Writer's Workshop: An Asymmetrical Fashion Statement

It was 1989, my junior prom. I was on the planning committee and our theme was "When I'm with You." I found myself a date, and that just left the dress.

Oh, the dress!

A LOT of planning went into that dress. My mom, who is a real seamstress, sewed it for me, and that meant it was sewn to order. I liked this skirt, those sleeves, that accent. She put them all together and it was awesome.

It was green satin, with green and black plaid satin accents. The skirt was asymmetrical, longer in back than in front, and we (by "we" I mean, my mom) lined it with the plaid fabric. What can I say? It was the late eighties. We were taking our fashion cues from the likes of Cyndi Lauper and Madonna in her early days!

The off-the shoulder sleeves were plaid with bows, and a plaid bow also accented the drop waist. I wore it with fingerless black lace gloves. (Thank you Madonna for that small bit of atrociousness.) My mom even made my date a bow tie and cummerbund to match. We were stylin'!

That dress was fun, it was original, and I loved wearing it. And because I love all of you so much, I'm sharing the official prom photo:

That guy next to me? Well I've been married to him for more than 17 years now. Honey, I sincerely apologize for sharing this photo. But wow, don't we look young!

In fact, Amelia just came by as I was typing this. She examined the photo carefully before deciding with was Mom and Dad. Then she told me that I was really little in that picture. "And not so skinny now." Um, ouch.

Then she added, "What's up with Dad's hair? I guess he had more than he has now." Um, ouch again.

Thank you for your brutal honesty, Amelia. Now go clean your room while mama revisits the eighties for a while.

This post inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

© Trippin' Mama 2011

Writer's Workshop: It's No Holiday For Me

Halloween is almost here, as evidenced by the plethora of Christmas decorations in the stores.

And let me tell you, this "holiday" is no holiday for parents.

The costumes, decorations, and WAAAY too much sugar are killing me over here, and it's not even Halloween yet!

Let's start with the costumes. When I was a kid we would tie a scarf around our head, add a lot of jewelry and a white shirt and be gypsies. Or dress in shabby clothes and carry a stick with a bandanna tied to the end and be hobos. A cowboy hat and boots, a black cape and witch's hat. You know, easy stuff.

Now those costumes won't pass muster. It's the full Minnie Mouse costume, complete with dress and shoes, not just a tail and a pair of paper ears. Or Rapunzel, complete with the Disney dress and mile-long wig braided just so. Or the superhero of your choice, as long as every last detail is exactly as it appears on TV.

And who has to come up with the money or the creativity to go the distance with a costume? You're looking at her. Last year I made costumes. The fabric was a bargain, but they took a fair amount of time. This year I scored four great costumes at a secondhand sale, so they were cheap, but required some alterations. More time out of an already jam-packed schedule.

Seriously, I could just turn the boys out in the yard for a couple hours on any given day and they'd be in perfect hobo costumes. That would be much easier on me!

Then there are the decorations. I'm not that into Halloween and I don't (again) have tons of time to do decorations, but the kids see them everywhere and want to be part of the fun. We've managed this year by incorporating some decoration-making into our school time. 'G' is for ghost, after all.

In the good old days no one decorated for Halloween, unless you count jack o' lanterns and the people who never took down their Christmas lights from the previous year. So much easier! Now my neighbors have corn stalks and scarecrows, skeletons and Halloween lights. We managed three bats, a jack o' lantern and a handful of ghosts made out of old milk jugs.

I can get on board with the costumes (though ours will always be more creative than costly) and the decorations because I get to exercise my craft skills, but I could really do without the sugar. Oh, don't get me wrong, I love to raid my kids' Halloween bags as much as the next parent. It's just the sugared-up kids I could do without, and it's already started!

Amelia's brought home Halloween goodies from school and we're headed to a Halloween party tomorrow. Then there's the actual trick-or-treating and all the candy eating that follows. Seriously, it's like one big sugar high that lasts about a week.

I'm tempted to tell my kids they can eat all the candy they want the day after Halloween, and then we'll throw all the rest out. It'll be hell, but it will be short-lived. Otherwise I'll have weeks of "Can I have a piece of candy? Can I have another piece of candy? Can I? Can I? Huh, can I?" Multiply by four kids and I will go insane. 

