Merry Grinch-mas!

I love Christmas. I love the REAL meaning of Christmas. I love finding the perfect gifts for friends and family. I love Christmas decorations and Christmas music.

Now that I've made that clear, I'm hoping that you'll indulge my inner Grinch for just a moment.


I really don't like the Christmas song "Blue Christmas". Strongly dislike. Despise. Hate. Abhor.

I mean, really. Why in the world would someone take what is arguably the most joyous time of the year and write a song about being sad? And why in the world does Sirius XM feel the need to play it so.freaking.often?

When I was seven, my dad was away for a year in Alaska. An active duty Air Force man, he was given a remote duty assignment and couldn't take us along. My mom, brother and I moved to the small town where my grandparents lived. Being 1976/77, Skype didn't exist. Nor did e-mail or cell phones. Needless to say, we missed my dad a LOT. My memories of that year are fading, but I do remember a popular Christmas song that year.

I hated it then because my Dad wouldn't be home for Christmas. I wonder how many military families feel the same way now.

On a related topic, I took The Manimal and Little Darth with me grocery shopping last week. Little Darth is pretty much attached to my...well, you get the idea, and in a moment of insanity out of the kindness of my heart I offered to take The Manimal with me so Diva Husband could fix our non-functioning toilet have a few hours of peace and quiet.

After one minor Christmas gift related meltdown in Aldi (during which I may have, for the thirty-seven-eleventh time, used the Santa threat), we headed to the Evil Empire. Among other things, I had to pick up some gift bags for teacher gifts. I was planning to avoid the t-o-y aisle altogether, not wanting to have to take the name of the Big Elf in vain again. Quick and easy, we picked up what we needed and headed to the Christmas wrap and decorations in the Seasonal section of the store. For the record, this is on an opposite end of the store from the t-o-y section.

A few fa-la-la's later, and we were there. And what to my wondering eyes should appear right next to the gift bags?! Three, count them THREE aisles of T-O-Y-S. In seasonal. Really?! I'd love to say I was able to grab the gift bags and go, but noooooo. Another meltdown discussion ensued about why we would not be buying ANY t-o-y-s before Christmas, and if he didn't behave, I would have to contact the birthday fairy (not really, but you get the idea) about a certain little boy with a January birthday...

I was seriously ready to send a nasty-gram to the President of the Evil Empire begging him to NOT put T-O-Y sections throughout the store.

I settled for a glass of wine as a reward for surviving my outing with The Manimal.

Maybe I'll boycott all brick & mortar stores and become a complete hermit, doing ALL of my shopping online. At least then I could have a glass of wine WHILE I shop.

Music Monday: In Memory

I've been feeling a bit sentimental lately. It could be attributed to any number of recent occurrences or events in my life...pending arrival of Mr. Baby, celebrating the 12th anniversary of my 29th birthday, my many friends who have lost loved ones recently, who knows?

At any rate, it seems that I've been more and more appreciative of life and those who have played an important role in my own.

Last Thursday, George Parks died unexpectedly.

To the general populace, that name probably doesn't jog any memories. But for those of us who actually have a personal story to tell that begins with the phrase "One time, at band camp...", that name may immediately bring forth emotions and memories of years gone by.

George Parks was the band director for the UMass Marching Minutemen, and a Professor of Music at UMass Amherst, teaching tuba and conducting. He was known across the marching band world for his drum major academy, teaching thousands of young people throughout the years.

I was in marching band throughout high school and for two years in college. I have an undergraduate degree in Music Education. "When I grew up" I wanted to be a high school band director, and for five years in the 1990's (seemingly a lifetime ago), I was just that.

I never met George Parks in person. George Parks never encountered me at a Drum Major Academy, in the UMass Band or in a class at UMass. My only experience, other than his textbook or stories from others, was seeing him in action a few times at his Drum Major Academy at the BOA Summer Symposium at Illinois State University.

He was amazing. The type of educator that is so in-tune with and adept in his chosen field, that a willing student learns by simply observing the master.

His passing brought forth not only fond, sweet memories of my musical history, but of mentors past. Those who have had a significant impact on my life, whether they realize it or not. Those men and women who, in casting their influence to the world, set in motion ripples that, to this day, far outside of my original involvement with them, impact who I am and what I do.

