1. 1 December 2011 “Time entry will be the death of me.” — David Elliott Story coming soon.

    Comments

    “Time entry will be the death of me.” — David Elliott

    Story coming soon.

  2. 30 November 2011 “While you’re up there, throw down some chocolate.” — Isabella Elliott Story coming soon.

    Comments

    “While you’re up there, throw down some chocolate.” — Isabella Elliott

    Story coming soon.

  3. 28 November 2011 “Aunt June” — Isabella & Crosby Elliott Yesterday I get a phone call, “Amy. You want me to come over and get that laundry for you so we can get it caught up.”  “It’s okay Aunt June. I’ve got all day to do it.”  “Okay, well I’m bringing you dinner.”  “Thank you Aunt June.” “Okay, I’ll see you around 5:30pm” “Sounds great.” Aunt June is my neighbor. She’s not related to me but she’s the type of person that you buy that bookmark that says, “Friends are the family we choose for ourselves.” She prefers to be called Aunt June because “Mrs. Cole was my mother-in-law.”  I am so blessed to have her in my life.  When I prayed about finding the right house for us, I know that God meant for us to live here. I’ve never had someone in my life that’s older that I can talk to as a friend. Aunt June is 73. Her husband passed away seven years ago. She’s the only person I’ve ever felt comfortable enough to ask, “What’s it like Aunt June to have your husband die? What were those first holidays without him like? Did you go visit his grave often? What did you do with his belonging?” I can ask her anything.  Sometimes I’m scared of getting old. I ask Aunt June, “What’s it like to be call elderly? Is it hard to take care of your mother in her dying days?” I can read books on these topics but books can’t give me the look in her eyes when she talks about how Gene (her hubby) loved James Dean movies. Books can’t convey how ridiculous she felt putting him on a sugar-free diet only to have him die 8 months later. A television show about losing a spouse doesn’t convey the anger she had towards him for leaving her. She told me that she visited his grave every day after he died for almost a year. She has told me that church is the hardest. They always went to church together.  I never feel like an inconvenience to Aunt June. I love that she loves my kids. She comes over here all the time and helps with dishes, laundry, getting dinner ready, and just enjoying a warm cup of coffee together. She takes hers with no cream. No sugar. Just black.  Aunt June grew up in our house. She lived there all her life until she moved across the street as a newlywed. She’s very comfortable just walking in the back door. When we first moved here I wasn’t too sure about her coming over at all. She would knock and hollar, “Amy! You home?” and I would cringe thinking about how there was days old hardened oatmeal on my floors, or how my toilets had mold in them.  Now when I hear, “Amy! You home?” a sense of relief comes over me and I hear the children running to the door (sometimes totally naked-especially Crosby) “Aunt June! Aunt June! Yay you’re here!” I like that we kind of look out for each other. I have a list of the phone numbers of her close family on my refrigerator. Dave calls it the death list. “You know Amy, she only gave this to you in case you go over there and she’s dead.” I know. And that reminds me that life is precious and to enjoy her as long as I have her as my neighbor. I like that list for that reason. Instead of having a wall-hanging that says, “Take time to smell the roses”, I have Aunt June’s list. They serve the same purpose, but hers is far more subtle. I like that. It suits her well. She is a country gal. Her parents were farmers. I love listening to stories of her childhood. Up until the 70s, there was only an outhouse on this property. The 1970s! That’s only a decade before I was born! She used to churn butter, milk cows, butcher chickens. She’s such a wealth of information for anything green or sustainable. She’s trendy and she doesn’t even know it. *grins* She came over here this fall and helped us can applesauce. Now that is something that our culture needs more of. Sitting down, peeling apples, and talking. Opening up dialogue between the generations. It’s important and it doesn’t happen enough. And not the, “How’s school?” conversations that we have with our grandparents once-a-month. Real words. Real emotions. Real learning.  Sometimes I start crying when I think about how lonely it could be living by yourself. I enjoy inviting her over to share a meal with us. Sometimes when Abe’s asleep and I need to run Bella to school she’ll sit here so I don’t have to wake him. Sometimes the craziness of my life makes me jealous of hers. But I know that one day it will be too quiet in my home and I will miss the dumped out toys and smeared fingerprints (and gum prints too - I caught the older two making designs out of their gum on the window the other day *laughs*) I could go on and on and I’m sure more Aunt June stories will come up.  I suggested Dave design her name so that we can print it and give it to her for Christmas. I don’t know if she’ll like it but I hope she does. She deserves something grand for all the help she’s given us.  I like to think that what goes around comes around. Some people call that karma. I call it God’s will. I will be sad the day that Aunt June isn’t around. Really sad. So for now, I will try and enjoy the moments that God gives us together.  I tell my girlfriends that everyone needs an Aunt June in their life.  Just not MY Aunt June.  *smiles*

