I’m not an athletic person. I tried to be every once in a while, but it took way too much energy. As a matter of fact, it sometimes makes me tired just watching athletic people.
I didn’t play sports in college except an attempt at co-ed softball and an occasional flag football game with a group of friends. I exerted much more energy on trying to find ways to win without exerting energy than I did actually playing. You didn’t have to athletically inclined for that. The one and only touchdown I ever made was a fluke. Everyone knew I had knee surgery about six months before and as I neared the endzone and the other team was closing in on me, I just hollered, “oh my knee! Oh my knee!” They stopped running and I scored my one and only touchdown.
I didn’t play sports in high school either. I was a junior varsity cheerleader for one year. One summer of Jane Fonda Workouts every single day was more than enough for me.
I didn’t play girls softball and things, like Upward sports, didn’t exist when I was growing up. I don’t remember many girls’ sports when I was growing up, and maybe that’s why I never developed a love for athletics.
Now, there are tons of girls’ sports. From about age five until geriatrics, girls or women have the opportunity to play. I think it is great and I think it goes a long way in teaching young women to be strong, confident and independent.
A news story caught my attention last week. It was about Jamie Nared, a 12-year-old girl, who is a phenomenal basketball player. So good, in fact, that she played with the boys’ team in a Beaverton, Oregon private league just so she would have more competition. The boys on her team had no problems with having a girl on the team. Why would they? She helped the win a lot of games.
It was at one of those games that she helped them win that had caused a ruckus and had the parents of the other team in an uproar. Nared has scored 30 points in several games and helps lead her team to victory pretty consistently. In this case, the parents of the other team said she was only able to score so many points and her team only won because the boys on the opposing team just couldn’t play as hard and aggressive against a girl as they would a team full of boys.
I would be really proud of my daughter if she was so good at something that she had to cross gender lines just to find decent competition, but I can’t say I’d want my daughter playing against a bunch of sweaty boys. Maybe if it were on a 5- or 6- year-old team, but once the kids started reaching puberty and their hormones started raging it would have to end.
Nared, who seemed really unconcerned about the whole situation when she was interviewed on the news, already has a college scholarship before even reaching her teens. She’s not playing on the boys team anymore and she is ok with that.
Jamie’s been playing with the boys since the second grade and I’m sure that she thinks the whole thing stinks. She’s taken the ordeal in stride and is still playing the game she loves.
Her parents really have something to be proud of.
Monday, October 27, 2008
My Jesus
Last night I had the strangest dream. I dream a lot and tend to remember most of my dreams in living, vivid colors and details. Many of my dreams are downright insane and my husband swears I am crazy. But last night was the strangest dream of all. So strange that I can't talk about it because somehow I don't think I can give the dream the credit it deserves verbally. I am going to try to write it. If I have no success writing it, then it was only meant for me.
Last night, sometime between midnight at 2 a.m., I met Jesus in my dreams. To begin with I didn't know it was Jesus. He was just a person I kept seeing sort of in the background. I was always drawn to this person even though this person's image changed to fit the situation, or for lack of a better word environment.
In the beginning of the dream, I was on a football team and Jesus was one of my teammates. He didn't look like the Jesus we see pictures of in the Bible and in church, he look like a normal football player, just like the rest of us. As a woman on a football team, I stood out much more than he did. Somehow, even though at this time I didn't know the man was Jesus, I did know there was something special about him.
Throughout the dream, there would be periods of time that I would feel a specific closeness to Jesus. During these times, Jesus was there and we would walk together and talk together, like we were really good friends. I leaned on him, confided in him and he held and comforted me. I could see him just like I could see anyone else. He was real to me.
In another scene in the dream, I was in a restaurant. Not a fancy one, but something like Picadilly or maybe Shoneys or something. I was eating with a group of people and there was something special about one of the waiters. He wasn't our waiter, just one of many in the restaurant. Somehow there was a connection between me and the waiter, just like the one between me and the football player on my team. Still, I couldn't put my finger on what was so special about this person.
In the last scene I can remember in the dream, I lived in an apartment complex much like the one I lived in when I was in college. The layout of the apartments was very similar, all but the location of the mailboxes and the lighting. The lighting at the complex was dim and actually dark in some places. The mailboxes were across the street in a shadowed area.
I had stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few items. All of the items were in one on two bags so I got them out of the car and carried them with me as I went to the mailbox. While I was getting my mail, a man walked up to the mailboxes. He mumbled something to me that I thought was a hello, and I responded. The man was acting sort of strange and opened one of the boxes and closed it without really looking in it. I felt like this could be the beginning of a bad situation, so I immediately walked away across the street to the apartment complex.