Seems the "trick" in trick-or-treat is on me!

This post inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

© Trippin' Mama 2011

Writer's Workshop: A Spellcheck Disaster

My colleague, Myron, was laughing as he came into my office and handed me a piece of paper.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Just read it," he chuckled.

I obliged, and started reading the email I had just sent to him a few minutes ago.

It began, "Moron..." and was signed, "Christ."

I looked up at Myron in horror. And he laughed and said, "I know I'm not always the brightest, but that's a little harsh isn't it?"

Oh. Crap.

My computer was set to automatically spellcheck all outgoing email. It was a feature I hated because I can check my own spelling, thank you very much Microsoft. But I had never bothered to take the time to disable it. Instead I would just hit the "Ignore" button over and over.

Except that day I was talking to someone else as the spellcheck ran, and apparently I hit the "Accept" button over and over.

So "Myron" became "Moron," and "Christy" became "Christ." And a lot of what was in between became unintelligible.

Thank heavens "Moron" had a sense of humor and it wasn't an important email to someone outside my company.

After a very red-faced mea culpa I spent the rest of the afternoon figuring out how to disable the auto spellcheck feature.

And I've used spellcheck very cautiously ever since.

This post inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

2.) Tell about a time you accidentally “replied all” or sent an email to the wrong person by mistake.

© Trippin' Mama 2011

Writer's Workshop - A Dublin Disaster

DATELINE: Dublin, Ireland
Quite some time ago

It was spring break during my semester in London, England, and a large group of us was headed to Ireland for the week. We took the ferry across the Atlantic. It was cold and a little rough, but not a bad crossing overall.

When we arrived in Dublin, it was a rainy spring afternoon. We pulled out the umbrellas and headed out for some touring, supper and for some, a Guinness. We were having a blast.

That all came to a very harsh end some time around 11 p.m. That's when the puking started. And it wasn't from too much alcohol, either.

There we were at the hostel, one large dorm for girls and one large dorm for boys. There were about 20 of us in each room. Except 90 percent of us were so sick we never left the bathroom. The bathroom that had four stalls and two sinks. Four very overused stalls and two very overused sinks.

And you have to be really sick to lay on the bathroom floor in those conditions.

I have never been so sick in my entire life. By 2 a.m. I was certain I was throwing up vital organs, and my back hurt so bad from wretching that I was grateful to just lay on the cold floor.

Just when we thought we were all going to die, a chipper Irish doctor arrived for the house call from hell. He asked us a million questions, and never really determined what the cause of the disaster was, but he suspected that it was food poisoning.

He cheerily handed out suppositories, which we gratefully accepted. We were able to crawl back to our beds about 6 a.m., and had to report to the bus two hours later. It was a miserable way to start a vacation. We straggled on board the bus, but there wasn't enough ibuprofen in the world to take away the pain. It was like I had been beaten by a baseball bat all night long.

In the end, we had a great trip, though I was very careful about what I ate and drank for the rest of the week.

And to this day, I can't stomach the thought of  Guinness.

Play along with Mama Kat at the Writer's Workshop:

© Trippin' Mama 2011

Writer's Workshop: Things You Wish You Could Say

This week's prompt: List 10 things you wish you could say to strangers who share unsolicited advice about your parenting skills.


10. Let me know when you're teaching your next parenting class and I'll be there.

9. Are you real, or are you just another voice in my head?

8. You think this is a temper tantrum? I'll show you a temper tantrum!

7. That advice and $3.75 will buy me a latte at Starbucks. And I could really use the caffeine.

6. Really? Why couldn't you just be like everyone else and pretend this meltdown isn't happening?

5. I know you think that you are doing me a favor by sharing your thoughts. Believe me when I tell you that I am doing you a favor by not sharing my mine.

4. When you've successfully raised your triplets, you get back to me.
3. (Sing-song, with fingers in my ears) I'm not lis-ten-ing!

2.  AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!

1. Thank you for that unsolicited advice. I'll consider it later while I have a glass of wine and let my children run naked in the yard.

Inspired by:

© Trippin' Mama 2011

Writer's Workshop: A Memorable Neighbor

When I was 18 my parents moved from my hometown in the Great Frozen North. Their new next-door neighbor was an older, never-married lady named Leah.

