Dear Lord

I have a few requests regarding my son.

• May he have a happy life.
• May he find a fulfilling, honest vocation.
• May he know what it feels like to fall in love.
• May he learn from his mistakes.
• May he experience relief from his teething.
• May he please sleep past 5 AM tomorrow.

Amen

Wake Me When It's. . .

actually, forget it.  Let me sleep in.

Some Things Are Just Too Important

Anyone who knew me when the United States on the verge of our entry into Iraq would be able to tell you that I vehemently opposed that action.  Let's just say, I didn't mince words.


I've been stewing a lot on the topic of Syria and all comparisons to Iraq.  I tend to be pretty anti-war, and I have known people who served in Iraq.  I am not inconsiderate of the problems of military conflict.  I would like to point out some key differences between Iraq and Syria.

1. Iraq was pre-emptive.  I had major issues with that.  Syria is not.
2. France wants to intervene.  FRANCE!  What is this?  Opposite day?
3. Russia is sending lobbyists to the United States to urge legislators to vote against action in Syria.  For those who are less into following the news than I am, Russia has taken on more of a human rights are optional approach in recent years.  If I was a legislator, I wouldn't want to risk being caught within 20 yards of these lobbyists.
4. On a personal note, I am now a mother, and I wasn't before Iraq.  When I see what seron did to innocent children, all I can think is, "How can anyone with the power to stop this refuse to stop it?"  All notions of moral superiority go out the window when children are killed and the rest of the world takes a hands-off approach.  The video in the news coverage of the suffering breaks my heart.  Why are some children more worth protecting than others?

I hate war, and I hate violence.  But I hate that some want to idly sit back and watch.

"We" Has a Problem

I generally think of my having a Bachelor's in English as an asset in my working life despite the frequently perceived lack of job opportunities for the degree. It is the rare occasion that it proves an absolute problem.

While I love many aspects of grammar, I am the first to acknowledge that there are some things that I don't love. Like naming verb tenses. I like to say that my degree is my poetic license. I can break the rules for art's sake. He he.

Then there is the word "we," which as a garden variety pronoun is perfectly fine. With years of team sports in my youth, I can even appreciate "we."

The problem with "we" was barely noticeable in the beginning. I would be at work and I would hear someone say, "We need to do this . . . . We should do that . . . ." There's also the similar "Let's do this." The problem? I took them literally. I knew that this was something that "we" would did and expected the speaker to follow up with what I was supposed to do. They would come back expressing surprise when it wasn't done.

They didn't mean "we." They meant "you."

You need to do this.

You should do this.

To borrow a turn of phrase, we have a problem.

I feel an obligation to drive my new greatest grammatical pet peeve out of existence.

"Hey, Karen. We need do this."

"Okay, what part of it do you want to do, and what part of it do you want me to do?"

Or if I am feeling rather annoyed,

"So are we going to do it, or do you mean you want me to do it?"

Nothing quite like being direct. Others might deem it negative. Po-TAY-to. Po-TAH-to. Let's call the whole thing off.

I am rather found of the path of least resistance, or as I like to call it, passive-aggressive. If I am truly annoyed by someone's request for what is their idea and their responsibility and they pull the "we" trick, I harken back to my more naive days. I do nothing until they actually tell me what they want me to do.

Childish? Definitely. But I believe that some of the best learning comes from mistakes. Make a lame suggestion about how "we" should do it. Take no ownership for coordinating a group effort that a "we" indicates. Complain that it didn't get done. Learn that our=my and conclude that it isn't "our" fault.

Time for the Annual Post

Okay. It's been awhile since I've written, but in my defense, it's been a hectic 18 months. Cancer (my dad, now in remission.) Wonky schedule (the joys of working.) The addition of a second child (it's a boy!)

Okay, so the writing hasn't happened, but I have found time to read a few books for fun in the last year. Maybe there's hope for me.

Oh Yeah, I Have a Blog...

a kid, a full-time job, a husband, and little discipline for writing. The odd thing is, this year, I've felt more like writing. Maybe it's because I get to sleep again. I keep thinking if I install Naturally Speaking on my comp, I'll do better. But I doubt it. Maybe I should just post frequently enough to get all the old posts to disappear.

Timing Is Everything

Little did I know that when I bought my new car, the subject of my last post, I was expecting. Yeah, that kind of expecting. And as I write this, I am holding my 3 month-old daughter.

It's Been a Long Strange Trip

I have a love/hate/love relationship with my vehicle. It's a Chevy Blazer with over 300,000 miles on it. It really amazes me that it doesn't have more problems. More often than not, I'm using it to come to the aid of someone else with car problems.

When one honeymoon began, the other ended. Returning from our honeymoon, my starter, which had been throwing fits, gave up the ghost. I had to tow it the half block to the local garage to get it fixed. So talks of a replacement began. Since it has multiple issues, the concern became trade it in while you still can. So I'm taking it back to my hometown to make the change to a car payment (yikes!) The tentative plan was next week as it fits with work.

Then the latest scary car sound from hell started. Theories range from A to B, alternator or a bearing (sp?) So it goes to the local garage tomorrow, thankfully under its own power. Then the question becomes how much am I willing to spend to make sure that I can driving it the 4 hours home to trade it in, or do I put it on a trailer and haul it to my parents place, unload, and drive it to the dealer.

I'm a fan of it be a cheap repair, so I can take it on one last trip.

I Did It

I said, "I do."

I'm officially an old married lady. I informed my husband on the honeymoon that since I no longer had to worry about fitting into the wedding dress, I was going to let myself go.

It's not like I had the chance. Honeymooning in DC involves lots of walking. Lots. The kind of walking that leads one to struggle to move once you do sit down.

All in all, I am really elated.

As I told the pastor a few days before the wedding, "I was grinning like an idiot this morning while cleaning the toilet, and I hate cleaning the toilet. That's love."

Most of my co-workers are married and/or divorced and were pretty convinced that I would get nervous the day of. I didn't. Oh, there are some great photos of me walking down the aisle with my chin all wrinkled up as I tried not to cry (managed not to shed a tear.)

My reality was that the closer that it got to the wedding, the more excited I became. There were so many friends and family that I hadn't seen in years, and it just seemed like everyone who came really helped make it wonderful.

I still can't help grinning like an idiot when I think about it. I married this amazing guy. My husband. My husband. For so long, he was my b/f, then the fiance. I've gotten used to the new signature, but it amazes me to think that he's my husband.

I know that I'm still in the honeymoon glow, and that newness of the marriage will fade. But I can't help feeling excited about our lives together. I just want bottle it or capture the feeling for a moment so that when the inevitable rough times come, I can remember how excited, blessed, and lucky I feel right now.

Middle Aged

It's been coming on so slowly that I've barely noticed. Oh sure, there are moments at work, but for the most part, my job gives me energy. But everyone has there breaking point.

Mine happened with a phone call. Oddly enough, I was the one placing the call. There was a click on the line after dialing. Then music. Okay, I guess I'm on hold. Wait, I guess I'm not. I made another call a few hours later. "Please enjoy the following song while your call is connected." Or something like it. I was forced to listen to music that I would probably never choose to listen to. Yeah, I'm getting too old for some of this cell phone media wizardry.