I love Xanga.  Finding new sites and new writers with their own unique perspective on life is more fun than doing dishes (to my family's chagrin.)  I'll put up with a lot of stuff from the Xanga administrators just so long as I'm able to keep reading.

Lyssa asks in her blog from last night, "What's the worst lie you ever told?"  I started to answer in her comment section then realized this is going to be long one.  (Like that ever stopped me from taking up space in YOUR comment sections. <blushes>)

When I was a student at the University of Arkansas, I met Richard.  Most of the people on campus knew him or knew of him, but very few knew his name.  Everyone called him Skippy, and it was not a nice thing.  Richard was socially awkward, but had a brilliant mind.  He was the guy who set the curve in every class he took. 

I never knew why the name Skippy.  But, I saw it everywhere.  It showed up in graffiti in the elevator, you heard it whispered - or spoken - in the cafeteria, and certain infantile persons would taunt him across the commons with it.

I felt sorry for him.  He wasn't a bad person, he was just very awkward, and kind of sweet in a lost, bewildered way.  I made it a habit to speak to him when the opportunity arose, and I called him by his name.  I worked in the office of the dorm and spent quite a few evenings studying in between answering phone calls and putting out the daily mail.  My dorm was situated between the men's dorm and the cafeteria and most of the guys cut through our lobby so it was not uncommon to have dozens of people say "hi" to me and I would answer them on auto-pilot.

On this particular occassion, Richard was walking through and saw me.  I don't remember what I was doing in the seconds before he stuck his head in the window and said "Hi, Terri."  I will never forget the next 3 seconds of my life.  Through the lens of memory, I see myself raise my head, still focused mentally on something else, and say, "Hi, Skippy."

His head jerked from the slap.  He shook it back and forth slowly and backed away from the window.  I knew immediately what I had done, and couldn't think of any way to undo it.  I had lied.  All the time that I was "befriending" him, I was still thinking of him as Skippy, the pitiable. 

He taught me the most valuable lesson I've ever learned about honesty.  Sometimes the worst lies you tell aren't verbal, they are in things you imply by your behavior.

We aren't the kind of people who rush into things.  We've lived in this house for three years (almost).  We've never had a lamp in the living room, or an overhead light.  But, we finally got around to the lighting department at Home Depot and chose a ceiling fan with a light kit.  

 I shouldn't make it sound like this is the first time we've thought of it.  Or even the first time we've gone to the lighting department to look.  Or even that we've only looked at Home Depot.  Oh, no.  We've looked at lighting fixtures from at least four different stores and online.  We've just never been able to decide.

Oh, we've been able to reach decisions as individuals.  I've seen things I liked well enough to spend his money.  But we have a rule.  Unless we both agree, we don't do it.  Everybody has veto power and nobody gets saddled with something they don't feel committed to.

How much commitment does it take to choose a light fixture?  Well, we're pretty high commitment people.  Once we make a commitment to anything, its pretty much for life.  So we're may be slow in making up our minds, but once you're in, you might as well be in a relationship with superglue.  You're stuck with us. 

There will be no Salvation Army to save you from life in the Verrette household.  Oh, no, we still have a partial package of those outlet plugs that you get when you have toddlers, and our baby is 5.  Nothing gets tossed.  We just build a bigger shed - once we agree on where, what size, what color to paint it, and so forth.  We have two sheds.  The pressing need to house our stuff overrode our natural tendency to ponder the prospect until purgatory freezes.

We also have a wooden pallet with plywood nailed across it for the front porch.  How long do you think it will take us to make a decsion on a porch if it took us three years for the ceiling fan?

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The other point of view - as every married person knows, there is always another pov to every situation.  My hubby has his own site here on Xanga - in fact he's been on Xanga longer than me.  You might want to check out his site for a wonderful picture of Tucker.

We like our new bed stuff!

I'm not being bad, I'm just enjoying my bed!

You mean it's bad to kick my brother's head??

He started it!

I have officially failed in my aspirations to be the perfect mom.  I have evidence.  I started out this morning cautiously optimistic that we would have a good day.  Tim got a bonus at work and I promised the boys they could have the Atlantis DVD they've been begging for. 

I always suspected that this moment would come, and of course it isn't a true test of character if you get warning to prepare, so I was completely surprised.  I wanted to replace the boys' Winnie the Pooh sheets with something a little less babyish.  We talked about it on the way into the store, I was hoping to get some feedback from them on which patterns they liked.

Michael said, "Why don't we just look, Mom, and we'll tell you what we like best?"  No, problem.  There were lots and lots of things to choose from.  I speculated, would it be the space theme? Or would they go for another cartoon character.  They strolled slowly up and down the aisles carefully considering. . . and finally made their decision.  Laura Ashley would have been proud.  It was a lovely ensemble of roses with coordinating stripes.  The soft tones would even look good in their room with the yellow walls.

I choked.  I've been very proud of myself that I've raised them to be people first, and boys second.  If they like the pink tee shirt, that's the one they get.  But, the vision of these two BOYS with a Laura Ashley room was too much for me.  I did NOT freak.  I was in too much shock to freak.  I lied.  I told them that the Laura Ashley stuff didn't come in the right size to fit their beds.  Well, what would you have done?  I didn't want to undermine their developing sense of selfhood by smashing their little egos.

I looked at the choices and said "hey, guys, look, this gold set with the elephants and lions comes in the right size."  They looked at the elephants and back at the roses.  "Maybe we could ask the store man if he has another one of these in the back."  (They've been out with a power shopper mom too often to give up a the first sign of trouble.)

