Snow Week Craft Recap

Tuesday: Fannie the Squirrel feeders out of cardboard tubes, peanut butter, and bird seed.

Wednesday: Snowball fight and work for Mommy

Thursday: Cardboard tube kaleidoscope (Have the child decorate the tube. Then have the child use a cheese grater to grate a bit of crayon onto some parchment paper or wax paper. Fold paper over, and iron on very low, allowing the wax to melt inside the paper just slightly. It will cool very quickly. Then, put the colored part over one end of the tube and secure with a rubber band. Produce bands work well. Ta-da!)

Friday: Footprint snowman t-shirt

I'm running out of ideas and we might get more snow next week! Luckily, I have to work all weekend, so Daddy will be in charge of child-entertainment!

Snow Day Redux

Well, I guess somebody at the top got the message that last week's snow day didn't turn out too well. We got a do-over, and boy oh boy have we been snowed and iced in! We're going on day four of cooped up, but yesterday even the men-folk were home, so in the name of getting the kids out to play, a snow-ball fight ensued amongst children and adults alike. Yesterday was a great day, the kind of day that makes you really love the place you live.

The men-folk returned to work today, though the women and children were still mostly iced in. Today was fairly calm and peaceful. I fell on the ice and hurt my arm, but I don't think it's broken, though it hurts like the devil. Luckily, Mr. TFM and I both suffer bouts of carpel-tunnel syndrome (WoW), so I had a wrist brace handy. While I could have done without the injury, I have to admit that I love shoveling snow. When you've been cooped up for a couple days, shoveling snow really takes the anxious right out of a person. I shoveled all the snow I could reasonably shovel, up until I realized my wrist was really too hurt to go on. I will sleep the pure sleep of the clean-conscienced, worn-out.

Onto the photos!

That tree is seriously encased in ice. The tree damage to this neighborhood's old trees would make the Lorax mad at Mother Nature. I did NOT edit out the background on the above photo; it's really that white out.

That tree is entirely encased in ice. We've gone way above and beyond raising a tree-hugger. We're raising a tree-licker. The adult behind the tree is throwing snowballs. I'm telling you, it's a great neighborhood. It was a great day.

Unphenomenal Woman, That's Me

Somebody recently called me a Feminist. I've been called many things; crazy, bitch, obsessive-compulsive. Hell, there has even been the occasional "C" word thrown in a few times for good measure. But I don't think I've ever been called a Feminist.

I am the sort of person who does not make a habit of aligning myself with particular groups of people. I am not a Christian by name, nor a Pagan. I spent a few years dutifully running around with The Mommies, but I abandoned that social order as soon as I possibly could. I am not an entrepreneur, as I do not currently own my own business. I am not a house-wife, as I do have a paying career (it just happens to be from my own house). I am not a philanthropist, though I do as much charitable work as I can manage. I don't like labels.

What I am is Myself. My status as Mother and Wife does not immediately classify me with any of the social assumptions about those positions. I am a writer. I am driven to write in much the same way I am driven to breath. My life is spent writing-- everything I do, every small task I accomplish, is done with a running monologue in my mind. But I am not full of angst, suffering for my craft. I am a crafter. I love creating lovely little things then giving them away to spread love and joy to others. Everybody should have at least a few handmade items in their home.

I am all of these things, and many more. But I am also none of these things. Any moment I might decide to pack away the sewing machine, or change my name and disappear into the wild blue yonder. I do these things not because they are who I am, but because I enjoy them. I am wary of being labeled "Feminist" because I just think that I truly am NOT a Feminist. "The Stepford Wives" is one of my favorite movies. When I'm ironing my family's clothes, I often sigh and think how wonderful it would be to be a brainwashed robot and not care that I have to do housework. To me, that sounds like freedom.

Some have said that my forging ahead and creating a career of my writing makes me a Feminist. That following my dream is what Feminism is all about. But I worry about the dichotomy there. Writing isn't a choice for me-- it is something that I am constantly, unrelentlessly driven to. By the same token, so is Motherhood. I am driven to have children. To raise them, teach them, play with them. Even to sew monsters for them. I cannot do both if I label myself. I cannot be Feminist and Stay-at-home parent. Every stitch I sew for my son is one stitch away from Feminism, and every word I am paid for is another word away from Mommy.