To get to my apartment I would have normally had to walk through a dark area for 50 or so yards, but I noticed the man had followed me across the street and was still walking in the same direction that I was. Instead of my usual route, I walked through a well lit area sticking close to the apartments. The building is the complex had eight apartments, four on top and four on bottom. The area around the stairs was open where you could walk through them. I chose to walk through them and stay in the light. As I was walking through I met another man, who instantly put me at ease. I got the same comforting feeling from him that I got from the football player and the waiter. We greeted each other and for some reason he walked with me to my apartment. I didn't know this man but for some reason, I trusted him completely.
I didn't tell my new friend about the man following me and hoped that the guy would just go away. As my friend and I neared my apartment door. Several police cars with lights and sirens blaring came flying into the parking lot. Before I knew it there were cops everywhere and police dogs sniffing around. Outside an apartment a little further up the complex a woman surrounded by a group of friends was filing a report with the police. My friend and I walked up to the apartment to see what was going on and she was telling the police officer that someone had attempted to rape her when she was walking through the complex. The description I heard her give was the one of the man I had encountered at the mailboxes just a few minutes earlier. As I listened, I got a little sick to my stomach realizing that the same thing could have just happened to me. I didn't say anything to my friend.
My friend walked me back to my apartment to where my husband and little girl waited for me. I opened the door and before I stepped in the apartment I turned to thank my new friend for his kindness, but he was gone. Standing on the sidewalk in front of my apartment was another man. This one was unmistakable -- it was Jesus. I stared in total disbelief and as I looked at him I saw the football player on my team, the waiter in the restaurant and my friend who walked my home and away from a possible rapist.
"I am always with you," he said as he turned and walked away. As I stood there basking in the glory of what had just happened, I saw my Jesus walk back up the sidewalk and embrace the woman who had almost been raped. It wasn't as if he hadn't been with her before, because he had, but she needed him even more at that moment. For some reason I knew I needed to see him go to her, but as strange as this may sound, as he walked away and I saw him walk away, I never felt his presence leave me.
It was at that moment that everything I had been trying to figure out for the last few months was crystal clear. God is with me all the time. He can see me, he knows what I do, what I think, what I feel, but I don't necessarily see him as who he is. I often see him as someone else in different situations, but when I need Him and turn to him for comfort or forgiveness I see Him in all of His glory and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my Jesus is with me all the time and is with all of his children all the time.
In my sleep I am still processing all that has happened even though my dream is pretty much over. I am awakened by my daughter who is crying and scared and wants me to come get in the bed with her. When I stand up to follow her to her room, my heart is beating 90 miles and hour and I'm having a hard time catching my breath, I guess from her startling me and from the dream. Every part of my dream comes rushing back as I wrap my child in my arms just as He does me.
Last night, sometime between midnight at 2 a.m., I met Jesus in my dreams. To begin with I didn't know it was Jesus. He was just a person I kept seeing sort of in the background. I was always drawn to this person even though this person's image changed to fit the situation, or for lack of a better word environment.
In the beginning of the dream, I was on a football team and Jesus was one of my teammates. He didn't look like the Jesus we see pictures of in the Bible and in church, he look like a normal football player, just like the rest of us. As a woman on a football team, I stood out much more than he did. Somehow, even though at this time I didn't know the man was Jesus, I did know there was something special about him.
Throughout the dream, there would be periods of time that I would feel a specific closeness to Jesus. During these times, Jesus was there and we would walk together and talk together, like we were really good friends. I leaned on him, confided in him and he held and comforted me. I could see him just like I could see anyone else. He was real to me.
In another scene in the dream, I was in a restaurant. Not a fancy one, but something like Picadilly or maybe Shoneys or something. I was eating with a group of people and there was something special about one of the waiters. He wasn't our waiter, just one of many in the restaurant. Somehow there was a connection between me and the waiter, just like the one between me and the football player on my team. Still, I couldn't put my finger on what was so special about this person.
In the last scene I can remember in the dream, I lived in an apartment complex much like the one I lived in when I was in college. The layout of the apartments was very similar, all but the location of the mailboxes and the lighting. The lighting at the complex was dim and actually dark in some places. The mailboxes were across the street in a shadowed area.
I had stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few items. All of the items were in one on two bags so I got them out of the car and carried them with me as I went to the mailbox. While I was getting my mail, a man walked up to the mailboxes. He mumbled something to me that I thought was a hello, and I responded. The man was acting sort of strange and opened one of the boxes and closed it without really looking in it. I felt like this could be the beginning of a bad situation, so I immediately walked away across the street to the apartment complex.