Leah was something else. She was tough and independent, and still mowing her own lawn into her 80s. And she was a talker. Whew, was she ever a talker! And I know a thing or two about being a talker! But she had a good heart and she and my parents watched out for each other.

Leah also was an avid crafter. Dolls, doll clothes, Christmas ornaments, anything she could glitter or sequin, you name it and she did it. We were pretty convinced you could bedazzle the world with the glitter and sequins that were permanently lodged in the shag carpeting in her house.

One of Leah's specialties was Christmas stockings. She made beautiful, sequined (hand-sewn, not glued!) felt stockings. She was tickled pink when my parents moved into the house next door and she had an excuse to make stockings for so many people. She made a stocking for my mom and dad and every one of their children, childrens' spouses and grandchildren. In the end that totaled 42 Christmas stockings. Forty-two! And none of them are the same.

As soon as Leah found out I was pregnant with triplets she immediately made three stockings. They were done well before the babies arrived, just waiting for us to name the little ones so she could embroider their names on the stockings. 

Amelia, Sam, Isaac and Alex with the family's Christmas stockings ~ December 2009

Leah was thrilled about Jeff and I having triplets. My parents took her pictures after the boys were born and the stockings came in the mail just about a week later. In fact, Leah often referred to the boys as "my babies." 

By the time the boys were about nine months old, Leah was in the nursing home and her health was failing. We took our big trip back to the Great Frozen North that summer, and stopped at my parents' place along the way. Of course, we took the Amelia and boys in their stroller to the nursing home so Leah could finally meet them.

She was so excited. Everyone who came into the lounge was greeted with, "Have you seen my babies? Come see my babies!" Honestly, she couldn't have been prouder of those kids if they were her own. That was the only time she got to see the boys, since she passed away not long after that, well into her 90s.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures of Leah with the boys and Amelia. I forgot my camera that day, and the opportunity was lost forever. Fortunately, we have our beautiful Christmas stockings to remind us of her every year.

Well, that and a 47-pound box of sequins, pipe cleaners, glue-on eyes and glitter that my mom brought me after she helped clean out Leah's house. Every time we get the craft box out a large percentage of it ends up on my floor. That, too, is a fitting way to remember Leah.

Inspired by:

 

© Trippin' Mama 2011

Writer's Workshop: Parked for a Quick Getaway

Thank you Mama Kat for this week's prompt to write about a pet peeve that shouldn't drive you crazy, but does. Now I am justified in my petty complaining, right?

I am baffled, befuddled, curious, and also annoyed.

Why is it that everywhere I go these days people insist on backing into parking spaces? The other night I ran to the grocery store at 9:00. There were 12 cars there. Four of them were parked backwards. Why?

They are doing it at the drugstore, at the gym, even at church!

Are they concerned about making a quick getaway?

"Run Martha, the priest saw we didn't put anything in the collection basket!"

Perhaps their reverse lights aren't working and they are trying to prevent an accident from happening when they back out of their parking space?

A phobia about backing into a lane of traffic?

A need for the hood of the car to be pointing due north?

A desire for a parking challenge now that we rarely have to parallel park?

Seriously, what's the reasoning here?

I do understand that it is easier and maybe even safer, to pull forward into traffic, even slow-moving or completely non-existent traffic. (Case in point: The grocery store at 9 p.m.)

That's pretty much offset by the fact that the lady behind you in the parking lot (ME!) does not expect you to jam on your brakes and BACK UP after you've passed an open parking space, especially when there are four more open spaces in front of your vehicle. Nor does she expect to have to stop in the aisle so you can take up both lanes in order to back into a space, instead of simply staying on your own side and pulling in.

Don't even get me started on the people who insist on backing into a parking space, but never fail to take up two spaces because of their ineptitude. I drove around a parking garage for 15 minutes the other day trying to find something wider than half a space. If you're going to do it, at least learn how to do it right.

Finally, please don't glare and gesticulate at me and every other person following convention by parking nose first while you're busy creating your own set of rules about how to park. That doesn't just make you annoying. That makes you a backass.

And nobody likes a backass.

This post was inspired by the Writer's Workshop at Mama Kat's. Play along!