One of those mentors (whom so many others hold dear as well) once said "If you have had five people in your life who you can say have truly made a difference, you are blessed."

Some of my mentors are still around, doing what they do. Teaching others, leading by example.

Walking the walk, not just talking the talk.

Some are aware of the impact they had on my life. Some may never be aware.

Some have gone from this world, too soon, or in the right time. No longer with us here, but living in my heart and mind and everyday life.

One thing that all mentors have in common is their commitment to excellence, striving for success, and doing things THEIR way.

So to Tim, Mallory, Rita, Gary, Jeff...thanks for being in my five. Whether you know it or not, you made a difference.

And to George, you taught countless young people (and their teachers) about music, excellence, leadership, and pride.

Thanks for doing it "your way".

In Flanders Fields...

"Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty." --John F. Kennedy

Each Memorial Day weekend, for more than ten years, we've traveled to Northern Wisconsin to visit my Gram. Each year, the time we spend with her is more and more precious. While we're up there, we try to go to the cemetery to visit the graves of my Grandpa (Papa) and Uncle, as well as other family members. It's always a sobering sight, because, being Memorial Day Weekend the local Boy and Girl Scouts typically place flags at the graves of all who have served their country.

Someone once asked if I would be upset if one of my boys wants to join the military when they are of age. Certainly, my mother's heart would be terrified. But upset? No. I would be proud if they choose to serve their country in such an honorable way.

I'm very open about growing up in a military family. While we are especially blessed that my father never had to serve in a combat zone, I nonetheless am extremely proud that my parents raised me to respect military men and women. I'm proud to be an American, proud of our military and our soldiers who serve, and deeply humbled that so many have given their lives to defend our way of life.

And so today, the Diva Family honors and thanks our fallen heroes. Rest in peace, loyal soldiers.

"Memorial Day"

The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,
But not of war it sings to-day.
The road is rhythmic with the feet
Of men-at-arms who come to pray.

The roses blossom white and red
On tombs where weary soldiers lie;
Flags wave above the honored dead
And martial music cleaves the sky.

Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel,
They kept the faith and fought the fight.
Through flying lead and crimson steel
They plunged for Freedom and the Right.

May we, their grateful children, learn
Their strength, who lie beneath this sod,
Who went through fire and death to earn
At last the accolade of God.

In shining rank on rank arrayed
They march, the legions of the Lord;
He is their Captain unafraid,
The Prince of Peace...Who brought a sword.

--Joyce Kilmer

Sunday Selah

While praying and thinking today about He who made the ultimate sacrifice for all of humankind, pray too for the brave men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice for the freedom of our country.



Then go check out The Pioneer Woman's Photo page and be touched by her "Coming Home" photos, especially remembering those who didn't.

No More Pencils, No More Books...

Well, not officially yet.

The Tweenager's last day of school is June 3. This is the first year since he's been in the district that they've not extended the school year due to snow days. Strange, really. I mean, the district calendar actually lists it as "tentative last day".

Crazy.

Growing up in Southwest Ohio, we had five snow days built into the calendar. Meaning if we actually got through the year without any snow days, we went to school for 185 days. And we didn't really think anything of it.

Clearly the teachers' unions and administrative interference have gotten stronger in the past 25 or 30 years.

We always had a few days at the end of the year that were pretty much wasted. Field Days, picnics, clean-up days. You get the idea.

Before I go any further with my rant (because you know there's gotta be a rant coming, right?), a couple of small disclaimers.

We are blessed that The Tweenager is at a school with a wonderful staff who cares deeply about the kids. He has benefited immensely this year from their attention and instruction.

Also, let me say that I'm definitely not against a fun day here and there. The teachers and kids work hard, and it's always nice to celebrate with a "non-work" day.

What irritates me is that although the last day of school is June 3, there will be precious little instruction going on during that entire week. The law says students need 180 instructional days each year. And while I do see value in co-curricular activities, it irks me more than a little to know that nearly an entire week of "instructional time" is simply tossed aside.

I can't even take him out of school that week in protest without being grilled as to why he's missing "school". Absences on Field Day are treated the same way as absences during the ISAT's (Illinois' standardized testing).

