What She Said

I have been meaning to write about the state of the arts (and of our libraries — that will have to be another post) in Pennsylvania, specifically of course, Pittsburgh. How important they are; how we have to save them. Think of the children. (Seriously, think of the children!)

But RockingPRGirl did it for me. Thanks, RockingPRGirl!

I am directly reproducing the following from her site:

Pennsylvania residents, here’s what you can do to take a stand against the elimination of the PCA and arts funding:

• Sign the “Save the Arts” petition to show your support.
• Write to your local representatives.
• Read your local newspapers (with a suggested search key word of ‘arts funding’) to stay in the know.
• Rally your friends and family behind the cause.

She said it better than I could.


I shouldn’t make promises when it comes to what may appear at this site, especially when it comes to content and/or weekends.

The pony videos are on my husband’s laptop, to which I rarely have access. So come on back tomorrow for those. Or Monday. Or, just, you know, later.

Instead, it is a regularly scheduled program of cleaning, shopping, and kid-rearing around here today. Nothing is going especially well. But my toenail polish is shiny!

I have approximately 40 minutes until “quiet” time is over. Better get to it — my parents are due in a couple of hours, and the house is a wreck, as per usual.

I know that cleaning isn’t necessarily the highest priority in my life right now. My daughters are; my relationship with my husband is.

Two things: First, there is a certain amount of acceptable clutter. My house isn’t dirty, but the clutter is WAY over the acceptable level. And, really, I should wipe down those bathroom surfaces. It’s just polite.

Second, the state of my house — the unbelievably cluttered, overrun state of our combined stuff — is affecting my relationships with the other dwellers. My husband and I pick at each other — him: “What’s all over the stovetop?”; me “Why the heck can’t you get your socks in a conveniently located laundry basket?” We are not comfortable in several of the rooms because we are surrounded by things that need homes. We are uncomfortable having guests, even our parents, even when they are here to see the children and not the house.

A house just looks nicer when you can see the floor, I think. I’m not going for spotless (sorry, DearDR), but neat? Neat I could live with. And I don’t think I would miss out on anything more important.

In My Head

(You may want to just skip today. Come back tomorrow — video of the girls on ponies. I promise.)

Yesterday I missed my exit coming home from work. At the time I realized this, I was — in my head — in the fetal position avoiding flying, burning shrapnel.

This is how it started. At one point in my commute home, a small, aggressively-driven car was almost cut off/run off the road by a semi with a large silver tank. I was behind the smaller car, in the passing lane.

I started thinking what I would have done if there were an accident immediately in front of me. Where I travel on I-79, there is a pretty generous median, flat and grassy, so I could have dodged into there. I probably would damage my car, obviously, but better than plowing into a flaming wreck, right? I would have to be careful to avoid the occasional guardrails, but it was doable.

And then my brain took me through the accident. The smaller car in front of me getting bumped, brake lights flaring, the squeal of crushed metal, the tanker jack-knifing. By the time the tanker was rolling, I was in the median, watching the large silver bullet coming toward my car. Then I was out, and running for my life. I didn’t grab my purse, my groceries, nothing. Just me, running flat out, and then skidding to the grass on my knees, covering my head to avoid being blown across the other side of 79 by the concussion of the jack-knifed tanker and my car exploding.

And then I looked up, and realized I had gone right past my exit.

This kind of stuff is what goes on in my head all the time. (Also, yesterday at some point on the commute, probably after I got off the next exit and made my meandering way to pick up the girls and get them to the doctor for their ear rechecks, I was confronting Glenn Beck in an elevator. I believe I called him a poopie-head.) Car accidents, run-ins with “celebrities” I don’t like, various and sundry confrontations and disasters.

I don’t know if it’s normal. I don’t know if it’s pathological. It’s what my head does. Most of the time, it doesn’t interfere with my life — this is the first time I’ve ever missed my exit on the commute home. I just know it’s part of my psychological make-up, part of the way I work, of who I am. I don’t fight it too hard.

Next time, though, I’m going to try hard not to miss my exit.

How about you? What is weird — or what do you think is weird — about the way your head works?

Cape Cod 2009: Tuesday

I will be at least a day or two behind every day — we could be a little more out of our routine, but not very.

Fodor‘s calls it “hokey”. But for a mom with two kids under age 5 (and I was not the only one of those in the place), it’s perfect. Not quite as perfect as the Trampoline Center, but pretty darn close.

Not only did they pose with and pet the pony, they got a ride, too. I have a slew of vacation video.

We got to pet a lot of different animals. I also picked up a starfish. This was a big hit — Monkey is still talking about its nostrils (I’ll tell ya the story later).

And after everything else, this was probably the thing they wanted to do the most. Kids!