© Trippin' Mama 2011

Writer's Workshop - Lesson Learned: A Memo to My Fellow Mamas

Dear Fellow Mamas:

I would like to commend you for taking your children on an outing that is fun, educational or both. Kudos to you for not plunking them in front of the TV while you read the lastest issue of "People."

That said, could one of you please explain why you must you carry the world's largest Gucci/Coach/Prada purse know to man on your shoulder at the park/zoo/children's museum? Seriously, some of your handbags are so big that a small child would actually fit inside of them. And I've seen more than one waist-high little person clock his head on the bag dangling from your arm and threatening to separate your shoulder.

You are endangering yourself and others with those things. Please, stop the madness. This is not a fashion show. I'm with you on the great jeans and cute top, but ditch the 42-pound bag and the spiky heels when you're here with your kids, OK?

While we're at it, would it be too much to ask for you to actually watch your children, or even interact with them while you're here? I know that's hard to do when you've got your latte in one hand and your smart phone in the other, but give it a try. Your tapping on that phone is annoying me almost as much as having to stop your kid from throwing sand because you're paying more attention to your phone than your child.

Facebook will still be there when you get home. But these moments with your kids won't last.

So take a lesson from the low-key moms out there: Stick a credit card and your driver's license in your pocket, put on some comfy shoes and get down on your knees next to your little people. They'll love you for it. And you'll be a whole lot less annoying to the rest of us.

Sincerely,

Christy

Play along with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

© Trippin' Mama 2011

Writer's Workshop: Working in a Barrel of Monkeys

I know lots of people are braving cold temps and trudging through the snow and ice to get to work these days. Many of them are probably wishing they could just work from home.

Let me just say, some days I'd rather brave the weather than weather the storm here at home -- let alone try to get any work done in the midst of it!

It's not unusual for me to have to break up a fist fight, fish a child off a the top of a table or out of a cabine, take someone to the potty, or serve a meal all while I'm working from home.

I'm very efficient, and I can get a LOT done during naptime and after the kids go to bed, but sometimes I have to take a business call while the kids are up and active. I always explain the situation, and people are very understanding and accommodating, but still, it's mildly insane to juggle things on my end.
Thank heavens for the mute button on my cell phone. It saves those I'm talking to from the insane noise levels we can reach around here.

Despite the mute button, I'm almost certain that yesterday a client heard me ask "Where is your diaper?" before my call was completely disconnected.

Thankfully he wasn't still on the line for the "I was poopy," response that followed. That sent me on a four-room hunt for the phantom poopies. I didn't find anything, and I think that the perpetrator only tried to poop, but failed.

Oh well, if I'm wrong about that I'll find out sooner rather than later.

Today I had the misfortune of being on a dying cell phone. In order to finish my business I had to plug it into the wall. About that time the triplets pushed down the baby gate keeping them out of the kitchen and the bedrooms.

Note to self: Pressure gates were not made to contain triplets.

This is exactly the situation for which the phrase "run amok" was created. Exactly.

Those boys ran screaming through the house as fast as they could go. Almost everything was closed up, so I knew they couldn't harm themselves, but I shuddered at the thought of the damage they could do.

It took me seven minutes to finish my call. It took me an hour to clean up after the boys. F3 tornado, anyone?

To make matters worse, the boys knew they had me over a barrel. They would come running into the kitchen shouting and grinning at me and then turn and run away with a you-can't-catch-me look on their faces. That spells trouble, doesn't it? Whatever did moms do before cordless phones and cell phones? 

So to all you rush hour warriors out there, know that your commute may be bad, especially in this winter weather, but working from home ain't always what it's cracked up to be.

At least not when all three of your colleagues are two years old.

My little helpers: Isaac, Sam and Alex

Play along with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Enchanted In Her Eyes

Christmas is not my favorite holiday. There's just too much to do in such a short time. Even the admonishments to "simplify and have your best Christmas ever" come wrapped in ecologically-friendly handmade paper ("So much fun to make with your kids!" ) adorned with the bounty of nature collected on walks with your little ones. 

I can start to feel a bit bah humbug pretty quickly in the face of a monstrous to-do list. Thankfully, I have Amelia.

Amelia is four and a half, and she is enchanted with Christmas. She loves Santa. She loves Baby Jesus. She loves Christmas songs and picking out presents and telling Santa what she wants him to bring her. She loves the decorations, the cookies and the tree. She even loves the snow and cold because it means "Christmas is coming!"