While our district's test scores and academic results aren't terrible, they certainly aren't tops in the state. My property taxes continue to rise (even though my property value continues to decline), so I expect that my schools should be well-funded. Unfortunately, I live in a state that owes its school districts and public universities ridiculous amounts of money. Chicago Public Schools alone are owed more than $200 million by the Great State of Illinois. Our district is nowhere near the size of CPS, and the state owes us nearly $10 million.

All of this makes me wonder if the district really thinks that the educational benefits of four days of "fun" are really equivalent to "instructional days".

Oh, wait. He's only in school for 90 minutes on the last day. Did I forget to mention that? As a working parent, THOSE days make me see red. We are fortunate that Diva Husband is able to be home so we don't have to make sitter arrangements, but I know a lot of working parents who have to change their work schedules so the District can have one last "instructional" day.

As I said earlier, I have the utmost respect for teachers. I was in the trenches for five years. Teachers really do touch the future. Unfortunately, they have to work under the watchful eye of district and state administrators who apparently find a Field Day or End-of-the-Year Kickball Tournament on par with regular instructional days.

"School's out, school's out!
No more pencils, no more books,
No more PARENTS' dirty looks!"

With Apologies to Edward Elgar...

This is the time of year for graduation ceremonies, and here at Diva U., we'll celebrate our grads this weekend. While planning the logistical part of the ceremonies is my job now, in a former lifetime, my involvement in graduation ceremonies was limited to music.

As in conducting it.

As a high school band director, it was my responsibility to corral the bandos and conduct them in the prelude and ceremonial music. The prelude music was pretty basic. Whatever we'd performed that year at our concerts was fair game. The ceremony music was fairly straightforward as well: play the Alma Mater and processional/recessional music.

In other words, "Pomp & Circumstance", more specifically, March No. 1 of Sir Edward Elgar's "Pomp & Circumstance".

For those of you who don't know this song by its name (because seriously, you DO know this song), allow me to virtually hum a few bars...



The most famous part of this march is the Trio section, which is about 2 minutes into the recording above.

When I was a band director, my kids would soldier through innumerable repetitions of this piece. One spring, after we'd practiced about forty-eleven thousand times, I had a brainstorm.

I ran a lyrics contest for Mr. Elgar's music. Now, before my fellow music educators get all over me, yes, I do know that there are lyrics. But seriously, after you've done forty-eleven thousand run-throughs, you're lucky if the lyrics in your head are even fit for mixed company, if you know what I mean.

So I ran a contest for the best lyrics to good old P & C. The only stipulation was that they had to be "clean". It was a family show, after all. The winner was a French horn player with an incredibly creative mind. He passed away suddenly in January of 2009, but this was always one of my favorite memories of him, and I still have a copy of the original in his handwriting. He makes my Commencement duties a lot more fun every year.

And so, for all of you band directors, band kids, band parents or anyone out there who knows what it's like to play "Pomp & Circumstance" forty-eleven thousand times, I present:

Pomp & Circumstantial Evidence, by Jacob S.

Refrain:

I really hate this song.
It goes on forever,
And when you think you're done
You have to start over!

Verse 1:

Why did somebody decide to
Inflict this torture on innocent youth.
Because if I find out who
I swear to you, I'm gonna sue!

And to you who disagree,
That this song destroys sanity,
If you really think I'm wrong,
Get down here and play along!

Refrain

Verse 2:

Now the low brass has melody
I think I missed the last repeat,
Please Miss B. let us end,
No, it's back to the top again.
Miss B. forgot to close her hand,
and thus confused the entire band.
Was that a fist or was that an "E"?
We'll just play eternally.

Refrain

Verse 3:

I am quite sure that those folks
for whom this song always invokes,
Feelings of nostalgia
Never had to play this stuff.
I think I'm a measure behind
Why, Drummer, keep time
This is criminal Miss B.
It's called "cruelty to minors".

Refrain

Verse 4:

Graduates keep filing endlessly.
I think the flutes are in the wrong key.
Who played that sour note? It was me!
Can't we stop I have to pee!
I REALLY HATE THIS SONG
It's much too repetitive, much too long.
And if given half a chance
I'd burn my "Pomp & Circumstance"!

Wordless Wednesday: Everyone's Irish Today!

This one will have you crying tears of laughter into your green beer today!