    Comments

    “Aunt June” — Isabella & Crosby Elliott


    Yesterday I get a phone call, “Amy. You want me to come over and get that laundry for you so we can get it caught up.” 

    “It’s okay Aunt June. I’ve got all day to do it.” 

    “Okay, well I’m bringing you dinner.” 

    “Thank you Aunt June.”

    “Okay, I’ll see you around 5:30pm”

    “Sounds great.”

    Aunt June is my neighbor. She’s not related to me but she’s the type of person that you buy that bookmark that says, “Friends are the family we choose for ourselves.” She prefers to be called Aunt June because “Mrs. Cole was my mother-in-law.” 

    I am so blessed to have her in my life. 

    When I prayed about finding the right house for us, I know that God meant for us to live here. I’ve never had someone in my life that’s older that I can talk to as a friend. Aunt June is 73. Her husband passed away seven years ago. She’s the only person I’ve ever felt comfortable enough to ask, “What’s it like Aunt June to have your husband die? What were those first holidays without him like? Did you go visit his grave often? What did you do with his belonging?” I can ask her anything. 

    Sometimes I’m scared of getting old. I ask Aunt June, “What’s it like to be call elderly? Is it hard to take care of your mother in her dying days?”

    I can read books on these topics but books can’t give me the look in her eyes when she talks about how Gene (her hubby) loved James Dean movies. Books can’t convey how ridiculous she felt putting him on a sugar-free diet only to have him die 8 months later. A television show about losing a spouse doesn’t convey the anger she had towards him for leaving her. She told me that she visited his grave every day after he died for almost a year. She has told me that church is the hardest. They always went to church together. 

    I never feel like an inconvenience to Aunt June. I love that she loves my kids. She comes over here all the time and helps with dishes, laundry, getting dinner ready, and just enjoying a warm cup of coffee together. She takes hers with no cream. No sugar. Just black. 

    Aunt June grew up in our house. She lived there all her life until she moved across the street as a newlywed. She’s very comfortable just walking in the back door. When we first moved here I wasn’t too sure about her coming over at all. She would knock and hollar, “Amy! You home?” and I would cringe thinking about how there was days old hardened oatmeal on my floors, or how my toilets had mold in them. 

    Now when I hear, “Amy! You home?” a sense of relief comes over me and I hear the children running to the door (sometimes totally naked-especially Crosby) “Aunt June! Aunt June! Yay you’re here!”

    I like that we kind of look out for each other. I have a list of the phone numbers of her close family on my refrigerator. Dave calls it the death list. “You know Amy, she only gave this to you in case you go over there and she’s dead.” I know. And that reminds me that life is precious and to enjoy her as long as I have her as my neighbor. I like that list for that reason. Instead of having a wall-hanging that says, “Take time to smell the roses”, I have Aunt June’s list. They serve the same purpose, but hers is far more subtle. I like that. It suits her well.

    She is a country gal. Her parents were farmers. I love listening to stories of her childhood. Up until the 70s, there was only an outhouse on this property. The 1970s! That’s only a decade before I was born! She used to churn butter, milk cows, butcher chickens. She’s such a wealth of information for anything green or sustainable. She’s trendy and she doesn’t even know it. *grins*

    She came over here this fall and helped us can applesauce. Now that is something that our culture needs more of. Sitting down, peeling apples, and talking. Opening up dialogue between the generations. It’s important and it doesn’t happen enough. And not the, “How’s school?” conversations that we have with our grandparents once-a-month. Real words. Real emotions. Real learning. 

    Sometimes I start crying when I think about how lonely it could be living by yourself. I enjoy inviting her over to share a meal with us. Sometimes when Abe’s asleep and I need to run Bella to school she’ll sit here so I don’t have to wake him. Sometimes the craziness of my life makes me jealous of hers. But I know that one day it will be too quiet in my home and I will miss the dumped out toys and smeared fingerprints (and gum prints too - I caught the older two making designs out of their gum on the window the other day *laughs*)

    I could go on and on and I’m sure more Aunt June stories will come up. 