Every time she talks about Christmas exclamation points punctuate every sentence. "And Santa has reindeer, Mom!" "Baby Jesus is going to be born!" "We get to make cookies!"

You might think that her delight over Christmas would add to the pressure and the to-do list, but it has been just the opposite.

Amelia is thrilled with every little thing. "You got the stockings out!" Why, yes I did. Never mind that they aren't out of the box. The mere fact that I brought the box up from the basement is enough to make Amelia dance around the room.

That's a standard I can meet.

Since Amelia is so enchanted with all things Christmas, I've found myself focusing on the things that will bring her the most joy. I dug out a little tree and we spent an afternoon making ornaments and decorating "Amelia's tree" with snowflakes, bits of colored paper and ribbons. I gave her some small ornaments to put on them and she could barely contain her glee at getting to put them on her tree by herself.

When it snowed we shelved the efforts to get a Christmas card list in order and went outside to play in it for hours.

We got out the nativity sets and played with the kids' soft set for hours before we ever set the big one up. All the people and animals talked to each other and went on adventures. Turns out that shepherd is a pretty funny guy. Who knew?

I baked Christmas cookies with Amelia instead of cleaning the house. We made spritz, "the most fun cookies ever!" Not only did Amelia get to use the cookie press, she also got to sprinkle colored sugar on each and every one. And, after careful testing, she determined that all of the cookies tasted the same, even though they were different shapes.

So here we are, just a little over two weeks away from Christmas. We don't have our tree yet. We've only baked one kind of cookie. There's shopping and wrapping to be done. I have no plans for Christmas dinner. Oh, and I'm wishing my Christmas cards said "Happy Valentine's Day" instead of "Merry Christmas."

But none of that matters, because I am seeing this Christmas through the eyes of a four-year-old.

Amelia doesn't need the Martha Stewart decorations or the Paula Deen cookie platter. She just needs Christmas to get here, and quick! Well, that and a few presents under the tree, preferably a Barbie horse.

Amelia is enchanted with every little piece of Christmas this year.

And I am completely enchanted with her.

Play along with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Thankful For All Of It

Today I am thankful for kids who are mostly healthy.

And because today they are mostly not, I'm thankful for Lysol, my washing machine and Spot Shot carpet cleaner.

I'm thankful for my husband, the best father I know.

I'm thankful for the peace of naptime and bedtime, and the noise and laughter that fills the rest of our days.

I'm thankful for everyone who reads my (mostly) daily musings and shares in my family. Here's a little noise and laughter for all of you:



Happy Thanksgiving!

Play along with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Writer's Workshop: Big Elk And A Broken Elbow

We have a rule in our house: "No using insurance while on vacation."

It stems from one of the very first vacations Jeff and I took after we got married. It was my family's reunion and we chose a campground in Estes Park, Colorado for the get together. It was fantastic! The weather was beautiful, the scenery was amazing, the campground was nice, and the wildlife was everywhere.

The animals, in fact, were the downfall of our vacation.

The first night we were there it rained. (Because what's a camping vacation without rain?) So we headed to town to eat and check out a local brewery. Just as we left the restaurant a herd of elk began to walk across the parking lot. My brother-in-law got very excited. More excited than he should, considering he lives in Montana and sees elk all the time. Although I will grant you that these boys were big and CLOSE! But anyway, he started shouting for someone to grab a camera.

Jeff took off for our vehicle, which was one of the closest. He slipped and fell on the wet parking lot. He popped right up and rubbed his elbow a bit, but none of us gave it a second thought.

Fast forward to midnight, and we were in the emergency room waiting for an x-ray. Sure enough, he had broken his elbow. A very nice doctor, who happened to be from the Frozen North not far from where we grew up, put him in a splint and a sling and gave us a prescription for pain medication. Then he informed us there was nowhere in town to fill it that night.

So we headed back to our tent. In the woods. With only Tylenol and elevation as treatment. That's not exactly what we had in mind when we decided to rough it.

We spent the few remaining hours of the night not sleeping in our tent. Jeff tried to get comfortable many, many ways, including by resting his very heavy splinted arm across my abdomen. Did I mention we were in a tent with no bathroom handy?