To get to my apartment I would have normally had to walk through a dark area for 50 or so yards, but I noticed the man had followed me across the street and was still walking in the same direction that I was. Instead of my usual route, I walked through a well lit area sticking close to the apartments. The building is the complex had eight apartments, four on top and four on bottom. The area around the stairs was open where you could walk through them. I chose to walk through them and stay in the light. As I was walking through I met another man, who instantly put me at ease. I got the same comforting feeling from him that I got from the football player and the waiter. We greeted each other and for some reason he walked with me to my apartment. I didn't know this man but for some reason, I trusted him completely.
I didn't tell my new friend about the man following me and hoped that the guy would just go away. As my friend and I neared my apartment door. Several police cars with lights and sirens blaring came flying into the parking lot. Before I knew it there were cops everywhere and police dogs sniffing around. Outside an apartment a little further up the complex a woman surrounded by a group of friends was filing a report with the police. My friend and I walked up to the apartment to see what was going on and she was telling the police officer that someone had attempted to rape her when she was walking through the complex. The description I heard her give was the one of the man I had encountered at the mailboxes just a few minutes earlier. As I listened, I got a little sick to my stomach realizing that the same thing could have just happened to me. I didn't say anything to my friend.
My friend walked me back to my apartment to where my husband and little girl waited for me. I opened the door and before I stepped in the apartment I turned to thank my new friend for his kindness, but he was gone. Standing on the sidewalk in front of my apartment was another man. This one was unmistakable -- it was Jesus. I stared in total disbelief and as I looked at him I saw the football player on my team, the waiter in the restaurant and my friend who walked my home and away from a possible rapist.
"I am always with you," he said as he turned and walked away. As I stood there basking in the glory of what had just happened, I saw my Jesus walk back up the sidewalk and embrace the woman who had almost been raped. It wasn't as if he hadn't been with her before, because he had, but she needed him even more at that moment. For some reason I knew I needed to see him go to her, but as strange as this may sound, as he walked away and I saw him walk away, I never felt his presence leave me.
It was at that moment that everything I had been trying to figure out for the last few months was crystal clear. God is with me all the time. He can see me, he knows what I do, what I think, what I feel, but I don't necessarily see him as who he is. I often see him as someone else in different situations, but when I need Him and turn to him for comfort or forgiveness I see Him in all of His glory and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my Jesus is with me all the time and is with all of his children all the time.
In my sleep I am still processing all that has happened even though my dream is pretty much over. I am awakened by my daughter who is crying and scared and wants me to come get in the bed with her. When I stand up to follow her to her room, my heart is beating 90 miles and hour and I'm having a hard time catching my breath, I guess from her startling me and from the dream. Every part of my dream comes rushing back as I wrap my child in my arms just as He does me.
Fun firsts make great memories
This past weekend was a weekend of firsts for me.
My first “first” was attending a concert at the Phenix City Amphitheater. The Citizen of East Alabama and Cable TV of East Alabama sponsored Gary Puckett and the Letterman concert Friday night. I am ashamed to say it was the first concert of the Summer Concert Series I attended. I wish there were more this year, because it certainly wouldn’t be my last.
I was pleasantly surprised at the turnout and the entertainment was fantastic. We marketed the concert as an evening of romance, and then some of us brought our kids. If our kids ruined anyone’s romantic evening by screaming and running up and down the amphitheater, I apologize.
My second “first” was my daughter, Lani, had her first little friend spend the night with her. Her cousins have spent the night but this was the first time it was someone outside the family. For McKinnon, Craig and Jennifer Howard’s daughter, it was her first time spending the night away from home with a friend as well. I don’t think any of us parents really thought we’d make it through the night without us taking her home or them coming to get her, but we made it. They slept like little angels.
Saturday morning we had plans to go to Marengo Creek Farm with some of our friends and their kids. This adventure held yet another first for me.
When we got to the farm, the kids made a beeline to these huge blue pools that were slam full of dried corn kernels. There were only two rules 1. Don’t throw corn, and 2. Don’t stick your head in the corn.
After a few minutes of the kids playing, the moms realized that there was no rule three that said, 3. No adults in the corn. The next thing I knew I was playing in the corn tub with my daughter, her friends and two other moms. Before long there were two dads in the corn. My husband wasn’t one of them -- he remained mature and corn-free.