Call me what you want. But I know that I do not fit into any category. I am simply me, getting through my days.

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This post is being cross-posted at the Oxdown Gazette. I have been invited to become a regular poster there, and will do my best not to cross-post much, so keep an eye out here and at Oxdown for more TFM!

Modern Times Call For Desperate Measures

I love Barbie. I love to dress them up and make them CEO's of everything. When I was little, I had a Barbie who wore a career suit. She owned her own company and GI Joe was her right-hand man. Because his underwear was molded on, Ken stayed home and cooked and cleaned and whined a lot.

Now that I'm an adult, I love to buy Barbies for the little girls in my life. Now that I can read labels, I feel certain that my CEO*Ruler of Everything Barbie was probably actually something along the lines of "I Can File Alphabetically and Service My Boss Under His Desk" Barbie. I resent that there is "Animal Doctor" Barbie. Call her a Veterinarian. I resent "Preschool Teacher" Barbie. Why not "Highly Acclaimed and Professionally Sought After PhD Professor" Barbie?

So, when I give the girls in my life Barbies for their birthdays, I make a point of repackaging them. Instead of "Some Stupid Girls Never Amount To Much" Barbie, I cover the boxes with paper and write something like "Follow Your Dreams, Realize Your Own Potential" Barbie. Or "The Sky Isn't The Limit, Even The Sky Is Too Low For You" Barbie. Or my favorite, "Burning With Her Own Potential" Barbie, who even has a note asking "What dream will she fulfill today?"

The first little girl to receive such a Barbie from me was my friend Rebekah's first daughter. Several months later, Rebekah repaid me in kind by giving Ezra a Military Ken. Ezra never really cared much about Ken (smart kid), but a few weeks ago some of the adults decided to try on the non-regulation clothes that Ken had come with. Apparently, Ken doesn't understand what "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" really signifies. His shirt is too short and his pants ride too low.

I give you "Don't Ask; I'll Tell" Ken:

Praise The Lord and Pass the Ammunition

On MLK Day, we were also gifted with a snow day:

Ezra made snow angels all the way around the block:

I hope lots of people encountered them and smiled:

I sure did.

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For those who have heard tidbits and are confused, yes the day was partially ruined by a Golden Retriever, now called "Cujo" who barreled out of an open garage and attacked Ezra. Ezra is fine-- thank God for over sized puffy winter coats. The dog had no interest in me, even though I made myself as threatening as possible by kicking it and yelling for help. I guess this dog doesn't have children, or it would have known not to mess with a Mommy. The owner is obviously an idiot, and did not seem to comprehend just how bad the situation was or could have been. He obviously also does not have children, or he would have also known not to mess with a Mommy.

I guess he will find out soon, as Animal Control is labeling this an "Aggressive Dog Investigation" and just as soon as the idiot returns from wherever he's been for the past couple days, he will find a large man with a gun knocking on his door. The large men with guns have already knocked on my door twice because of this, and even though I'm the one who called them and my son is the victim, even I am intimidated by them. Did I mention they have guns? Also, they have rabies poles. They have informed me that they also have the ability to hit the idiot with a pretty severe fine, and the number that was quoted to me made me break out into a cold sweat.

Yes, I witnessed the guy let the dog out of a frontal door unleashed AND unattended. Yes, I want the dog gone, and (God help my immortal soul), I have to admit that I want to get one good last kick in before it goes. I am scared, and very very angry. However, I also do not want some freaking fight with one of my neighbors. Therein lies the problem. Ezra is not the only person that this dog has terrified. Many of the neighbors feel that this is the last straw as they are tired of being terrorized by a ninety-pound dog and an owner who insists that "Jake just thinks he's a Cocker Spaniel".

So, if you happen to see an angry mob carrying torches and yelling "Get the Monster!", please just stay inside. And now that you've read this and been brought up to date, please scroll back up and ponder the beauty of a little boy making snow angels in 1/2 inch of snow. It's important to focus on the beauty in life, and do our best to let go of the ugly. Snow angels.