. I was 17, and it was one of the first times something so big had an impact on my life. I realized the world was bigger than me. I cried for all those who were trapped in those buildings and their families, who suffered at their loss. I remember all the brave volunteers, firemen, and policemen who stepped up to the plate to help. I know many of them are suffering now because they decided to help.
I'm also proud my city and the country moved on. Everyone showed they were so strong and could still function and survive in the face of adversity. I will always fondly remember the Incubus concert my dad and I attended in the city 3 days later. The people who were there, and who were going about their business in the city at all reminded me just how resilient we New Yorkers are.
I will always remember the Twin Towers and the people who lost their lives on 9/11. I will always remember those who selflessly helped. I refuse to live in fear of another terrorist attack. I will always remember how strong New Yorkers are, and how the entire country banded together in the face of adversity. God bless America, and all those who were affected by 9/11. My thoughts and prayers are with you all.
This post is linked to MommyNaniBooBoo and A Dollop of My Life
I had just started going to school at the local community college. I hated high school and I was smart, so I was given the option to do my senior year at college.
That morning, I got up and went to my 8am Economics class, with the African professor whose accent was so thick I couldn't understand most of what he said.
I walked across campus to my gym class, weightlifting. The teacher told us that she knew some of us were upset about the accident that had happened in the city, so we could skip class and not get penalized.
I had no idea what was going on. The radio was on and I heard bits and pieces, but all I gathered was that a plane crashed somewhere in the city.
When I got home after class for my break, I turned on the TV, just in time to see the first tower collapse. I stayed glued to the TV for the rest of the day, horrified.
People's parents worked near there. I live in the suburbs, but Manhattan is only 20 miles from my house. I knew tons of kids whose parents were New York City firefighters, or stockbrokers, or myriad other occupations which put them in the vicinity of the tragedy.
I was in shock. I called my parents at their schools to talk to them. I didn't go back to school that day for my afternoon classes. All I could do was watch the news.
Thankfully, no one in my family or my friends' families were injured or killed that day. But so many were, and so many people in my town, and at my school, were suffering from losses. The tragedy impacted everyone so heavily, and continues to do so still.
Now, on the tenth anniversary, the news is airing all the footage from that day. I refuse to watch it. I saw it once, and, as far as I'm concerned, there is no need to open the floodgates of feelings that day by re-airing it. And honestly, my kids are too young to see that, and way to young to understand it.
I can remember without the footage. All I have to do is look at the skyline. It's forever changed. And just because I won't watch anything about it doesn't mean I don't care. I will remember in my own way.
9/11 really affected me and made me grow up a lot. I was 17, and it was one of the first times something so big had an impact on my life. I realized the world was bigger than me. I cried for all those who were trapped in those buildings and their families, who suffered at their loss. I remember all the brave volunteers, firemen, and policemen who stepped up to the plate to help. I know many of them are suffering now because they decided to help.
I'm also proud my city and the country moved on. Everyone showed they were so strong and could still function and survive in the face of adversity. I will always fondly remember the Incubus concert my dad and I attended in the city 3 days later. The people who were there, and who were going about their business in the city at all reminded me just how resilient we New Yorkers are.
I will always remember the Twin Towers and the people who lost their lives on 9/11. I will always remember those who selflessly helped. I refuse to live in fear of another terrorist attack. I will always remember how strong New Yorkers are, and how the entire country banded together in the face of adversity. God bless America, and all those who were affected by 9/11. My thoughts and prayers are with you all.
This post is linked to MommyNaniBooBoo and A Dollop of My Life
Saturday, September 10, 2011
School and Bees
Yesterday was T's third day of preschool. I picked him and we went home. I left him with his dad and went to Costco, where I bought enough school snacks to last until the new year. Then I came home.
We were hanging out in my bed, watching Scooby Doo, even though it's the new one and I think it's a little too scary for the kids. T got upset and was pointing to his leg.
"Mommy, ing, ing, ow!" I looked at his leg, and lo and behold, there was a bee sting. It was not there in the morning, and he didn't get it on the way to or from my car, which means he got it at school. I double-checked with the boyfriend to make sure that it was, in fact, a bee sting. It was, and he had to get the rest of the stinger out.
Needless to say, I was livid. Thank God he wasn't allergic. I have a huge fear of bees, and I have never been stung. I am terrified I will be allergic. When I see a bee, I scream and run. Sometimes, there is also crying involved. I'm just happy T was ok. I asked him where he got the sting, and he told me it happened at "ool".
I know the kids all have time on the school playground. I'm assuming that is when it happened. I'm also sure that T would most likely have screamed and possibly cried when it happened, and he definitely would have showed it to an adult. Even if they couldn't understand what he told them, the sting was obvious. It was on the side of his leg, just below his knee. I know that by the time I saw it, it was red around the edges and swollen.
So why did no one tell me? Someone at the school had to realize he got stung by a bee, or at least that something happened on the playground. This is supposed to be a wonderful school. The longer I reflect on it, the angrier I am.