As it wound up, it wasn't until I distracted them by balancing Tucker on my head so that he could reach the perfect leopard accent pillow that they relinquished their commitment to the roses.  All the way home I argued with myself. 

If they wanted the roses, why couldn't I let them have the roses.  It doesn't mean they are effeminate - they just like flowers.  To them flowers are an excuse to dig in the mud, plant seeds, carry the water bucket, and marvel at the wonder of nature.  Already this year they've been pouring over seed catalogs and helping to plan the "children's" garden that we'll plant outside their window.  So of course, they wanted the floral print.   

Then I pictured them on the psychiatrist's couch, "I knew from an early age that my destiny was in flowers, but my Mom couldn't handle it.  She squelched me at every turn.  So instead of owning the successful florist shop of my dreams, I wear flowers on my underpants.  If I see a flower, I start feeling naughty.  I can't even give my wife flowers for Valentine's Day without this bizarre feeling that they are somehow inappropriate and I must atone for my sins."

I called my sister.  She has a balanced perspective on life and I knew that she'd be straight with me.  If I needed to return the lion print and buy the roses.  I was prepared to do it. 

"ROSES!  No way!  If my boys told me they wanted roses, I'd take 'em out of the store, beat 'em, and tell 'em to stop acting like sissy girls."

Tim is right.  Anything that gives the boys the idea that life is a bed of roses, is the wrong course of action for a parent to take.

Remember my blog from a couple weeks back, the one where I took the kids out shopping with me?  Don't worry if you've forgotten it, apparently *I* have forgotten it, because I'm going to do it again.  Today is payday.  That means errands to the bank, the postoffice, walmart, the Russell Stover's chocolate factory.  And if we survive the morning, I'm taking the kids to see a movie this afternoon.

I wish everyone a great day.  We who are about to drive - salute you.

Speak to Us of Love . . .

When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep,
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you,
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
As the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. 
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height
And caresses your tenderest branches that shiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots
And shake them in their clinging to the earth
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks,
He grinds you to whiteness,
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
That you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do to you
That you may know the secrets of your heart,
And in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But, if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness
And pass out of love's threshing floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh,
But not all of your laughter, and weep,
But not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love,
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart."
But rather, "I am in the heart fo God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love,
If it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires,
Let these be your desires;

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night,
To know the pain of too much tenderness,
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully,
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
And give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude'
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart
And a song of praise upon your lips.

                                             Kahlil Gibran - from "The Prophet"

The stone grows old,
Eternity is not made for stones.
But I shall go down from this airy space, this swift
    white peace, this stingy exultation;
And time will close about me, and my soul stir to
    the rhythm of the daily round.
Yet, having known, life will not press so close,
And always I shall feel time ravel thin about me.
For once I stood
In the white windy presence of eternity.

Eunice Tierjens

It's Reproducing Itself!!!!

I used seanmeister's code to get my site data box back - and it's reproducing itself!  Yesterday there was just one cell, today it's divided into two.  Is it an alien life form?  How many of these cells before it counts as an animal and not just a cellular anomaly? 

My kids are watching Toy Story 2 as I sit here and type.  I'm not saying I'm proud of myself for turning them over to have their minds shaped by the electronic babysitter, but I'm not so ashamed that I said "no".  I've been deliberately limiting their tv consumption lately.  To the point that they no longer expect to be able to watch what they want whenever it happens to be on.  Michael actually asked for the tv as his afternoon "treat."

So here I am with this movie in the background and I'm thinking.  I just heard the line, "What am I?"  

There are a lot of things that I'll never know in my life.  I will never know what it feels like to be any other creature on the face of earth than myself.  I can't even really be sure that I could know what it feels like to be you, much less to be a dog, or a bat.  I wonder about all those things I'll never know.  Conventional wisdom says that there isn't much value in comparing yourself to any one else.  My question: How much can I really know myself, if I can't compare the experience and life of ME to the experience and life of another?

Oh, and the answer to the question in the movie . . . "You can be the toy that comes with the meal."

I Heard It On NPR -

Have you ever wandered through a bookstore and checked out the titles?  I do this sometimes because I write, and I daydream about what my bestseller would be titled.  There is a certain set of words that seem to grace the cover of every bestseller on that magical shelf up front.  These words include sex, golf, cats, dogs, heaven, fire, program, diet, young, and rich. 

Listening to the news for the past several months, it's apparent that there are a couple of new words that will be shuffled into the mix to grace those lucky covers over the next six months.  One of those is jihad and the other is recession.  So I'm offering free of charge this list of future bestseller titles to all my Xanga friends.  Feel free to help yourself:

The Sex of Dogs in Recession
Cool Cats of the Diet Jihad
Heaven in the Fire of Recession
Young Golfers of the Jihad
The Rich Young Diet Program of the Recession
Cats and Dogs under Fire in the Jihad
Under Fire, Sex Programs of the Recession
Rich Dad, Poor Jihad
The New Sacred Contract of the Recession
A Beautiful Jihad
The Stray Recession
A Jihad to Remember
In a Recession, Only Self Matters
Golfing Cats and Dogs of the Jihad 1853-1867, by Stephen Ambrose

And the Guaranteed Number One Beach read of the coming summer   <drumroll>

Heaven is the Sacred Joy of the Golfing Recessionary Jihad Fire Diet Dog of the Young Sex Cat

(Any resemblance between this list and one that some of you may think you heard on NPR last night is strictly your imagination - and besides, he plagiarized me.)