    I suggested Dave design her name so that we can print it and give it to her for Christmas. I don’t know if she’ll like it but I hope she does. She deserves something grand for all the help she’s given us. 

    I like to think that what goes around comes around. Some people call that karma. I call it God’s will. I will be sad the day that Aunt June isn’t around. Really sad. So for now, I will try and enjoy the moments that God gives us together. 

    I tell my girlfriends that everyone needs an Aunt June in their life. 

    Just not MY Aunt June. 

    *smiles*

  4. 27 November 2011 “Get down from there” — Amy Elliott As I was just browsing Facebook while nursing the baby for the zillionth time this morning, I came across two people that had pictures of their dogs.  Not just a “Oh I got a dog, here’s a picture” pictures. More like, “I love this animal so much and look at how cute it is in a hat. Now look how cute it is laying on it’s back.” Those kind of pictures.  And quite a few of my Facebook friends have these pictures. They really really love their dog. It’s like an additional family member. The good kind. My dog is like the family member at the Christmas party that goes on and on about something that they’re an expert on that you’re not. The same family member that shares too much about their medical issues and recent doctors appointments. The one who also asks for a bite of your food or a sip of your drink. *gagging* You love this family member, but you’re pretty much annoyed the entire time he/she is in your presence. In fact, you’ve had a discussion with your spouse about not even going to the gathering BECAUSE of that particular family member. This is my dog.  I will have to admit, that as a parent I am a bit of a worry-wart. I don’t worry about them falling out of a tree. Or about getting the chicken pox. Or about how they’ll do in school. I worry about them being taken. At night. Through a window. Elizabeth Smart style. And to be quite honest, I have a hard time sleeping at night unless they’re in bed with me or Dave. Even if I’ve locked all of the door and windows, it still makes me nervous.  Here steps in my desire to get a dog.  Dave and I have wanted a dog for a while. We have never been in a position to own one but it’s always been in the whole American dream scenario. Have some kids. Buy a house. Get a dog. Become rich. Share our wealth and have our name plastered all over Grand Rapids. You know. Typical stuff. On July 4th we got the keys to our first home. I love it. It’s an old (built in 1870) farmhouse with character. The walls might be crooked but it’s ours (well technically the bank owns about 99.1% of it at this time).  On July 23rd we got our first dog.  Conan Dumbledore Elliott.  Gosh he’s such a galoot.  He was born May 9th so he wasn’t quite three months when we got him.  When people used to tell me that I shouldn’t get a dog I would get offended. Like it was an attack on my potential abilities at dog-rearing. “What? You don’t think think I can handle it?”  “No. It’s just that it’s a lot of work.”  “I think it’ll be fine.” “I wouldn’t get a puppy.” “But with a puppy you can mold them from the beginning.” *Person across from me smiles like they have some little secret that I won’t discover until getting said puppy* “Yeah. That will be fun for you.” *again displaying a slight smirk” So we got Conan from Dave’s cousin. He’s a German Shepherd/Doberman mash-up. He was really sick when we got him. He had worms but not like, “oh he’s got worms I’ll take him to the vet and get some wormer in a few days.”  He had worms like the vet says, “I’d say it’s 50/50 that he makes it through the night tonight. Give him syringes of Pedialyte and balls of chicken and rice every few hours.”  And that was the second day we had him. So our bond was built. Kind of. I mean I had three small kids to care for also and I was slightly annoyed that he required more work than even your average puppy. And then the chewing begin. It was a direct relationship. I could make a graph. As feeling better went up, chewing also went up. And he chewed. And chewed. And still chews.  He has ruined more stuff that all of my children combined. Literally. Power cords. Cords to electric blankets. Doors. Toys. Anything silicone. He loves sippy cup nipples. Bottle nipples. Damn dog will get them from the dish drainer.  And here comes our second problem (among others). He puts his paws up on the counters and tables to get food down. He’ll have a full food bowl but of course his palet is highly developed. *rolls eyes* Now he knows not to do it when we’re in the room. So he waits. And here’s another direct relationship. The more time and effort that the food took to make, the louder the sounds of my voice when I see him.  “GET DOWN FROM THERE!”  And he walks towards me, ashamed that he’s been caught. Sits in front of me and tilts his head to the side like, “Really ma? What did I do wrong? See I’m innocent. And cute.” When Dave designed this he said he heard me say it a lot that day. I try to be like Cesar Milan. I love that guy. When I approach Conan I think, “calm and assertive, calm and assertive.” Something I am just annoyed. Purely annoyed. So now we have a six-month old, 70ish pound dog on our hands. I’m not going to post pictures of how cute he is on Facebook because he’s not. He’s a lot of work. If someone asked about having a puppy I would say those same things that my friends had told me. He’s actually a ridiculous amount of work. To mold him like you want you have to allocate time and resources. The same time that children require. The same time that your marriage needs. And there’s only so much time to go around. And if they continue to prod about why I keep him I’ll tell them simply, ”Some night, when someone even thinks about walking into my backyard and glancing at my children, I know who’s got my back.” *smiles*  