I would understand if he fell down and didn't get hurt and no one told me, but a bee sting? It is ridiculous. I am going to give the principal or whoever is in charge an earful on Monday, because what they did is not ok.
We were hanging out in my bed, watching Scooby Doo, even though it's the new one and I think it's a little too scary for the kids. T got upset and was pointing to his leg.
"Mommy, ing, ing, ow!" I looked at his leg, and lo and behold, there was a bee sting. It was not there in the morning, and he didn't get it on the way to or from my car, which means he got it at school. I double-checked with the boyfriend to make sure that it was, in fact, a bee sting. It was, and he had to get the rest of the stinger out.
Needless to say, I was livid. Thank God he wasn't allergic. I have a huge fear of bees, and I have never been stung. I am terrified I will be allergic. When I see a bee, I scream and run. Sometimes, there is also crying involved. I'm just happy T was ok. I asked him where he got the sting, and he told me it happened at "ool".
I know the kids all have time on the school playground. I'm assuming that is when it happened. I'm also sure that T would most likely have screamed and possibly cried when it happened, and he definitely would have showed it to an adult. Even if they couldn't understand what he told them, the sting was obvious. It was on the side of his leg, just below his knee. I know that by the time I saw it, it was red around the edges and swollen.
So why did no one tell me? Someone at the school had to realize he got stung by a bee, or at least that something happened on the playground. This is supposed to be a wonderful school. The longer I reflect on it, the angrier I am.
I would understand if he fell down and didn't get hurt and no one told me, but a bee sting? It is ridiculous. I am going to give the principal or whoever is in charge an earful on Monday, because what they did is not ok.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Red Writing Hood- My Evolution of Jeans
I used to hate jeans. When I was in elementary school, most kids didn't wear them. By middle school, most did (this was the mid-90s). They never fit right, and were uncomfortable. I was also a chubby kid, and the only jeans they made in my size came from Sears. I had a pink pair, and a black pair, and I only wore them because other kids made fun of my leggings with foot elastic.
By high school, I dressed like a boy. I was getting bullied a lot, and it made me feel less noticed. Girl clothes embarrassed me since I looked fat and awful in them. I lived in JNCO jeans, then Kikwear jeans (that had 30-56 inch leg openings) and men's T-shirts. I loved those Kikwear jeans.
Throughout college, my jean size fluctuated a lot, depending on how many drugs I was doing. I loved the rush of getting skinny and fitting into smaller and smaller jeans. By the time college was over, I not only fit into a size 5, but I went clothes shopping every single day. I racked up a huge credit card debt and was so thin from drugs that I had bruises on my hips from my mattress, and on my knees because they touched each other when I slept. I didn't care at the time because I looked good.
Once my horrible relationship was over, 6 months shy of the wedding, I stopped the drugs and met the boyfriend 2 months later. I could still fit into my size 5s. A few months later, I was pregnant with T, and my jeans of choice were the maternity variety. These jeans are super comfy, but not much to look at. I guess that mirrors how I felt at the time-even though I was obviously pregnant, I did not like being back at my high school weight.
After having T, I slowly downsized my jeans until I was the same weight as before I was pregnant, but 1-2 jeans sizes larger. It didn't really bother me, but I got pregnant again right away with Princess and didn't realize it until I was 20 weeks along.It took me longer to lose the baby weight this time, and I settled in to a comfortable size 9. I bought a lot of new jeans. I felt pretty good about how I looked.
Then I had Goober, and the weight didn't all quite come off. The strange thing is, I'm finally happy with how I look. My whole body shape changed, and I'm comfortable with myself, even at a solid size 12. I look good in dresses, I have hips where there were none before, and my butt looks awesome in jeans and leggings (except for the pair of capris I ripped this week, right between the side seam and the back pocket; I guess my butt was a little too big for them). I recently bought a couple new pairs of flare jeans and I love how I look in them (if you want really flattering jeans, go to ).
The types of jeans I've worn through the years have really shown how confident I am with my body at any given time. And the older I get, the more I realize it's better to be happy with me, whether I'm a size 5 or a size 12. I'm so much happier as a person now than I've ever been, although if you told me 5 years ago that I would be content wearing a size 12, I would have laughed in your face. So, here's to me being me, and wearing awesome jeans while I'm at it.
This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.
The assignment this week is to write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – in which jeans play a prominent role. You can even write an ode if you’re so inclined.
Ok, so maybe this isn't a super creative post, but I found it interesting when I reflected on jeans about how much the type of jeans I wore through the years was such a mirror of my body image.
By high school, I dressed like a boy. I was getting bullied a lot, and it made me feel less noticed. Girl clothes embarrassed me since I looked fat and awful in them. I lived in JNCO jeans, then Kikwear jeans (that had 30-56 inch leg openings) and men's T-shirts. I loved those Kikwear jeans.
Throughout college, my jean size fluctuated a lot, depending on how many drugs I was doing. I loved the rush of getting skinny and fitting into smaller and smaller jeans. By the time college was over, I not only fit into a size 5, but I went clothes shopping every single day. I racked up a huge credit card debt and was so thin from drugs that I had bruises on my hips from my mattress, and on my knees because they touched each other when I slept. I didn't care at the time because I looked good.