To add insult to injury, we had scheduled a whitewater raft trip for the next morning. Which meant that most of us headed off to have fun while Jeff stayed behind. My mom hates the water, so she never planned to go rafting, so she took care of Jeff. That rally only involved taking him into town to get his pain medication and finding him a pair of sandals to wear since he couldn't tie his shoes.

We got back late that day, and tried hard to pretend that it wasn't really much fun, even though we had a blast. By then Jeff was well stocked with pain meds and had spent most of the day in a drug-induced sleep, so he was in a pretty darn good mood considering.

It was not the vacation we planned, but it's one we certainly remember. Since then "Don't use the insurance" has become part rule, part mantra, and part standard for judging the quality of a vacation. It's a pretty low standard, I'll grant you, but it works for us.

I'm guessing that rule may get harder to follow with four kids in tow...

Play along with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Writer's Workshop: Before I Was A Mom

Before I was a mom I ate hot meals. I took daily showers. I bought clothes without concern about washability. I bought shoes that were cute, not comfortable.

Before I was a mom I never discussed someone else's bowel habits as a matter of routine. I never had to drop what I was doing to wipe someone else's bottom.

Before I was a mom I read grownup books without pictures or rhymes. I watched whatever I wanted on TV. I slept past 7 a.m.

Before I was a mom I didn't know the meaning of the words busy, sleep-deprived, frustrated or gross.

Before I was a mom I never knew how unimportant hot meals could be. I'd never met anyone for whom I'd give up daily showers. I never knew there could be such good reasons to pass on non-washable clothes and shoes that weren't made for sprinting. 

Before I was a mom I never knew how all-consuming loving and caring for another human being could be, right down to making bowel habits worth discussing.

Before I was a mom I didn't know how many great children's books there were. I didn't realize how much time I wasted on TV. I never had so many beautiful reasons to get up early in the morning.

Before I was a mom I didn't know the meaning of the words joy, wonder, amazement or peace.

Before I was a mom I was happy.

But not nearly as happy as I am now.

Play along with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Writer's Workshop: Excuse Me Father, I Just Need My Hanky

In a few more weeks Jeff and I will be celebrating our 16th anniversary. Our reception was probably more memorable than our wedding, thanks to the bag dance.

But Jeff and I still laugh about one thing that happened during our wedding.

We were standing at the altar lighting our unity candle. I started to cry, of course. I knew it was going to happen, so I was prepared. I had a hanky on me.

Since no one has figured out that brides cry and put a pocket in wedding gowns, I had to improvise.

I put that hanky down the front of my dress, which was the only place I could carry it without it being seen.

I didn't quite think through how I'd discreetly remove it when needed. But our backs were to the congregation, so I squeezed close to Jeff and with a little flick of my wrist, extracted the hanky.

I would have gotten away with it, too, except the priest had joined us at the altar and was standing directly across from us.

I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head when I pulled that hanky from my cleavage like a rabbit out of a hat.

After the initial shock passed, the priest simply turned around, walked away and sat down off to the side.

Jeff and I started to chuckle silently. It was supposed to be the most solemn moment of our ceremony. The moment when, with prayer and the church's blessing, we celebrated becoming one.

We knew it was inappropriate to laugh, which just made us laugh even harder. We stood there shaking with silent laughter. Suddenly the song that had seemed to go on forever couldn't last long enough for us to compose ourselves. Tears were flowing down our cheeks as we finally pulled ourselves together.

As I pressed a sodden hanky into Jeff's hand so he could put in his pocket, we thought we'd gotten away with our moment of shared laughter. We were wrong. Everyone at the reception asked us the same thing: "What was so funny?" Even though we never made a sound and they couldn't see our faces, they all recognized silent laughter when they saw it!

At least the bag dance made them forget our moment of inappropriate hilarity.

Play along with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. This week's prompt was to tell about a time you laughed at an inappropriate time.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Writer's Workshop: Excuse Me?

When Jeff and I were living in England, we quickly learned that although we spoke English, we did not speak the Queen's English.

I was constantly reminded of this when I would refer talk about my pants and my classmates would all titter. Turns out "pants" are "underpants" in England. "Trousers" is the proper term for what we Americans call "pants."