    Comments

    “Get down from there” — Amy Elliott


    As I was just browsing Facebook while nursing the baby for the zillionth time this morning, I came across two people that had pictures of their dogs. 

    Not just a “Oh I got a dog, here’s a picture” pictures. More like, “I love this animal so much and look at how cute it is in a hat. Now look how cute it is laying on it’s back.” Those kind of pictures. 

    And quite a few of my Facebook friends have these pictures. They really really love their dog. It’s like an additional family member. The good kind.

    My dog is like the family member at the Christmas party that goes on and on about something that they’re an expert on that you’re not. The same family member that shares too much about their medical issues and recent doctors appointments. The one who also asks for a bite of your food or a sip of your drink. *gagging* You love this family member, but you’re pretty much annoyed the entire time he/she is in your presence. In fact, you’ve had a discussion with your spouse about not even going to the gathering BECAUSE of that particular family member.

    This is my dog. 

    I will have to admit, that as a parent I am a bit of a worry-wart. I don’t worry about them falling out of a tree. Or about getting the chicken pox. Or about how they’ll do in school. I worry about them being taken. At night. Through a window. Elizabeth Smart style. And to be quite honest, I have a hard time sleeping at night unless they’re in bed with me or Dave.

    Even if I’ve locked all of the door and windows, it still makes me nervous. 

    Here steps in my desire to get a dog. 

    Dave and I have wanted a dog for a while. We have never been in a position to own one but it’s always been in the whole American dream scenario. Have some kids. Buy a house. Get a dog. Become rich. Share our wealth and have our name plastered all over Grand Rapids. You know. Typical stuff.

    On July 4th we got the keys to our first home. I love it. It’s an old (built in 1870) farmhouse with character. The walls might be crooked but it’s ours (well technically the bank owns about 99.1% of it at this time). 

    On July 23rd we got our first dog. 

    Conan Dumbledore Elliott. 

    Gosh he’s such a galoot. 

    He was born May 9th so he wasn’t quite three months when we got him. 

    When people used to tell me that I shouldn’t get a dog I would get offended. Like it was an attack on my potential abilities at dog-rearing.

    “What? You don’t think think I can handle it?” 

    “No. It’s just that it’s a lot of work.” 

    “I think it’ll be fine.”

    “I wouldn’t get a puppy.”

    “But with a puppy you can mold them from the beginning.”

    *Person across from me smiles like they have some little secret that I won’t discover until getting said puppy*

    “Yeah. That will be fun for you.” *again displaying a slight smirk”

    So we got Conan from Dave’s cousin. He’s a German Shepherd/Doberman mash-up. He was really sick when we got him. He had worms but not like, “oh he’s got worms I’ll take him to the vet and get some wormer in a few days.” 

    He had worms like the vet says, “I’d say it’s 50/50 that he makes it through the night tonight. Give him syringes of Pedialyte and balls of chicken and rice every few hours.” 

    And that was the second day we had him. So our bond was built. Kind of. I mean I had three small kids to care for also and I was slightly annoyed that he required more work than even your average puppy.

    And then the chewing begin. It was a direct relationship. I could make a graph. As feeling better went up, chewing also went up.

    And he chewed.

    And chewed.

    And still chews. 

    He has ruined more stuff that all of my children combined. Literally. Power cords. Cords to electric blankets. Doors. Toys. Anything silicone. He loves sippy cup nipples. Bottle nipples. Damn dog will get them from the dish drainer. 