Once my horrible relationship was over, 6 months shy of the wedding, I stopped the drugs and met the boyfriend 2 months later. I could still fit into my size 5s. A few months later, I was pregnant with T, and my jeans of choice were the maternity variety. These jeans are super comfy, but not much to look at. I guess that mirrors how I felt at the time-even though I was obviously pregnant, I did not like being back at my high school weight.
After having T, I slowly downsized my jeans until I was the same weight as before I was pregnant, but 1-2 jeans sizes larger. It didn't really bother me, but I got pregnant again right away with Princess and didn't realize it until I was 20 weeks along.It took me longer to lose the baby weight this time, and I settled in to a comfortable size 9. I bought a lot of new jeans. I felt pretty good about how I looked.
Then I had Goober, and the weight didn't all quite come off. The strange thing is, I'm finally happy with how I look. My whole body shape changed, and I'm comfortable with myself, even at a solid size 12. I look good in dresses, I have hips where there were none before, and my butt looks awesome in jeans and leggings (except for the pair of capris I ripped this week, right between the side seam and the back pocket; I guess my butt was a little too big for them). I recently bought a couple new pairs of flare jeans and I love how I look in them (if you want really flattering jeans, go to ).
The types of jeans I've worn through the years have really shown how confident I am with my body at any given time. And the older I get, the more I realize it's better to be happy with me, whether I'm a size 5 or a size 12. I'm so much happier as a person now than I've ever been, although if you told me 5 years ago that I would be content wearing a size 12, I would have laughed in your face. So, here's to me being me, and wearing awesome jeans while I'm at it.
This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.
The assignment this week is to write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – in which jeans play a prominent role. You can even write an ode if you’re so inclined.
Ok, so maybe this isn't a super creative post, but I found it interesting when I reflected on jeans about how much the type of jeans I wore through the years was such a mirror of my body image.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
T's First Day of Preschool!
Wednesday was T's first day of preschool. I took it better than I thought I would. Unfortunately, he wasn't feeling well Tuesday night (we either brought something in the house or used a cleaning product that gave him really bad allergies) and didn't sleep well. Thank goodness he is in the afternoon class, because I couldn't get him out of bed until 10:45.
At first he was excited to go to school, but changed his mind once we stopped at my parent's house to get his backpack and school supplies. I'm so glad my mom took care of it, because I totally forgot he needed anything. I have been really stressed about school and not being with him all day.
Thankfully, after a tantrum and tears, he let me take some pictures and we were ready to go.
I'm so happy we left early, because I got the last parking spot. After I got there, parents were parking crazy: on the grass, in the middle of the street, in the aisle between rows of parking, and other odd places. We had to wait inside to find out where his classroom was.
I took him to his classroom and he was immediately playing with some toys, so I gave his backpack and supplies to his teacher and hi-tailed it out of there before he changed his mind about staying. I'm not even gonna lie; I cried a little when I got back to my car.
When I went to pick him up, I realized he is the biggest kid in his class. The other kids look younger than Princess, who is a year younger than T. I don't know if T's just really big and the other kids are his age, or if his speech is so bad that he is with kids a lot younger than him. I guess it doesn't matter as long as he improves.
He threw a giant tantrum on the way out of school and I had to carry him to the car. I will never wear 5-inch platform shoes in the rain to his school again, because I thought I was going to trip and kill myself in the parking lot. Now, my feet are killing me, but T is finally happy because I bribed him with library DVDs. And I finally picked up my rhinestones at the post office so I can make some deco phone cases.
Hopefully, he gets into the school routine and likes it, since he will be going 5 days a week. I think it will be easier for me when his busing starts in November.
I wrote this post for this week's prompt from Mama Kat's Writing Workshop (although I probably would have posted the pictures anyway!)
3.) First day of school pictures…let’s have’em!
 | |
| T reading a book before class |
 | |||
| He drank his school snacktime milk at my mom's house |
 |
| He is definitely a ham when he wants to be |
 | |
| Thankfully, there was this to keep him occupied while waiting |
When I went to pick him up, I realized he is the biggest kid in his class. The other kids look younger than Princess, who is a year younger than T. I don't know if T's just really big and the other kids are his age, or if his speech is so bad that he is with kids a lot younger than him. I guess it doesn't matter as long as he improves.
He threw a giant tantrum on the way out of school and I had to carry him to the car. I will never wear 5-inch platform shoes in the rain to his school again, because I thought I was going to trip and kill myself in the parking lot. Now, my feet are killing me, but T is finally happy because I bribed him with library DVDs. And I finally picked up my rhinestones at the post office so I can make some deco phone cases.
Hopefully, he gets into the school routine and likes it, since he will be going 5 days a week. I think it will be easier for me when his busing starts in November.
I wrote this post for this week's prompt from Mama Kat's Writing Workshop (although I probably would have posted the pictures anyway!)
3.) First day of school pictures…let’s have’em!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
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