It's Not Whether You Win Or Lose...

When I was a high school band director, I tried to preach to teach my kids about the importance of having class. In the years following graduation, I knew that very few of them would ever play their instruments or participate in a marching band competition again.

But they would face competition throughout life.

And class? Is a life skill a lot of adults could stand to learn.

In the ten plus years since I picked up my conductor's baton, I've had the privilege of maintaining friendships with and reconnecting with a lot of my former students, and wonder of wonders, they managed to learn the lesson. I credit their decisions more than my teaching ability, but it's always nice to see that a formerly clueless (or not so clueless) high school kid "got it".

I'm pretty sure that the goalkeeper for the USA U-17 Women's Soccer team has had at least one teacher or coach in her life who preached to taught her about class.

And it appears she "got it".


From Yahoo Sports:

"On Wednesday, the U.S. women's under-17 team defeated Haiti 9-0 in their first qualifying match for the CONCACAF U-17 Women's Championships in Costa Rica. Once the final whistle blew, Haitian goalkeeper Alexandra Coby was so overwhelmed with emotion that she dropped to the pitch, weeping. It was all just too much for her and understandably so -- losing by such a harsh margin, even to a much better team, is always difficult to take, but given that Haiti is in the midst of trying to recover from the devastating earthquake that ravaged the Caribbean nation's capital two months ago and left hundreds of thousands of people dead, there was much more saddling these girls than just a lost game.

And the U.S. team saw that. As Haiti's coach helped the crying goalkeeper to her feet, U.S. goalie Bryane Heaberlin walked the length of the pitch, gave Coby a hug and didn't let go. The rest of the U.S. team soon joined her, circling around the two goalkeepers for a long group hug that left the entire squad in tears.

Said Heaberlin to USsoccer.com:

“I saw her crying and that was pretty hard for me to see. She’s a 'keeper and we have that bond. I knew that she had probably lost people close to her, and when she goes home she might not have anywhere to go. I gave her a big hug and told her she did great. She came to compete in this tournament despite all that she’s been through and I have tremendous respect for her.”

Haiti's participation in the tournament despite all that's going on back home for them has been the talk of the competition and the team's determination and bravery hasn't been lost on their opponents. Added U.S. defender Olivia Brannon:

“It just put everything into perspective. It makes you realize what is truly important, your family, having a roof over your head, and having food on the table. We take all those things for granted. I had my mom in the stands cheering for me tonight. Some of these girls might never have that again.”

So while the match itself may have seemed like piling on, it should be pointed out that the U.S. team didn't pander to their Haitian counterparts, instead showing them the respect of playing hard the whole game before sharing their true feelings and consolations after the final whistle. And these young Haitian girls will hopefully go back knowing that they're not alone."

Photo: USsoccer.com

Music Monday: Sunny Day...

Long before Disney Channel, there was PBS. And I'm not talking about PBS Kids or Sprout. I'm talking about plain old PBS, the channel that had kids shows for a couple of hours in the morning and a couple of hours during the after-school hours. I'm not really sure what they did in the in-between times, but as a kid, I didn't really care.

When I was pregnant with SS#1, I made a decision that the purple dinosaur would have no place in our home. I did pretty well with that, and he would happily watch Sesame Street and Dragon Tales. He loved Elmo's World. In fact, over the course of one year, we owned no fewer than five goldfish, all named "Dorothy".

By the time The Manimal came around, Disney Channel had made its place. The Manimal is most definitely a Mickey kid. As a matter of fact, I'm not completely sure he even knows who Elmo is.

Which is sad.

Even sadder though, is that neither of my children really recognize this guy.

Or these guys.Or this one.Or saddest of all, this one.And since they don't know Sesame Street, they missed lots of great music. Here, on Music Monday, are two of my faves, for old times sake.

Sing.

Holy Musical Talent, Batman!

This makes the band director in me want to pick up my baton again! Wowzers...

Reprise...

Hard to believe that we've had Princess the Wonder Dog for three years, but it's true! Here's a blast from the past, the post I wrote shortly after she joined the family...

Well, we took the plunge and became dog-owners.

A wonderful local shelter had several pups and we took this one home with us. As near as our vet can tell, she's a Chow-Chow/Rottweiler mix. Our new little fur-child has, of course, added a new dynamic to our happy home.