    And here comes our second problem (among others). He puts his paws up on the counters and tables to get food down. He’ll have a full food bowl but of course his palet is highly developed. *rolls eyes*

    Now he knows not to do it when we’re in the room. So he waits. And here’s another direct relationship. The more time and effort that the food took to make, the louder the sounds of my voice when I see him. 

    “GET DOWN FROM THERE!” 

    And he walks towards me, ashamed that he’s been caught. Sits in front of me and tilts his head to the side like, “Really ma? What did I do wrong? See I’m innocent. And cute.”

    When Dave designed this he said he heard me say it a lot that day. I try to be like Cesar Milan. I love that guy. When I approach Conan I think, “calm and assertive, calm and assertive.” Something I am just annoyed. Purely annoyed.

    So now we have a six-month old, 70ish pound dog on our hands. I’m not going to post pictures of how cute he is on Facebook because he’s not. He’s a lot of work. If someone asked about having a puppy I would say those same things that my friends had told me. He’s actually a ridiculous amount of work. To mold him like you want you have to allocate time and resources. The same time that children require. The same time that your marriage needs. And there’s only so much time to go around.

    And if they continue to prod about why I keep him I’ll tell them simply, ”Some night, when someone even thinks about walking into my backyard and glancing at my children, I know who’s got my back.”

    *smiles*  

  5. 26 November 2011 “So so so so so so so so so so so so yummy” — Crosby Elliott Our second child is a firecracker. Born Crosby Napoleon, he keeps life interesting. His heart is so tender. He loves cuddling and to tell me that he loves me. He also gets frustrated when he can’t do things that the bigger kids can do. Really frustrated. And sad. When one of my children gets something that the others don’t, I always feel like I need to compensate their loss. The reasonable parent in me sees that there are life lessons that could be learned by allowing them to feel sad. Or mad. Or hurt.  My emotional brain takes over. I want my child to be happy. I am striving to find a balance between these things.  My mom took Bella for two nights after Thanksgiving. This is something very special and Crosby also LOVES going to their house. He was not invited. This is for various reasons, but the most prominent being that the bond between Crosby and my mom is not the same as it is with Bella. Bella is a girl. She loves crafts. My mom loves crafts. Bella enjoys watching A Baby Story. My mom does too. Bella is her “Bellyboo” and Crosby is, well, just Crosby to her. He’s intense, yes, but he wanted to be included too.  Here steps in my emotional brain. I wanted his time with us to be fun too. It wasn’t the same (Dave was sick) as if we’d gone and done something but we played Candyland, Froggie Boogie, and Cars dominos. We made no-bake cookies and he watched Toy Story. He got to sleep in our bed.  He also got to drink pop. This kid loves sugar. And he isn’t granted sugar all that often. Although, more so now that I’ve become more relaxed about treats. Compared to other kids, he doesn’t eat very much sugar at all. Main reason: his terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad teeth. This kid has enamel malformation. His teeth started chipping as they were coming through the gums. Abe’s are the same way. I just noticed (at 10 months) multiple chips on his top two teeth also.  Mom guilt wreaks havoc with your life. Is it something that I have denied him? Nutrients during pregnancy? Too much nursing? Non-fluoridated water? Sugar? I come back to sugar and its effects on our bodies. So I’ve been very selective of what the children have when it comes to sugar.  I have relaxed my views a bit as I feel that we should respect our bodies, but that eternal life is most important. Using energy and stressing over something that’s happening without my control just seems like an exhausting endeavor. I want my kids to remember their childhood as love. Love. Love. Love. Always. Even if it’s tough love. I want them to know that we are always available to them. We love to listen to them. We love them to share stories with us. We love them wholly.  Constantly saying “No” about every item containing sugar was creating so much tension. Playdates, grandparents, friends’ birthday parties all revolved around treats with sugar. I could have taken it either way. On one hand I could be strict and stick to my guns. On the other hand, I could enjoy saying “yes”. I have relaxed and decided that the people that want to share delicious sugar-filled treats with my children are not all evil. In fact, they’re some of the people that love my kids the most.  I am trying to come up with a way to end this post by explaining how much Crosby loves pop. I just told Dave, “Wow. This post is so hard to write.”  He responded with, “Can’t polish a turd.”  So SaTURDay night, Crosby was sitting by us and had a cup of pop. After about his third drink he looked over at Dave and said, “This is so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so yummy.”  Dave and I immediately started laughing and I was thankful for the moment, sugar and all. *smiles* 

    Comments

    “So so so so so so so so so so so so yummy” — Crosby Elliott


    Our second child is a firecracker. Born Crosby Napoleon, he keeps life interesting. His heart is so tender. He loves cuddling and to tell me that he loves me. He also gets frustrated when he can’t do things that the bigger kids can do. Really frustrated. And sad.