Of course, most Brits knew these Americanisms and were very tolerant of us, besides snickering over my "pants" from time to time. And we tried to adapt, learning to visit the chemist for prescriptions and referring to the trunk of the car as the "boot." So for the most part we all understood each other.

Then one day Jeff came home from his job at the chemistry lab. He told me that he was working that day when a colleague hurried into the room and said, "Professor So-and-So is running down the hall carrying a Winchester."

What?! I panicked just hearing him tell me this story.

Jeff was looking for a safe place to hit the deck when it occurred to him that no one else seemed the least bit disturbed by this announcement.

He slowly stood from his semi-crouch and said, "What exactly is a Winchester? Because where I come from it's a rifle."

His colleagues laughed and told him it was a large flask -- a simple piece of glassware common in chemistry labs. It was still a little concerning that someone was running down the hallway with a large flask -- an experiment gone awry, perhaps? But not the alarming announcement Jeff thought it was.

We had a good chuckle over the miscommunication then, and we laughed about it again the other night, some 15 years later. Thanks, Mama Kat for reminding us about a good memory with prompt #1: Describe a time when you had difficulty communicating with someone who speaks a different language than you.

It seems that sometimes a Winchester isn't a Winchester after all.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Writer's Workshop: The Mystery of the Missing Shoes

"Christy, I can't find my shoes. Have you seen my shoes?" Peter said.

"I haven't seen them. Are you sure you were wearing shoes when you got here?" I answered.

"Ummmm. I think so."

Peter and I and our 23 classmates had just completed our Master's degrees in International Conflict Analysis at the University of Kent in Canterbury, England. It was a two-year degree crammed into one year, and we had worked our tail feathers off. Seriously.

Ours was one of the brightest classes the University had ever seen. More than 20 percent of us graduated with distinction. Typically, that number would be less than 10 percent.

Though you'd never know it from the way we celebrated at our graduation party.

Much like we had at our Thanksgiving party, we drank. A lot. Enough that shoes disappeared and their very existence was questioned.

I recall making Pimm's with something called "light, white mixing spirits." It was grain alcohol, pure and simple. And that stuff did not go down smoothly, let me tell you. But it went down. As did the wine, the margaritas (warm, no rocks, because we were in England and apparently ice is more valuable than gold there), the beer, and probably a few other things I don't exactly remember.

The weather was gorgeous and we were outside. At some point most of us removed our shoes. And at the end of the party most of us were hunting through the bushes for Peter's shoes. I'm sure our professors regretted granting a few of our degrees with distinction as they watched us.

Many of my classmates have gone on to do brilliant things. (Of course, only one of us went on to do brilliant things AND had triplets!)

Peter is in the midst of a very distinguished academic career. Kristen has done some amazing work at a couple different embassies. Every time I reconnect with Amanda she's in a different part of the world solving problems. Elisabeth and Ananda both work for the International Peace Research Institute in Oslo.

A brilliant group indeed.

But we never did find Peter's shoes.

Play along with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. This week's prompt was to tell about a time you found yourself barefoot, but we writers are allowed a little creative license, no?

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Today's Mischief in Haiku and Video

Today at Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop one of the challenges was to write a haiku describing what you love about an ordinary day. A few short lines? I'm up for that on this busy laundry day!

Of course, it was harder than I thought, but here's my effort, plus a video at the end that shows off those mischievous grins!

I hear the ruckus

Yelling from the other room

I run not knowing

I find you all safe

Mischievous grins on bright faces

Making me wonder

Was the trouble real

Or is it that you enjoy

Watching Mommy run?

Three curious boys

Many adventures to come

What will today hold?

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Float Along with Us

I'm playing along at the Writer's Workshop again. This week's prompt: Tell us about your trip!

Smith River, Montana

May 2003

It was Memorial Day weekend 2003. We were in Montana to "float" the Smith River. Basically, you get in your raft and steer while you let the current carry you downstream for three days.

My sister and her husband, who live in Montana, had painted this idyllic picture of a lazy jaunt down the river with warm, sunny days, good fly fishing and gorgeous scenery.

The night before we put into the river it was 38 degrees. And we were camping. In a tent.