While my husband grew up with dogs, I never had one, let alone a puppy. So, at 8 weeks old, there was a lot to consider.

Like housebreaking.

It doesn't matter what you call it, teaching the dog to "do her business" outside is a massive undertaking. Having been a high school teacher in a previous lifetime, I (mistakenly) believed that if I could deal with teenagers on a daily basis, then I certainly had the skills to housebreak a puppy.

Well, needless to say, she's the one housebreaking us. Thank goodness for steam cleaners. We've finally come to an arrangement in which about 85% of the time, she goes to the door to let us know that she wants to go outside, 10% of the time, we physically take her outside, and 5 percent of the time, she relieves herself inside, either intentionally or not.

And then there are my human children.

We were most concerned with how Sweet Baby Son would react. We were completely unprepared with Sweet Son #1's reaction, as HE was the one who wanted the dog.

Quite frankly, he's terrified.

Puppies nip when they play, and SS fears for his very life. You'd think she was a full grown pit bull or doberman. We did talk about it and even offered to return the pup to the shelter, but of course, he wouldn't hear of it. He wants a dog, just not one that nips.

SBS, on the other hand, has an agreement with the dog. She's no dummy. She knows who drops food when he eats. So she gets to eat and he gets to beat. He's a bit overzealous when it comes to "petting" the dog. Plus, if she really wants to get away, she runs. Really fast. Like, terror in the eyes fast. He calls her "gog" and gives her hugs and she nips him lightly. Like I said, an agreement.

We are a bit concerned though. In the church nursery one Sunday, he patted one of the other boys on the head and said "goggy". Maybe we need to get his eyes checked.

Happy Birthday!

Four years ago today, this was me. Well, to be more specific, it was WE.



Your big brother was so excited to have a buddy.



And from little on, you let us know what you liked...


...and didn't like.



Now you are four, and we love you more than ever.


Happy Birthday, Manimal!

Life to the Full

This past week, my heart was heavy remembering a significant loss from last year. I'm sure he's up there, celebrating with his Savior. But knowing Jacob, he's singing or organizing some musical performance or, as I mentioned to his sisters, eagerly trying to figure out "the answer", which, as we all know, is 42.

In his brief 30 years on earth, he truly seemed to love life and live it fully.

God bless you, Jacob. You are missed.

I think you would've liked this...



"There's one more angel in Heaven
There's one more star in the sky
Joseph we'll never forget you
It's tough but we're gonna get by..."

Picnic Guests

The Manimal is at a fun age. He's very imaginative and has a strong bond with the Fire Ants. If you're in the southern part of the USA, you know that fire ants are nasty little creatures. Diva Nana tells a story from when we lived in Mississippi and I sat in a fire ants' nest. The little beasts invaded my diaper and ohmygranny.

You can imagine what my reaction must have been. I'm just grateful that I have no memory whatsoever of the incident.

As you could probably guess, our fire ants aren't real, except in the vivid imagination of one almost four year-old.

I was a bit puzzled, though, when he started talking about them. He's never seen real fire ants and we've never discussed them.

One day, though, he solved the mystery for me. He was telling me a very elaborate story about how the fire ants got arrested.

By the police ants.

Off now to make my bread and hear more tales of the fire ants!

Overstimulation

I'm finally to the point where looking at my Christmas pictures doesn't give me the cold shakes.

You know what I'm talking about, right? I mean, I love Christmas. Love it. But frankly, it's stressful. So I take the pictures, then don't look at them again until my Christmas decorations are packed safely away until next year.

Of course, that means that half of the toys you'll see in the following pictures are probably down in the land of forgotten toys playroom already.

Just kidding.

These pics are actually some pre-Christmas celebrating with our nieces. Here is our youngest niece, Cutie Pie, with DH. She was fascinated by DH's train around our tree.


Once The Manimal realized that someone else had captured Daddy's attention, he quickly tried to capture Daddy...

...and the spotlight.

SS#1 isn't really defying gravity here. For some reason, Blogger decided to rotate my picture.