    When one of my children gets something that the others don’t, I always feel like I need to compensate their loss. The reasonable parent in me sees that there are life lessons that could be learned by allowing them to feel sad. Or mad. Or hurt. 

    My emotional brain takes over. I want my child to be happy. I am striving to find a balance between these things. 

    My mom took Bella for two nights after Thanksgiving. This is something very special and Crosby also LOVES going to their house. He was not invited. This is for various reasons, but the most prominent being that the bond between Crosby and my mom is not the same as it is with Bella. Bella is a girl. She loves crafts. My mom loves crafts. Bella enjoys watching A Baby Story. My mom does too. Bella is her “Bellyboo” and Crosby is, well, just Crosby to her. He’s intense, yes, but he wanted to be included too. 

    Here steps in my emotional brain. I wanted his time with us to be fun too. It wasn’t the same (Dave was sick) as if we’d gone and done something but we played Candyland, Froggie Boogie, and Cars dominos. We made no-bake cookies and he watched Toy Story. He got to sleep in our bed. 

    He also got to drink pop. This kid loves sugar. And he isn’t granted sugar all that often. Although, more so now that I’ve become more relaxed about treats. Compared to other kids, he doesn’t eat very much sugar at all. Main reason: his terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad teeth. This kid has enamel malformation. His teeth started chipping as they were coming through the gums. Abe’s are the same way. I just noticed (at 10 months) multiple chips on his top two teeth also. 

    Mom guilt wreaks havoc with your life. Is it something that I have denied him? Nutrients during pregnancy? Too much nursing? Non-fluoridated water? Sugar? I come back to sugar and its effects on our bodies. So I’ve been very selective of what the children have when it comes to sugar. 

    I have relaxed my views a bit as I feel that we should respect our bodies, but that eternal life is most important. Using energy and stressing over something that’s happening without my control just seems like an exhausting endeavor. I want my kids to remember their childhood as love. Love. Love. Love. Always. Even if it’s tough love. I want them to know that we are always available to them. We love to listen to them. We love them to share stories with us. We love them wholly. 

    Constantly saying “No” about every item containing sugar was creating so much tension. Playdates, grandparents, friends’ birthday parties all revolved around treats with sugar. I could have taken it either way. On one hand I could be strict and stick to my guns. On the other hand, I could enjoy saying “yes”. I have relaxed and decided that the people that want to share delicious sugar-filled treats with my children are not all evil. In fact, they’re some of the people that love my kids the most. 

    I am trying to come up with a way to end this post by explaining how much Crosby loves pop. I just told Dave, “Wow. This post is so hard to write.” 

    He responded with, “Can’t polish a turd.” 

    So SaTURDay night, Crosby was sitting by us and had a cup of pop. After about his third drink he looked over at Dave and said, “This is so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so yummy.” 

    Dave and I immediately started laughing and I was thankful for the moment, sugar and all. *smiles* 

  6. 25 November 2011 “Too many Indians in my coffee cubbie”  — Jason Elliott Oh the holidays. The wonderful holidays. The holidays where everyone gets together and spreads their pathogenic bacteria or viruses from person to person and infects at least one of my children who then proceeds to spread their germ wealth amongst the rest of our family.  So what I’m saying is that I’m sick. I have a cold. For me, while breastfeeding, colds often turn into mastitis. If you’re not sure what mastitis is, then you’ve never been, or had a wife, shivering on the couch begging you to take the baby so that you don’t have to nurse him again. Fortunately, I have a bag of tricks for dealing with this crippling infection, so at least I can sit here with my “hot booby bag” aka rice-in-a-sock, and be able to write about why there are too many Indians drinking coffee together.  My brother-in-law and I go way back. Actually back before Dave and I were together. I met him through a friend and when I started hanging out at his house, I met his adorable brother. *grins* I love him. Like a brother. He has lots of opinions and it seems as though family gatherings are the perfect setting for a stream of consciousness about whatever is bothering him. Setting: My mother-in-law and father-in-law’s living room. Four kids under five running around. People picking at ham in the kitchen. Laptops being pulled out after an entire eight hours of non-use. You know, the usual. I come into the living room as a discussion about how contracted, non-Americans affect the work environment. Me: What?  Jason: Yeah, it’s so weird at work. There are these contractors from India and they just don’t do things the same as the rest of the people in the office. Me: Like what? Jason: Well, like coffee.  Me: Coffee?  Jason: Yeah. There’s this little room. Well, actually, I wouldn’t even consider it a room. Maybe a closet. I don’t know but it’s a really small area. More like a cubbie where our office has the coffee set up. It’s not very much room at all. It’s not designed for people to sit and have conversations over coffee. It’s more to get your coffee and go back to your desk.  Me: Ahh. I see.  Jason: So I walk over to the coffee cubbie and I stand there. Jason proceeds to stand up and pretend like he’s waiting at the entrance to the coffee cubbie. He pretends to look at the people in the coffee cubbie and then throws his hands up in frustration while rolling his eyes. Obviously frustrated that he can’t get to the coffee, he walks away.   I infer from this that there are some major cultural differences that are causing tension in the work environment. I suspect that a brief memo would smooth things over. *smiles* MEMO: PLEASE DO NOT STAND FOR AN EXTENDED PERIOD OF TIME IN THE COFFEE CUBBIE. COFFEE IN THE WORK ENVIRONMENT IS NOT INTENDED TO BE SOCIAL. IT IS INTENDED TO GET YOUR ADRENALINE PUMPING SO THAT YOU WORK MORE. NOT TO BE ENJOYED. PURELY MEDICINAL. THANK YOU. MANAGEMENT I try and have empathy for Jason but it just seems like too much of a first-world problem not to laugh.  Me: I’m sorry Jas. Must be really frustrating. *rolls eyes* Jason: *laughing* It’s just that there are too many Indians in my coffee cubbie.  At this point it just seems like an odd, racier (pun intended) version of The Office.  The discussion moves on and I giggle at the ridiculousness of that conversation. I am happy to sit there and enjoy my pumpkin pie and breath in some more droplets of other peoples’ sneezes. *smiles*

    Comments

    “Too many Indians in my coffee cubbie”  — Jason Elliott


    Oh the holidays. The wonderful holidays. The holidays where everyone gets together and spreads their pathogenic bacteria or viruses from person to person and infects at least one of my children who then proceeds to spread their germ wealth amongst the rest of our family. 

    So what I’m saying is that I’m sick. I have a cold. For me, while breastfeeding, colds often turn into mastitis. If you’re not sure what mastitis is, then you’ve never been, or had a wife, shivering on the couch begging you to take the baby so that you don’t have to nurse him again. Fortunately, I have a bag of tricks for dealing with this crippling infection, so at least I can sit here with my “hot booby bag” aka rice-in-a-sock, and be able to write about why there are too many Indians drinking coffee together. 

    My brother-in-law and I go way back. Actually back before Dave and I were together. I met him through a friend and when I started hanging out at his house, I met his adorable brother. *grins* I love him. Like a brother. He has lots of opinions and it seems as though family gatherings are the perfect setting for a stream of consciousness about whatever is bothering him.

    Setting: My mother-in-law and father-in-law’s living room. Four kids under five running around. People picking at ham in the kitchen. Laptops being pulled out after an entire eight hours of non-use. You know, the usual. I come into the living room as a discussion about how contracted, non-Americans affect the work environment.

    Me: What? 

    Jason: Yeah, it’s so weird at work. There are these contractors from India and they just don’t do things the same as the rest of the people in the office.

    Me: Like what?

    Jason: Well, like coffee. 

    Me: Coffee? 

    Jason: Yeah. There’s this little room. Well, actually, I wouldn’t even consider it a room. Maybe a closet. I don’t know but it’s a really small area. More like a cubbie where our office has the coffee set up. It’s not very much room at all. It’s not designed for people to sit and have conversations over coffee. It’s more to get your coffee and go back to your desk. 

    Me: Ahh. I see. 

    Jason: So I walk over to the coffee cubbie and I stand there.

    Jason proceeds to stand up and pretend like he’s waiting at the entrance to the coffee cubbie. He pretends to look at the people in the coffee cubbie and then throws his hands up in frustration while rolling his eyes. Obviously frustrated that he can’t get to the coffee, he walks away.  