Floating the Smith River no longer seemed like such a great use of my vacation time. In fact, freezing to death seemed like a pretty good possibility. I hardly slept that night, and when I did I had disturbing dreams about being trapped in a meat locker.

Who would have guessed that by 10 a.m. the next day it would be 80 degrees and sunny? That's spring in Montana for you.

Although we never saw a fish, the trip was wonderful.

We had two perfect days of kicking along the river, stopping here and there to have lunch, hike and fish. We spent the nights in campsites with some of the best views in the world. The scenery almost made up for the open-air toilets. Almost.

At least there were toilets, even if I did have to announce to all of my fellow campers that I was headed for the loo so no one would come down the path and accidentally join me.

And the scenery was beautiful.

On our last day it started to rain, but we had just a short ways to go, so we put on our rain gear and smiled our way through it. And we were lucky enough to get this picture, because who doesn't look good in waders?

I like to call it "Montana Gothic." It's destined to become a classic.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

Sam's Scars

Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop Prompt #3.) Tell us about that scar. (inspired by Katie from Rooftop Harmonies)
 

That scar. That scar you bear broke my heart. There you were, just two months old, still so perfect and untouched by this world. Soft baby skin, tiny baby hands, fuzzy baby hair...and then, the chicken pox.

 

Oh, my, what a case of the chicken pox! Your brothers had them too, but Sam, you had enough chicken pox for all three boys. You were covered from head to toe and everywhere in between. In your tiny ears, on your baby fingers, all over your little back and tummy. You took it all like a trooper, but the sight of you nearly made me cry.

 

And worst of all, I was the one who gave you the pox.

 

Yep, that's right. When you and your brothers were just six weeks old, I got the shingles. And before I realized it, I had passed it along to you and your brothers when we nursed. From start to finish the three of you had chicken pox for five weeks.

 

Five weeks of calamine lotion, fussiness, and fever.

 

Five weeks of mommy guilt.

 

Five weeks of praying over each of you.

 

At last the plague ended, but a few scars remained.

 

And they broke my heart.

 

My perfect little babies now bore their first marks of living in this world. And I had to face the reality that no matter how much I wanted to, I could never protect you from everything.

 

Now you are 16 months old, and already there are additional scars. But I am learning to embrace them, because I realize that the only way you can go through this world unscathed is if you never really live.

 

Living means there will be accidents, missteps, and sometimes, scars.

 

Let's just try to keep that to a minimum, OK? Your mama's heart can only take so much.

© Trippin' Mama 2010

10 Things I Never Knew Until I Became A Mom

It's really probably for the best that we enter parenthod relatively uninitiated. I think if most people really knew what they were in for -- beyond TVcommercials that show parents cuddling with adorable and charming or sleeping children -- the human race could be in serious jeopardy.

Until I was a mom I never knew that...

1. Sometimes the bathtub needs a garbage disposal.

Like when the triplets eat spinach ravioli. If you thinking hair in the drain is gross, try picking out spinach.

2. A dirty diaper can be the cause for a major celebration.

And it can change a baby's mood completely in an instant!

3. A shower can be a major accomplishment...for the week.

You earn superwoman status if you shave.

4. A hot meal would be a rare treat. 

Rarer still, a meal uninterrupted by request to "WI-I-I-PE."

5. Three hours of sleep could feel so good.

Or constitute a whole night's sleep...for which I was eternally grateful.

6. Goldfish have incredibly addictive properties.

Seriously, what do they put in those things? It's like kiddie crack. It's also one of mom's secret weapons for getting kids to cooperate.

7. I could accomplish so much with just one arm.

The list of things I've done while holding a baby is long. Cook? Check. Use the bathroom? Check. (Oh, you've done it, too.) Dress another child? Check. Laundry? Check. Clean? Well, only if I have to.

8. "Because I said so," is a perfectly legitimate answer.
It always sounded like a cop-out when I was a kid, but now I understand it. Now if only I could get my kids to understand, too.

9. That there were so many hours in the day.
And I had no idea that as "Mom," I often would be called upon to work nearly all of them. Even more surprising is that despite the long hours I still love the job.

10. That I could love someone so fiercely.

I have loved parents, grandparents, siblings, friends and one man in my life. But it wasn't until my first child was born that I realized just how fiercely I could love someone.

© Trippin' Mama 2010