Our older niece, The Amazing B., took some time to work on a craft. Just like her Auntie, that one! :)
Thanks to my wonderful Aunt J., a lovely Diva herself, we had some TO DIE FOR, chocolate ice cream over the holidays. If you like chocolate ice cream, you absolutely MUST get your hands on the Zanzibar Chocolate from The Chocolate Shoppe. It's not in any way healthy. In fact, their nutritional information disclaimer reads as follows:

"Don't even ask. This is the best ice cream made in Wisconsin, and it tastes so good because it has gobs of rich Wisconsin cream, tons of real ingredients for boat-loads of luscious flavors. This means it's not low-fat, low-calorie, or low-anything, and that's why everyone loves it. You want nutrition, eat carrots!"

The Manimal demonstrated our collective love of this ice cream.

I got to display one of my favorite Christmas decorations this year. My Grams (mom extraordinaire to Auntie J. and Diva Nana, as well as two fabulous Uncles) made this ceramic Christmas village.

Princess the Wonder Dog even got to celebrate with her gift from "The Bacon Lady" (aka Diva Nana).

Diva Nana has a loathing dislike is not especially fond of dogs. Princess, of course, sensed this right away and took a liking to her. One day when Diva Nana was cooking breakfast, she was feeling generous and gave PTWD a piece of bacon.

The "liking" became a full-blown obsession, and Diva Nana has joked ever since that PTWD must smell bacon every time she sees my mom.

While I love to take pictures, I don't often get the "wow" shot. This is SS#1 opening our family gift, a Wii (Papa & Diva Nana got us the Wii Fit Plus to go with it).


A very intense game of "Hungry, Hungry Hippos" between The Manimal and DH.


Did you know that while you are playing H3, you must yell "HUNGRY, HUNGRY HIPPOS" at the top of your lungs?

It's a rule.

Or so I've been told by a very bossy knowledgeable nearly four year old.

Preschool board games are great for venting one's frustration. Witness our resident police officer and his Whack-a-Mole game.


Be warned, though. Venting one's frustration can also be painful.

Or maybe it was just a massive case of overstimulation.

Mom Scouts

I was a girl scout when I was a kid. Somewhere in my basement, in a box in the corner, I have the merit patches I earned. I'd pretty much forgotten about those patches until I read Life With a Little One and More. Jenners entertained us all by showing off some of her accomplishments as a Girl Scout.

Like Jenners, I imagine that my zeal for activities I once earned merit badges for wore off long ago. Doing all of the activities was fun, but let's be honest.

It was all about having a full sash.

I even participated in 4-H one year. I did a fishing poster for the County Fair.

Yes.

A fishing poster which earned me a 3rd place ribbon.

I believe it was on identifying the differences between the large and small-mouthed bass.

My only knowledge of bass now is being able to distinguish a bass fish from a bass drum.

Sea bass is much tastier than a bass drum, and it fits better in a roasting pan.

Perhaps, as one of Jenners' commenters remarked, there should be a "Mom Scouts" organization, where we earn badges for our everyday tasks.

Like the "Road Safety" patch, earned upon mastery of driving while simultaneously picking up a toy from the floor of the back seat, maneuvering a sippy cup to a crying toddler and refereeing a "s/he's breathing on me!" fight in the third seat of the minivan/SUV.

Or how about the "Creative Cooking" patch, which requires the scout to make a meal on the last day before grocery shopping (out of the leftovers in the fridge, whatever semi-frostbitten items remain in the freezer, and one lonely can of wax beans from the pantry) that will appeal to every member of the family.

And then there's the "Healthy Living" patch. This patch rewards the scout for being able to maintain her "mom perkiness" after just a few hours of sleep, six loads of laundry, and her daily workout of traipsing up and down the stairs thirty-seven times a day for seven days straight.

To be followed, of course, by the "Red, White & Rose" Patch, whose only requirement is that after the rest of the family has retired for the evening, the scout must quietly sip a refreshing "adult" beverage.

Preferably in a container other than a sippy cup.

Dogs and Cats--Living Together!

I'm not one of those kind of people who can pull the "perfect" movie quote out of thin air. Don't get me wrong, I love movies. It's just that by the time I see them, they're usually on AMC or TBS or some other TV channel, so they're a bit dated.

Yeah, I have kids. I don't see many movies that aren't animated or have some sort of Nickelodeon or Disney connection.