We played in the corn for a while and laughed like we hadn’t laughed in a long time. It was just like being one of the kids. It wasn’t long until we -- the adults in the corn -- realized we were the only ones in the corn pool. I guess we embarrassed our kids and they got out and got in the neighboring corn pool, supervised by my mature husband.
When we finally got out of the corn, we had to regain our land legs before moving on to another event. We watched a border collie herd sheep, went through a hay maze, went on a hayride, went to the pumpkin patch, petted farm animals, took one more dip in the corn pools and ate lunch, which included a cored apple covered in warm caramel and peanuts.
I was really impressed with Marengo Creek Farms. When we planned the trip, I expected we’d stay for about an hour and be on our way, but we were there for more than four hours and could have stayed all day.
We spent another 30 minutes cleaning corn out of socks, shoes, hair and the kids’ britches. They wanted to save all of the corn and take it home.
If you’re looking for someplace to take your family that’s relatively close to home, I highly recommend Marengo Creek Farms. It was an awesome experience for the whole family. Be sure to take your camera for some fantastic photo opportunities.
For our ext adventure, we’re planning a trip to Pope’s Haunted Farm, which should be interesting for a bunch of scaredy-cats. I think we should leave the kids with their grandparents.
Pope’s Haunted Farm will be another first -- if we don’t chicken out!
My first “first” was attending a concert at the Phenix City Amphitheater. The Citizen of East Alabama and Cable TV of East Alabama sponsored Gary Puckett and the Letterman concert Friday night. I am ashamed to say it was the first concert of the Summer Concert Series I attended. I wish there were more this year, because it certainly wouldn’t be my last.
I was pleasantly surprised at the turnout and the entertainment was fantastic. We marketed the concert as an evening of romance, and then some of us brought our kids. If our kids ruined anyone’s romantic evening by screaming and running up and down the amphitheater, I apologize.
My second “first” was my daughter, Lani, had her first little friend spend the night with her. Her cousins have spent the night but this was the first time it was someone outside the family. For McKinnon, Craig and Jennifer Howard’s daughter, it was her first time spending the night away from home with a friend as well. I don’t think any of us parents really thought we’d make it through the night without us taking her home or them coming to get her, but we made it. They slept like little angels.
Saturday morning we had plans to go to Marengo Creek Farm with some of our friends and their kids. This adventure held yet another first for me.
When we got to the farm, the kids made a beeline to these huge blue pools that were slam full of dried corn kernels. There were only two rules 1. Don’t throw corn, and 2. Don’t stick your head in the corn.
After a few minutes of the kids playing, the moms realized that there was no rule three that said, 3. No adults in the corn. The next thing I knew I was playing in the corn tub with my daughter, her friends and two other moms. Before long there were two dads in the corn. My husband wasn’t one of them -- he remained mature and corn-free.
We played in the corn for a while and laughed like we hadn’t laughed in a long time. It was just like being one of the kids. It wasn’t long until we -- the adults in the corn -- realized we were the only ones in the corn pool. I guess we embarrassed our kids and they got out and got in the neighboring corn pool, supervised by my mature husband.
When we finally got out of the corn, we had to regain our land legs before moving on to another event. We watched a border collie herd sheep, went through a hay maze, went on a hayride, went to the pumpkin patch, petted farm animals, took one more dip in the corn pools and ate lunch, which included a cored apple covered in warm caramel and peanuts.
I was really impressed with Marengo Creek Farms. When we planned the trip, I expected we’d stay for about an hour and be on our way, but we were there for more than four hours and could have stayed all day.
We spent another 30 minutes cleaning corn out of socks, shoes, hair and the kids’ britches. They wanted to save all of the corn and take it home.
If you’re looking for someplace to take your family that’s relatively close to home, I highly recommend Marengo Creek Farms. It was an awesome experience for the whole family. Be sure to take your camera for some fantastic photo opportunities.
For our ext adventure, we’re planning a trip to Pope’s Haunted Farm, which should be interesting for a bunch of scaredy-cats. I think we should leave the kids with their grandparents.
Pope’s Haunted Farm will be another first -- if we don’t chicken out!
Give Miley a break
I have watched The Disney Channel’s Hannah Montana so many times I can almost recite every episode by heart. When Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus’ 3-D Concert movie came to town, my daughter and I were there for the first showing on its first day in town.
The movie didn’t hold Lani’s attention for long, but to me it was pretty entertaining.
The Disney Channel is the most watched channel at our house. Lani, at 4, knows exactly when Hannah Montana comes on television, right after Wizards of Waverly Place and right before the Suite Life of Zack and Cody. It doesn’t matter to her that every episode she watches is a repeat; she is still glued to the television set, vicariously living the life of a rock star.
