Why I Am Boycotting the Emmys

The Emmys will be on Sunday night and I will be watching something else. Definitely. This year I am boycotting. Grrr. They bypassed Maura Tierney....again. By all rights, Tierney and Goran Visnjic should have been nominated for the 13th season's premiere, 'Bloodline', alone. That fact that they weren't was an outright crime. Toss the riveting 'Murmurs of the Heart' and the sweetly done 'I Don't' later that season and the crimes multiply. Bloodline? THAT episode was a wonder to behold. The editing, writing, direction, sound, the acting enemble....everything came together....but especially the characters of Abby and Luka. Watching the two actors play off one another...well...see for yourself. These clips were provided by friends. The music is choppy because I edited out the bloodiest bits. SHE was in a bed for the entire episode and flat on her back for a good chunk of time. HE was working from behind a surgical mask. The fact that Goran Visnjic was able to convey his character's horror and anxiety and frustration while half his face is covered is important. The little tricks they use, hand holding, sighing, eyes rolling....and watch his slight rolling on the balls of his feet when he needs to convey indecision. The look in his eyes transversing from intense studying to sick worry in an instant. And the subtle touches between the two of them that convey the intimacy between two people very much in love. Wow.


The past 14th season totally belonged to Maura. She dragged her character - and her audience - kicking and screaming - into the lowest possible place Abby Lockhart could have gone.....and brought her out again slowly but surely. 'Blackout' - the episode in which Abby reaches the depths of despair made me physically ill even thinking about it. For days. I lost my writing muse. For weeks. Watching the character - finally - ask for the help she needs weeks later...was heart wrenching. Watching this actress ply her craft was a wonder to behold. You see, when you are hearing impaired you rely on so many other things to get the gist of a scene rather than just spoken dialog. And she delivers....every time. Needless to say, these two can convey more with a hug than others can with pages of dialog.


The 15th and final season of ER is upon us. Maura Tierney has already filmed the last of her regular appearances on the show. She is off and onto new things. The Academy of Television Arts and Sciences has lost it's chance to recognize her work on 'ER.' And this one viewer isn't watching. I think I 'll pull out a movie....or give myself a pedicure....or sort the straight pins in my sewing box....or pack. Because on Tuesday morning, I am off to New York City for a couple of days. I have been planning this for months. I have tickets to see a new Off Broadway play titled 'Three Changes'.....which stars Maura Tierney. Heh.

The Concert

Because of a scheduled soccer tournament, we were unable to attend the rescheduled concert at Pine Knob with Steven Curtis Chapman and Michael W. Smith. I cashed in the tickets and sent the money to Shaohannah's Hope - the foundation for adoption established and run by the Chapman family. Steven and Caleb Chapman appeared on The Early Show last week. Beautifully done segment that included the new version of his hit, 'Cinderella.' Kind of ironic because this song was the only one that Nina really, really wanted to hear him sing. Here is a link to a video.....
The Early Show with SCC and crew.

Time Marches On.....part deux

There is this big plastic crate under my computer desk. It gets in the way of my feet as a rule but sometimes lends itself to becoming a foot rest. It's contents are both aggravating and precious. It's full of school papers....from my children. Kindergarten writings...fourth grade reports....second grade Math papers...report cards....awards....you name it. Things that collect dust and take up space but that you know you just can't pitch. I am not really the sentimental type and tend to be pretty stingy about what I keep. But it just keeps piling up. I was just rifling through it but didn't find what I was looking for. I know it's there and I wanted to scan it to post here. It's a 'report' that the Prince wrote in second grade.

His second grade teacher was absolutely brilliant. If they finished their classwork they were 'allowed' to go through her book collection to write reports. They could read them aloud to the class. For extra credit. My son took to that notion like a bee to honey. We went through nature magazines for pictures he HAD to have to illustrate a piece of work. He became obsessed with bobsledding during the winter Olympics that year and wrote a report. He wrote about tigers and rain forest animals. He wrote about people. And on September 12, 2001 he wrote about the World Trade Center.

I had learned about the 9-11 tragedy while in school the morning it happened. I had actually accidently flipped on the radio button of my CD player before morning circle and heard desperation in the reporters voice. Parents who were helping for the morning took their children and left school. Televisions and radios were on in obscure places all over the building. Teachers gathered in the speech room...the office...the Teachers' lounge....to watch it as it unfolded. We said nothing to our students during the day. When I came home, I was glued to the television set. My children were outside playing. I tried to talk to them about it - to make sure they weren't afraid - but neither seemed too interested. They were 6 and 7 and a half. More interested in playing street hockey. And riding bikes. I didn't push it. I knew the issue would come up at some point in some way. I just didn't expect it to happen at 6:30 am the very next day.

Sleep didn't come well the night before and I was up early. I was looking through the newspaper. There were pictures and reports coming from New York. My little Prince came stumbling out of his room and climbed onto the chair next to me, mildly interested in what I was reading. We went through the newspaper pages and I explained what had happened. As I got up to fix him a bowl of breakfast cereal, he was looking through the pictures again and the found a pair of scissors. And went in search of paper and glue sticks. Froot Loops forgotten, he began writing a 'report' with a vengeance. Obsessed. He was suddenly a man on a mission. How to make sense of this horrifying piece of his world?

It was only 4 pages long. Four 9 by 11 sheets of computer paper stapled together with a construction paper cover. One page had two pictures of the twin towers in flames and a sentence explaining that planes crashed into the buildings. There was just one photo on the second page of the fallen buildings. Another page was covered with pictures of people fleeing the streets and a sentence explaining that people were running away. The last page was my idea. We found pictures of people helping and praying. I remember that he wrote - 'The helpers are here' - as a caption. Simple. Concise.

He took the report to school to share. I was serving as a helper in an Art class that afternoon when his teacher came to find me. She hadn't looked at the report when he'd brought it in. Not until her lunch break. She had been stewing all day and wondering how to address the 9-11 event with her second grade class. Then she came across his report on her desk. An answer to a very literal prayer. Perfect. Simple. Concise. To the point. And in a child's eye view.

Sometimes we forget. And we mustn't.

Instead, we get caught up in the mundane of every day life..... gas prices..... unemployment.... foreclosures.....elections.......

I think I wanna write a report.

Time Marches On......

The First day of schol...er...um WEEK of school has passed. For years....well, minus two when I had to be at work and DH didn't remember the camera....we have taken pictures on the front steps as we have gone out the door for the very first day. Princess is going to hate this year's one day. Since Prince was off to his first day in high school and had to be at school 90 minutes before her, she chose to sleep in till we left. Hence the bed head and pajama tops. Hence the dark sky in the background. It was freaking EARLY! So now we have a new morning routine. I am up at 4:30am when HRH leaves for work. I answer email, write, do lesson plans, fold laundry etc. until waking the Prince at 5:30. He showers. I shower and dress, make lunches, load the dishwasher, start more laundry, etc. He dresses, gathers his school things and we are out the door at 6:45am.....after I have woken her up. While I am gone, she showers, dresses and packs her back pack. I return, after dropping him off at the high school, have breakfast with her and we leave for school. I drop her off at 8:10 am and then drive next door to my school - 45 minutes early.

I am actually liking this morning routine. It gives me some much needed one on one time with each of them and extra morning time in my classroom. When the weather changes we may have to adjust things a bit. Princess will likely have to give up her beauty sleep but she's okay with that. We found a bagel shop between the high school and middle school drive. They are doing well. HE is handling high school like a trooper. His favorite classes are Algebra II and Economics. Math??? Coulda hit me with a ton of bricks. I NEVER saw that one coming. SHE is liking being the only one at the middle school and hates Social Studies and Math. I am just melancholy for the good old days sometimes. The days we all went to the same place at the same time. This one is from first and third grade. Back when they would let ME pick out their clothes.....sigh.

A Question About Love

It was a question asked out of the clear blue about eight years ago. The Prince had gone to school with me and was running around on the playground with my Kindergarten students. A mom had stopped by to take her child home early and was standing with me enjoying the sunshine, the sight of healthy, happy little kids racing all around, swinging and climbing on play structures. She noticed my Korean born child and started to ask me something. Something that was stuck in her throat and then came out in a rush. She said she loved her child more than she could possibly have imagined. She had from the very first...as he grew inside her. She stumbled over the next part and finally asked me how I could possibly love MY children in that same way?

Wow. That was an interesting moment. It has stayed with me all of these years. Pops up at odd times. Wierd times. I can still see her face...and the face of her child so much like hers. I have thought often about this incomprehensible, defining kind of love that she was talking about. Did I? Do I? I have never felt the stirrings and movements of a little body inside mine. I have not shared that sort of thing with my husband. I have not gone through physical labor pains. I have not given birth. I don't know if those things could possibly make my feelings any different than they already are.

My husband has daughters from another marriage that he loves desperately. I don't know that he feels anything less intense for the son and daughter that arrived by plane. He has definitely has had more 'quanity time' with these two. Back in the days of weekend visitations we used to commisserate by telling each other we were giving his girls 'quality time' at our house. I have since learned that 'quality/quanity' doesn't really matter. It's 'time' that does. Any kind of time. But that's getting off subject.

My son was four months old when he was first placed in our arms. My daughter was five years old when we first hugged her. We did a paper chase and a homestudy process and bared our souls to strangers and to one another trying to decide if we were right to be parents...and if we were ready to be parents. We waited with hearts in throats for those phone calls and papers that validated our decisions and searches. We put together a crib ...and later a bed. Selected clothing we wanted to see them wear. Chose curtains and first books and first toys. Is that kind of what you go through with a pregnancy?

I would imagine that those first photographs that we saw were very much like the first ultrasound images that other people see. I knew instantly that these were my children. I didn't cry...which I think surprised our caseworker. But I remember a definite tightening in my throat. A swelling in my heart. I couldn't wait for them to be here. To be in my arms. To feel the softness of their hair. To kiss their cheeks. To smell their smells. Is that what you go through too? The waiting?

Our labor took place in a court room. The 'birth' was completed with the dash of a pen. But those days were the happiest days of our lives. Overwhelming happy days. They were safe. They were finally here and they were ours. Is that what you go through too?

We celebrated and stressed over first steps...first teeth....first missing teeth...first days of school...homework woes....and little friendships and fights. We planned overwhelming birthday parties and laid back sleepovers, attended parent conferences and programs. We've sat in emergency rooms waiting and worrying. Looking ahead we see boy friends and girl friends, first dates, proms and....shudder.....driver's licenses on the very near horizon. Is that so very different than you?

I worried about missing the babyhood firsts with my daughter....but I didn't. We shared a different kind of firsts. The firsts of an older child. The look on a five year old's face when she bit into her first piece of watermelon....sat on her very first bicycle....went swimming for the first time. It was all there. On a different level. Much like your experiences?

It's hard for someone who has not gone through an adoption process to understand how we could - so completely and utterly - love someone elses' child. But they miss the point totally. This is our child. Our son. Our daughter. No more. No less. Completely. Incomprehensible. Defining. Like yours.

"The Case of the Missing Brown Betty"

I have been gifted with children who do not like to eat breakfast. They never have. But I guess I can identify because I am not a breafast food eater either most of the time. They would rather wait until lunch to eat. However, when they don't eat, they - the Prince especially - become evil, growling, snapping turtle beings from another world in another galaxy. Always. So the beginning of the school year presents a challenge in planning to get something into their tummies before the bell rings. The Princess will eat cold cereal....but she likes it dry...in a baggie. Eeew. On rare occasions - when I don't have the time really - I can talk them into poached egg on toast or a scrambled egg sandwich. Oatmeal with a scoop of ice cream (it's just frozen milk and sugar...right?) usually lasts well into October. We had a run on cheese quesadillas once....for about a week. My own personal junior high favorite, bologna and mustard on toast, is always a standby and not necessarily that healthy. So I try to get creative. Every summer.

Today I wandered over to one of my favorite blogs - The Pioneer Woman - where there is an outstanding collection of picture perfect (and not so perfect) recipes. Looking for something fruity and different to use for breakfast this fall, I happened upon this recipe for Apple Brown Betty. I love the Pioneer Woman. She makes me want to cook butter for my family....and if you have ever tagged through her recipes you know that 'butter' is not a typo for 'better'. Heh.