Recently though, Sweet Son #1 has been introduced (by Diva Husband) to some old classic cinema. (I still haven't resigned myself to the fact that since 40 is only slightly more than a week away, it's highly likely that all my favorite movies and music from childhood are considered "classic".)

But I digress.

Thanks to the Diva Husband's lesson, SS#1 now knows "who he's gonna call", to paraphrase the song. Yes, he loves "Ghostbusters". And we watched it last weekend.

For the forty-seventh time.

Well, maybe not 47 times, but he's already seen it more than a few.

And while I was cleaning up the kitchen, I heard Bill Murray say one of my favorite movie lines ever. "...dogs and cats--living together!"

It loses a bit in transcription, and if you aren't familiar enough with the movie to be able to visualize the scene, I'm sorry for you, but Murray's delivery is hysterically funny.

Maybe it's enjoying movies from my childhood with my own child. Maybe it's my rapidly approaching fortieth birthday. Maybe it's the huge number of high school and college friends I've reconnected with since Facebook took over came into my life. I'm not sure what's causing it, but I'm feeling incredibly nostalgic lately.

And at the same time, incredibly lucky that my son is at an age that movies like "Ghostbusters" is still cool, even though Mom and Dad watched it a freakin' long time ago!

Remember

I was riding in a car from Chicago to Indianapolis for a work event when I heard what happened. Because our event would feature the talents of hundreds of high school-aged musicians, we were especially shaken.

What if the same thing had happened, not in Colorado, but in one of the schools that would perform throughout the weekend?

And then there were the kids. They were thinking the same thing. What if? What if the shooters were students at their own schools? What if their friends had died? What if....?

And yet, that Colorado high school moved on. The kids from the school rebounded, as kids do. They moved on, and graduated. Got jobs and went to college. Had relationships, got married, stayed single.

Lived their lives.

Today, take just a moment to pray. Remember the kids, those who lived and those who died. Remember the community. Remember the two shooters who, in a matter of minutes, changed the world forever.

But most of all, remember the life. Like the flower for which the community is named, the school came through the adversity of a long, cold winter.

And blossomed.

Good Day!

I can remember visiting my Wisconsin grandparents when I was a child. For lunch, we would usually have leftovers from dinner the night before, accompanied by homemade pickles and some of the famous Wisconsin cheese (California cows ain't got nothing on those fabulous Wisconsin dairy-makers!).

During lunch, my grandma would turn on the radio, which would run the local agricultural report, the weather, and Paul Harvey.

Paul Harvey died yesterday at the ripe old age of 90.

His trademark phrases of "Stand by for news!" and "Now you know the rest of the story" punctuate my memory of those lunches with my grandparents. I don't have too many memories of listening to the radio at home, except for when my dad would listen to ball games out in the garage in the summer, but Paul Harvey will be forever associated with lunches at my grandparents' home.

My Papa died in 1990 and my Grandma, still very much alive, lives in a senior apartment complex. Paul Harvey's voice in their kitchen has been silenced for many years, but will always be alive in the ears of America.

Good Day, indeed.

Three Years

A lot can happen in three years. Three years ago, the Diva Family was a happy little dog-less family of three. Well, two of us were happy. Mommy was very, very uncomfortable.

And very, very pregnant!

Yes, three years ago today, The Manimal made his entrance. I went to the hospital at 7:30 in the morning, after a sleepless night of contractions and lower back pain. He didn't seem to want to make his appearance, though, and kept moving up and down, fooling the Diva Doctors and making them wonder if the boy would EVER come out.

He eventually decided to make his very vocal appearance, and has been making himself known ever since. He keeps us all on our toes and just about the time we want to spank his bottom, he smiles and cuddles sweetly.

Today, little man, you are three. No matter what you say, you won't be four until next year. Today we celebrate with a birthday cake and presents. Again, only YOUR presents, not your cousin's. Her birthday was last week and you probably wouldn't be interested in a Sharpay doll from HSM3. We'll enjoy (well, you and SS#1 will enjoy) a birthday dinner at Mickey D's, where we'll even let you play BEFORE you eat your cheeseburger! And while you and your brother play, we'll watch and marvel that you have grown right before our eyes; how it seems like only yesterday you were wailing ALL.THE.TIME. And now, you just talk ALL.THE.TIME.

And we love you ALL.THE.TIME.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy!