Ready

I'm ready for warm weather. It doesn't need to be hot; just warmer than it is now. My hands and feet get cold sometime in late October and stay that way until they thaw sometime in late March or early April or whenever the fickle Indiana weather decides I've suffered long enough.

I'm ready for days outside. They wouldn't have to be perfect days; just good enough. I love to watch it snow and have been known to instigate snowball fights and have engineered the building of more snowmen than I can count but sometimes a girl needs to get out and walk on newly warm grass.

I'm ready for a little sun. It doesn't need to be constant; just more than a peek every week or so. I have been wearing several layers even when I'm inside and have worn my thick socks thin and I am pretty sure I cannot remember what I look like with a little--but not too much--skin showing.

I'm ready. I don't want it all; just enough. Skin to feel a little sun and bare toes on warm grass and fingers that don't look purple-blue and just enough warm for it not to be cold.

I should know better...

Two years ago on this date, I was 11 days into my very first SOLSC. Now into my 3rd challenge, I caught myself wondering what I had sliced about on the 11th day the first time around. That poem, Sounds of Tournament Time, really was a little peek into my early March life--I was watching a basketball game and wanted to capture the feeling of the game through the sounds of it. It's not the only March slice I've written that involves the tournament. There was one last year too.

I started wondering what my other slices are revealing about my life. As a potential spy/undercover FBI agent (see this one--but don't tell anyone!), I have to think about things like this. Are my slices too revealing? After all, there are fall slices about the first day of school and college football game day. There is at least one about how much I love to watch it snow. There are summer slices that capture the summer talk of Oldest, Middle, and Youngest and describe the pleasures of night swims.

I know I'm not alone in rereading certain books or series at different times of year or in different stages of life...but really. Leaving a written record of my life patterns? What am I thinking? After all, even my mother, called to check on me after finding out via slice from the sofa that I was sick. I didn't even know she knew what a blog was.

As someone who aspires to join the covert ranks of those who make intrigue and secrets their way of life, I definitely should know better.

Window Watching

Window watching
Waiting
Wondering if the darkening sky
Will or
Won't bring rain before dark
Where the treetops reach above houses
Wind blows them gently
When the clouds get dark and
Woeful
We know it can't be far off
Waiting
Window watching

My stint as the night owl

I am not a night owl; in fact, my definition of night owl is mocked by true night owls. I prefer mornings and like the quiet start of the day. Husband is the opposite. He likes to stay up late and sleeps late any chance he gets. When I get up in the morning, I slip out quietly so he can keep sleeping, and when he comes to bed at night, he turns off everything left on when I fell asleep--usually minutes after my head hits the pillow.

Husband has been out of town for three nights now, and doesn't return until tomorrow evening. I miss him for a lot of reasons. One is that the bed feels too big, and without him there, it's also too cold. I miss talking with him and figuring out who is going to do what to get chores done and kids where they need to be. I miss catching up on shows he DVRs so we can watch together in the early evening--a time of day we are both awake.

But the other thing I miss is that Husband is the one who stays up until everyone is home for the night. I usually am awake (or mostly so) until everyone is home, but I almost always get to go on up to bed and wait there, where I doze off and on. Then, while he sleeps as long as he likes the next morning, I get up and oversee the waking of the house--and early runs to things like before school practices.

So far each night Husband's been gone, the Three have had school events or friends over or some sort of social something that keeps them up late or out late. I've been staying up until Oldest and Middle are in for the night and then getting up just ahead of Youngest (the most likely to follow in my morning footsteps). Right now I'm on the sofa working so I can stay awake until Oldest gets home. He texted to ask if he could stay late to help clean up. My fingers typed "sure" as my voice cried no--but what's a mother to do?

And then I read a friend's slice. She mentioned the time change, and my heart sank even further. It's "spring forward". Which means as I wander around the house, trying desperately to remember where all the clocks are, it will seem as if each one of those faces will be mocking me, "you think it's 10:30? Ha! Try 11:30!" I miss Husband even more. Seeing those clocks jump an hour ahead will only make it worse--trying to be both the night owl and the early bird.