Anyway, I made some changes to the recipe based on what I have in my kitchen. I cut the brown sugar in half...well way more than half. I dutifully cut seven slices of fat free, whole wheat bread into tiny cubes. I peeled and thin sliced 4 Granny Smith apples. I added a handful of soaked dates - just because I had some leftover in the cupboard from HRH's chocolate chip date birthday cake. I watered the layered fruit, sugar and bread layers with 4 tablespoons of water and covered it all with slices from a stick of my favorite 'not really butter'. Wrapped it all in foil and baked that baby. It was out in time for the kiddos to try for.....lunch. Taste tested it with a warm healthy sized serving and it was deeelicious. The Prince wouldn't touch it. The cooked apples were too brown for him. And he is also suspicious of anything with apples and cinnamon because I have a tendency to toss some hideous raisins in with it too.....or dates. Princess liked it. She likes anything with fruit and can over look the hideous raisins...and dates. She ate a healthy serving. Had another healthy serving myself. Yum. Saved the rest for HRH's dinner treat.

And then while I was working on a cold tuna salad thing to stick in the fridge for dinner because we have soccer practice and a soccer game in two different directions tonight, I had another spoonful...right from the pan. The not-butter and brown sugar carmelized with the bread cubes quite nicely. So I had another spoonful to celebrate my good cooking skills. Stepped away for a while to check my e-mail and wandered back to stir the cooking macaroni...and took another bite. One wasn't enough, so I took a second. Or was it a third? Anyway, HRH's serving kept getting smaller and smaller. Sigh.

So now the pan sits in the sink filled with hot water and soap, soaking all that stuck on carmelized sugar away. And HRH is wondering why there are so many spoons in the sink. Heh. Next time I will save my spoon.

Thank you Alexander G. Bell!

I love my cell phone. Truthfully I was the very last kid on the block to get one. I fought it tooth and nail. Why did we really need it? Cell phone waves can give you cancer, right? WHY did we really want ANOTHER bill??? HRH got a cell phone for 'work.' Had it for almost a year before the soccer practice mixup incident.

It was one of those nights when he was working late and the kids had to be in two different directions for practice. Prince ended up having to go to a different location. I passed him off to another parent to drive, took off with the Princess to her practice and suddenly realized that HRH would be going to the first location to get the Prince. Envisioning the poor Prince standing all alone at the second field waiting for SOMEone to get him after practice was probably the very first time that I could justify having a cell phone. So I broke. I agreed to get a cell phone. THAT was three years ago.

This is the phone that I got. I insisted on red. No one knew why. And I kept it a cryptic secret for well over a year. Princess was the most adament about finding out why. She loved playing '20 Questions' about my phone's redness. I kept telling her that she had SEEN the reason why but she could never figure it out. Heh.

I love my phone. I can actually HEAR on it. It was just the right size and shape and weight. The hinge has loosened enough to flip open at the flick of a wrist. I can text easily with a single thumb...and I text....alot. HRH got a deal from Sprint one day recently. Ordered two new FREE phones. One for me and one for the Princess. Just like his. Heh. BOTH were sent back post haste. Princess is NOT getting a phone of her own till she is fourteen. Only 357 more days. As for me, WHY would I would want a phone like his? I LOVE my phone. I picked it out myself. I was not ready to give it up. Sprint keeps calling. He keeps telling them I will look when I am ready. Heh.

So, it's been three years. He keeps hinting. The kiddos and I went looking yesterday. Went to three different places actually. Nothing felt right. Too square. Corners were too sharp. Not...thick...enough. Can't hear on them. Sigh. Till I found this one with a camera....and a memory disk so pictures can be printed on the computer. I can hear on it. It has a keyboard for texting but I will have to learn to use two thumbs. I guess I am coming up in the world. At least we are still in touch with one another. And Princess is STILL not getting one till she is fourteen. Only 357 more days......

Oh...and I insisted red because of this scene from a season 12 episode of ER. Abby has a red phone. Yep. Once an ER addict, always an ER addict. Heh.