I find the shows on Disney more than mildly entertaining. I watch them with her a lot. It’s part of our together time. Her dad, however, doesn’t enjoy them as much. He catches bits and pieces of them and comments mostly on how they get on his nerves. A few days ago, he did admit that most of the time Hannah Montana had a good message.
Miley Cyrus seemed to really emerge about the time Brittany and Lindsey started going nuts. She was like breath of fresh air compared to the other teen queens that dominated the news and tabloids. In the back of my mind, I can remember wondering when Miley would fall from grace.
Now there are photos, and they are raising some eyebrows.
The “topless” photograph taken by Annie Leibovitz for Vanity Fair magazine has some people concerned about the direction of Miley’s life and career. Her parents judgement has also come into questions as to whether they should have allowed the photo to be taken.
The photograph shows a side of Miley that no one has really seen. She is topless, yes, but all but her back is covered with a sheet or blanket.
The Vanity Fair photo is art. It can be interpreted in several different ways from sexy and sultry to innocent and vulnerable to malnourished and pale.
Would I include the Vanity Fair photo with the Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana posters in my daughter’s room? No, but that VF photo isn’t reason enough for me to take down her posters and burn all of her Hannah Montana paraphenalia.
I want to believe that Miley Cyrus is a good, talented kid with a promising future. If the VF photos and the supposed risqué ones from her myspace site are to only things that can be held against her, then I also consider her fortunate that she has come this far without something marring her career.
It seems like someone, and a lot of times it is the media, are just looking for something to pin on these kids. The must sit around and think "this will get us the lead story so who cares what it does to the careers, futures and reputations of the kids." Heck, those Jonas Brothers that are on Disney are being questions about their Christianity.
It's something they should think about, though. Look at Miley's dad, Billy Ray, he had to deal with the publication of all the pictures and posters of him with the mullet. And he's finally getting over that.
The movie didn’t hold Lani’s attention for long, but to me it was pretty entertaining.
The Disney Channel is the most watched channel at our house. Lani, at 4, knows exactly when Hannah Montana comes on television, right after Wizards of Waverly Place and right before the Suite Life of Zack and Cody. It doesn’t matter to her that every episode she watches is a repeat; she is still glued to the television set, vicariously living the life of a rock star.
I find the shows on Disney more than mildly entertaining. I watch them with her a lot. It’s part of our together time. Her dad, however, doesn’t enjoy them as much. He catches bits and pieces of them and comments mostly on how they get on his nerves. A few days ago, he did admit that most of the time Hannah Montana had a good message.
Miley Cyrus seemed to really emerge about the time Brittany and Lindsey started going nuts. She was like breath of fresh air compared to the other teen queens that dominated the news and tabloids. In the back of my mind, I can remember wondering when Miley would fall from grace.
Now there are photos, and they are raising some eyebrows.
The “topless” photograph taken by Annie Leibovitz for Vanity Fair magazine has some people concerned about the direction of Miley’s life and career. Her parents judgement has also come into questions as to whether they should have allowed the photo to be taken.
The photograph shows a side of Miley that no one has really seen. She is topless, yes, but all but her back is covered with a sheet or blanket.
The Vanity Fair photo is art. It can be interpreted in several different ways from sexy and sultry to innocent and vulnerable to malnourished and pale.
Would I include the Vanity Fair photo with the Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana posters in my daughter’s room? No, but that VF photo isn’t reason enough for me to take down her posters and burn all of her Hannah Montana paraphenalia.
I want to believe that Miley Cyrus is a good, talented kid with a promising future. If the VF photos and the supposed risqué ones from her myspace site are to only things that can be held against her, then I also consider her fortunate that she has come this far without something marring her career.
It seems like someone, and a lot of times it is the media, are just looking for something to pin on these kids. The must sit around and think "this will get us the lead story so who cares what it does to the careers, futures and reputations of the kids." Heck, those Jonas Brothers that are on Disney are being questions about their Christianity.
It's something they should think about, though. Look at Miley's dad, Billy Ray, he had to deal with the publication of all the pictures and posters of him with the mullet. And he's finally getting over that.
Can't beat the ants
Anyone who knows me well knows that I curse ants.
I don't understand why I have such a problem with them. If we go a few weeks without rain, ants come inside to find water. If it rains for a few days straight, they come inside to dry out. Is it just me or does that just not make good, walking around sense?
I can't conceive why they come into my house. Surely, it can't be to find something to eat. Heck, I can't find anything to eat at my house -- I have to go to Taco Bell. And, if they are just looking for something to eat, why are they in my bathroom and my bedroom and in the living room? There's nothing in there, little ants!
I know I'm not the only one that has ant issues. I think even my exterminator is buffaloed by them. And when I look online there are tons of remedies for getting rid of ants. I have tried most of them. They all work for a short time and then they are back with a vengeance. Then it's back to the drawing board once again.
Speaking of drawing boards, one of the remedies I hear is to use chalk -- plain white chalk drawn in a line at the place they come in and they won't cross the line. Sounds a little like drawing a line in the sand to me, and I've tried that with them and they aren't scared.
Another idea was to use cayenne pepper, black pepper, baby powder, mint, cloves or cinnamon sprinkled where ever you see ants. The smell of these items seems to turn them off and they stay away.
Let me try to rationalize this. I enjoy eating food sprinkled with cayenne or black pepper. I love to smell baby powder on a baby, and mint and cinnamon smell pretty good too, yet, ants don't like them. However, on any given day I can drive by a garbage can filled with rotten, decaying food that stinks to high heaven and the ant trail is three miles long and two miles wide. That makes about as much sense as ... well, none of this makes any sense.
I've also read that you can mix cleaning products or vinegar with water and give them a good spray and they will kick the bucket too. One remedy was to mix vodka and water and douse them with that. It cautioned that if the ants seems to die, but are gone when you come back to clean them up that they just got drunk and went home. They'll be back at happy hour.
One of the best ideas I've heard lately, but have been a little leery to try is cornmeal. Supposedly you can sprinkle cornmeal around the perimeter of your house and the ants will eat it and dehydrate or explode or something. Now, I have to admit, the thought of an ant exploding does appeal to the one sinister bone I have in my body, yet, I hesitate. What would happen if I sprinkled cornmeal around my house and it rained? And then the temperature hit a steamy 100 degrees? I'll tell you .... cornbread muffin city, that's what. That would just be more that they can eat, plus there would be rain, so it's basically an invitation for them to come inside. I'm not falling for that!
There was an old Bugs Bunny cartoon where Bugs tried his best to beat an adversary. He couldn't do it and by the end of the show he bowed out gracefully and said, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." I guess that is where I am now. The next time the ants come in singing their fight song that Dave Matthews wrote when he couldn't get rid of them, I guess I'll chime in ..."All the little ants are marching; red and black antenna waving; they all do it the same, they all do it the same way ..."
I don't understand why I have such a problem with them. If we go a few weeks without rain, ants come inside to find water. If it rains for a few days straight, they come inside to dry out. Is it just me or does that just not make good, walking around sense?
I can't conceive why they come into my house. Surely, it can't be to find something to eat. Heck, I can't find anything to eat at my house -- I have to go to Taco Bell. And, if they are just looking for something to eat, why are they in my bathroom and my bedroom and in the living room? There's nothing in there, little ants!
I know I'm not the only one that has ant issues. I think even my exterminator is buffaloed by them. And when I look online there are tons of remedies for getting rid of ants. I have tried most of them. They all work for a short time and then they are back with a vengeance. Then it's back to the drawing board once again.
Speaking of drawing boards, one of the remedies I hear is to use chalk -- plain white chalk drawn in a line at the place they come in and they won't cross the line. Sounds a little like drawing a line in the sand to me, and I've tried that with them and they aren't scared.
Another idea was to use cayenne pepper, black pepper, baby powder, mint, cloves or cinnamon sprinkled where ever you see ants. The smell of these items seems to turn them off and they stay away.
Let me try to rationalize this. I enjoy eating food sprinkled with cayenne or black pepper. I love to smell baby powder on a baby, and mint and cinnamon smell pretty good too, yet, ants don't like them. However, on any given day I can drive by a garbage can filled with rotten, decaying food that stinks to high heaven and the ant trail is three miles long and two miles wide. That makes about as much sense as ... well, none of this makes any sense.
I've also read that you can mix cleaning products or vinegar with water and give them a good spray and they will kick the bucket too. One remedy was to mix vodka and water and douse them with that. It cautioned that if the ants seems to die, but are gone when you come back to clean them up that they just got drunk and went home. They'll be back at happy hour.
One of the best ideas I've heard lately, but have been a little leery to try is cornmeal. Supposedly you can sprinkle cornmeal around the perimeter of your house and the ants will eat it and dehydrate or explode or something. Now, I have to admit, the thought of an ant exploding does appeal to the one sinister bone I have in my body, yet, I hesitate. What would happen if I sprinkled cornmeal around my house and it rained? And then the temperature hit a steamy 100 degrees? I'll tell you .... cornbread muffin city, that's what. That would just be more that they can eat, plus there would be rain, so it's basically an invitation for them to come inside. I'm not falling for that!