My basement has come alive

My basement has come alive--not in a creepy way. In a cool, noisy, Friday-fun, this-is-the-place-to-be sort of way. At last count, there were 9 high school swimmers here...plus the 2 that live here...plus Youngest, who slips down to grab snacks, then comes back upstairs, where he has complete control over the family room. The older kids not only tolerate him, but often include him, asking him to leave only when the too-old-for-12-year-olds movie is about to start.

They poured through the front door a while ago, a laughing, happy hoard of great kids who know how to have fun without ending up in jail. My kind of kids. A couple of the girls carried pans with goodies, one still warm from the oven. These are also kids who share....yum!

Shouts and hoots of laugher, punctuated by squeals from the girls leaked up the stairs and through the vents. Darts thumped against the board and music blared. Not window-shaking loud, but loud enough to dance upstairs if we wanted to. The teasing and game-playing lasted a while, and then a couple ventured upstairs. Bags of chips, bottles of soda, the carried-in goodies...all disappeared downstairs. They came back for plates and cups and even napkins.

The lights are lower down there now, and voices are quieting, but not silent, as the sounds of the movie start. This is not by any means silent movie watching. In fact, I think that there is often a gender-split debate over the merits the chosen movie. I have no idea who usually wins.

I know that as the night continues, it will get quieter still. It won't be a super-late night, and there won't be a mess when they leave. Like I said, my kind of kids. I love that they come here. I love that Oldest and Middle have this group of friends. I love that Youngest watches and learns about friendship and being part of a group from these kids. And right now, I love that my basement has come alive.

100

Huh. I logged on to slice, and there it was in the stats that show up when I open my blogger account. I had no idea.

99 posts.

Apparently, this will be slice number 100 from the sofa. Part of me thinks, "only 100? Really? Seems like I've been doing this longer than 100 posts....or maybe that is a lot and I'm just oblivious."

Either way, I have nothing. Nada. Zip.

Disappointing, right? You probably were expecting something clever or funny or....well, good. But here you are, still reading, even though this is certainly not 100th-slice worthy.

But you know what? I'm sitting here on the sofa slicing (yes, the sofa...where almost all the slices were written...see the picture to the right? That's where my rear end is parked right now). And wanna know something cool? When I sat down to do this late on a looonnnggg day, I had not one single idea in my head. But I sat down to slice anyway, and there it was.

99 posts.

In my mind, this proves it.
If you believe hard enough, the Slice Fairy will provide.

Addicted

Recently, I've become hooked on some stuff....mostly stuff I learn about from the friends of Oldest and Middle. Not all though. Husband has a hand in part of this.
Curious?
Be careful. This stuff is dangerous. It seems unlikely, but any one of these things can cause an addiction problem before you're aware of it, and some may be gateway vices that lead to things far more serious.

In no particular order, I've become hooked on:

• 4 pics 1 word app (went up 50 levels in about 5 minutes today!)
• Mega Stuff Oreos (no, I'm not kidding)
• Robot Combat League on SyFy channel (a new dream of mine is to do this--I almost cannot believe how much I love this show)
• Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos (and I don't even like Doritos)
• my new sweat pants (not sweating...just the pants)
• board game Tri Spy (not playing for real; it's just out and I walk by and see matches)
• Twitter (Oldest taught me; I mostly follow his friends--entertaining, and the source of 2 other things on this list)
• Bun bars (I don't even like them but Husband bought a giant box and left it out

This is the short list. Youngest and Middle are sitting on either side of me right now. They are laughing at me. "No Mom," says Youngest, "we're laughing with you." 

"No, laughing at you," chortles Middle.  That's why Youngest is my favorite. 

I'm trying to figure out why they can't see this as a call for help...though admitting I have a problem is the first step. 

But first, I wonder if there are any more of those Oreos left....or a Bun bar....