There was an old Bugs Bunny cartoon where Bugs tried his best to beat an adversary. He couldn't do it and by the end of the show he bowed out gracefully and said, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." I guess that is where I am now. The next time the ants come in singing their fight song that Dave Matthews wrote when he couldn't get rid of them, I guess I'll chime in ..."All the little ants are marching; red and black antenna waving; they all do it the same, they all do it the same way ..."
Like releasing a parachute
Every once in a while you need a little help. Sometimes you need help cooking, sometimes colving a problems, but sometimes it’s more personal.
I always knew I needed help but it took my a while to admit it and long time to find it. It took an even longer time to share my story, but I know there is someone out there that will be helped by my testimony.
Most of my life I have been a “big-boned, fluffy girl.” There have been time that it has been a burden but most of the time I can just roll with. I know that I will never buy my clothes in the petite department or be able to shop in those specialty dress shops for the hungry and malnourished.
I will never be able to just walk in and pick up an item of clothing and know that it will fit perfectly when I get it home. It’s just not going to happen.
But I have found the help I need and after struggling with it for more than a year I’m finally comfortable.
In early 2007, when I took my hiatus from the newspaper, I was determined to find a new job in another field.
While shopping in ones of the stores designed for the “larger woman” I found the solution to end all solutions — a product called Spanx®.
I bought some Spanx®, one pair of regular ones and a pair of pantyhose to wear for my interviews. According to the infomercial featuring Gwynth Paltrow (should have been a sign) Spanx® could smooth the lumps and make anyone look pounds smaller. Who needs pounds? One or two would be fine with me.
The day of my interview, I took plenty of time getting ready so I could deal with my Spanx® without breaking a sweat. I knew if they were going to hold everything in, I might have to struggle a little to get in them.
I knew the moment I put the pantyhose on that I shouldn’t wear them. They just had that feeling of ill-fitting hosery, but I thought everything was going to be OK.
I arrived at the place of my interview. It was raining so I had to contend with my umbrella, briefcase, purse ... and my Spanx®.
The very first step I took when I got out of my car was a bad one. I felt the top part of my pantyhose shift ever-so slightly. I took another step and they moved again. I kept walking and my Spanx® kept moving. It was like they were keeping time with my stride.
I had to walk a long way and by the time I reached the door, my Spanx® had rolled down my torso and postitioned themselves at the top of my legs, a little higher than a pair of thigh-high hose. Everything that had been held in and smoothed over had been set free. Releasing a parachute come to mind. By this time I was hot, my hair was frizzy from the humidity and I was taking itty bitty steps because my miracle Spanx® were binding my legs together.
I made it in the door and asked to be directed to the restroom, where I burst into hysterical laughter. I had to literally pull myself together and tuck my self back in.
Needless to say my Spanx® were not the solution I had hoped for, but that few minutes I took to laugh at myself was almost worth it.
I always knew I needed help but it took my a while to admit it and long time to find it. It took an even longer time to share my story, but I know there is someone out there that will be helped by my testimony.
Most of my life I have been a “big-boned, fluffy girl.” There have been time that it has been a burden but most of the time I can just roll with. I know that I will never buy my clothes in the petite department or be able to shop in those specialty dress shops for the hungry and malnourished.
I will never be able to just walk in and pick up an item of clothing and know that it will fit perfectly when I get it home. It’s just not going to happen.
But I have found the help I need and after struggling with it for more than a year I’m finally comfortable.
In early 2007, when I took my hiatus from the newspaper, I was determined to find a new job in another field.
While shopping in ones of the stores designed for the “larger woman” I found the solution to end all solutions — a product called Spanx®.
I bought some Spanx®, one pair of regular ones and a pair of pantyhose to wear for my interviews. According to the infomercial featuring Gwynth Paltrow (should have been a sign) Spanx® could smooth the lumps and make anyone look pounds smaller. Who needs pounds? One or two would be fine with me.
The day of my interview, I took plenty of time getting ready so I could deal with my Spanx® without breaking a sweat. I knew if they were going to hold everything in, I might have to struggle a little to get in them.
I knew the moment I put the pantyhose on that I shouldn’t wear them. They just had that feeling of ill-fitting hosery, but I thought everything was going to be OK.
I arrived at the place of my interview. It was raining so I had to contend with my umbrella, briefcase, purse ... and my Spanx®.
The very first step I took when I got out of my car was a bad one. I felt the top part of my pantyhose shift ever-so slightly. I took another step and they moved again. I kept walking and my Spanx® kept moving. It was like they were keeping time with my stride.
I had to walk a long way and by the time I reached the door, my Spanx® had rolled down my torso and postitioned themselves at the top of my legs, a little higher than a pair of thigh-high hose. Everything that had been held in and smoothed over had been set free. Releasing a parachute come to mind. By this time I was hot, my hair was frizzy from the humidity and I was taking itty bitty steps because my miracle Spanx® were binding my legs together.
I made it in the door and asked to be directed to the restroom, where I burst into hysterical laughter. I had to literally pull myself together and tuck my self back in.
Needless to say my Spanx® were not the solution I had hoped for, but that few minutes I took to laugh at myself was almost worth it.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
I'm a classic
My husband and I were driving to Auburn Saturday to pick up some home improvement items, when we passed a convertible Thunderbird with the promotional magnets "100.3 the Classics" stuck all over the car. My husband suggested that I see if the station was local since I am a huge music lover, so I did.
I expected to hear something from the 60s or early 70s that I had listened to with my mom and dad. To my chagrin, I heard a song by Tears for Fears from the 80s. I was in such shock I can't even recall the name of the song, but I guarantee that I knew every single word of it.
What is up with that? How can songs from my high school years be on a classics station? That is insane!
Aging has never been a real issue with me. I have stuck with the mantra that you are only as old as you feel, blah, blah, blah. But now that I think about it, somedays I do feel like a classic and well, on other days I feel like an oldie too. I always said that when I heard the music of my youth on an oldies station that I would have officially crossed the realm into adulthood. It was almost something I looked forward to, but now, I just want to go back. Back to being a carefree child, whose biggest concern of the day is what shoes she is going to wear to see High School Musical 3 with her BFF.
I shared my experience with my cousin who I grew up with later in the day. He is also my number one fan of my newspaper columns (I told him I would mention that!). We are only nine months apart and were inseparable as children. One of my fav childhood memories is sining "Take it to the limit" by The Eagles with him although we sang "take it to the diggit." Don't ask; we don't know.
He too reeled at the fact that our music, the music that defined our generation, is now considered as classic. That probably means that our music is the music that fills the discount/bargin bins at music shops. Not only that, but some punk kid that stocks the shelves will probably come across an over-looked case of Duran Duran or Poison cassettes and rush to his supervisor claiming to have found a time capsule from the dark ages.
Now I have to wonder if kids today even know what a cassette is, and are cassettes as foreign to them as eight tracks or vinyl is to my generation. Crazy thing this getting older has become to me. Something you once longed for is now lurking in your next birthday that is right around the corner.
That's enough time wasted on this subject. I've already realized that time is precious and you'll be a classic before you know it.
I expected to hear something from the 60s or early 70s that I had listened to with my mom and dad. To my chagrin, I heard a song by Tears for Fears from the 80s. I was in such shock I can't even recall the name of the song, but I guarantee that I knew every single word of it.
What is up with that? How can songs from my high school years be on a classics station? That is insane!
Aging has never been a real issue with me. I have stuck with the mantra that you are only as old as you feel, blah, blah, blah. But now that I think about it, somedays I do feel like a classic and well, on other days I feel like an oldie too. I always said that when I heard the music of my youth on an oldies station that I would have officially crossed the realm into adulthood. It was almost something I looked forward to, but now, I just want to go back. Back to being a carefree child, whose biggest concern of the day is what shoes she is going to wear to see High School Musical 3 with her BFF.
I shared my experience with my cousin who I grew up with later in the day. He is also my number one fan of my newspaper columns (I told him I would mention that!). We are only nine months apart and were inseparable as children. One of my fav childhood memories is sining "Take it to the limit" by The Eagles with him although we sang "take it to the diggit." Don't ask; we don't know.
He too reeled at the fact that our music, the music that defined our generation, is now considered as classic. That probably means that our music is the music that fills the discount/bargin bins at music shops. Not only that, but some punk kid that stocks the shelves will probably come across an over-looked case of Duran Duran or Poison cassettes and rush to his supervisor claiming to have found a time capsule from the dark ages.
Now I have to wonder if kids today even know what a cassette is, and are cassettes as foreign to them as eight tracks or vinyl is to my generation. Crazy thing this getting older has become to me. Something you once longed for is now lurking in your next birthday that is right around the corner.
That's enough time wasted on this subject. I've already realized that time is precious and you'll be a classic before you know it.
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