    I infer from this that there are some major cultural differences that are causing tension in the work environment. I suspect that a brief memo would smooth things over. *smiles*

    MEMO: PLEASE DO NOT STAND FOR AN EXTENDED PERIOD OF TIME IN THE COFFEE CUBBIE. COFFEE IN THE WORK ENVIRONMENT IS NOT INTENDED TO BE SOCIAL. IT IS INTENDED TO GET YOUR ADRENALINE PUMPING SO THAT YOU WORK MORE. NOT TO BE ENJOYED. PURELY MEDICINAL. THANK YOU.

    MANAGEMENT

    I try and have empathy for Jason but it just seems like too much of a first-world problem not to laugh. 

    Me: I’m sorry Jas. Must be really frustrating. *rolls eyes*

    Jason: *laughing* It’s just that there are too many Indians in my coffee cubbie. 

    At this point it just seems like an odd, racier (pun intended) version of The Office. 

    The discussion moves on and I giggle at the ridiculousness of that conversation. I am happy to sit there and enjoy my pumpkin pie and breath in some more droplets of other peoples’ sneezes. *smiles*


  7. 24 November 2011 “Don’t give up to catch a butterfly.” — Isabella Elliott Once upon a time I met a handsome young feller named Dave. 10 years later we have three kids, a house, a dog, and two (as of today) cats. One thing that hasn’t changed, he loves to make things. Art. Music. Love. (okay too much information). *laughs* But really. So we’re doing this. We’re making art from everyday life. Because that’s the art that people relate to. That’s the art that makes you laugh. Or cry. Or realize that you were wrong. Or to value the small moments. Or the kind of art that inspires you to want to create something yourself. While I’m trying to sound poetic here, my dog has drank out of a glass on the end table, my husband has asked for a power cord, and I was told that grape juice is too concentrated. My life is odd but it’s mine and I love it. I’m excited to share with you the moments from our lives that inspire my husband to make art.  We want to force each other to listen to the words that make up the sentences of the paragraphs of the stories that are our lives. We want to slow down and do what we enjoy. For Dave that’s designing. When a design is just right he tilts his head to the side and says, “Yes. Yes. I think that’s good.” And then of course changes one more thing. We have always believed in the motto “side by side”. We’re a team and we’re doing this together. Dave will design a phrase from the day. I will tell you about it. My words will hopefully compliment his designs. And if not, at least it’ll give you something to read if you’re sitting online and not quite ready to get up and and go to bed. *smiles* And away we go! Bella (born Isabella Gold) is our firstborn. She is the type of kid that makes you think that having a second child will be just as easy as raising your first. She’s a joy to have around. Bella loves animals but in an odd “I don’t get too attached to you” way. She and her brother were allowed to bring home some kittens about two months ago. They’ve become outdoor kitties and I noticed that on one of them, her belly was quite large. I told Bella that I thought that she probably had worms but that I couldn’t afford to take her to the vet right now. Bella said, “I need a job then.” Dave and I brainstormed ideas with her about what she could do. Her best idea was a bike cleaning business. She would charge $10.00 per bike. It’s November in Michigan. Yeah. So we moved on. Then she decided to make cookies to raise money. We bought enough mini M & M’s for about four batches of cookies but Dave and I plowed through those in about two days. There is a reason that I am on Weight Watchers. We ended up with one lonely batch of cookies that we sold to our neighbor for $3.00. Bella was so proud of her money. She dropped it on the way back from the neighbors and Dave had to go out there with a flashlight and search under the recently fallen leaves to find as much as he could (considering the fact that the neighbor had to pay in change, it was quite a bit of rummaging).  Then we went to the grocery store. There must be a secret blog entitled, “Screw You Parents” that frequents posts from Lunchables, Lucky Charms, Gogurt, and of course the Claw game. They have all mastered creating something your children beg for that we as parents know is not good for them but for some reason we say it’s okay. I can just invision threads starting something like, “I placed a small ugly Santa doll on the top of the pile. 64 kids played and no one won!” That’s when Skittles posts, “Yeah, 657 people bought me today because their kids saw a rainbow on my package *high five*”. Anyways… *laughing* “Momma! MOMMA! I want to do that claw game.” I hear before leaving for the store. Bella has an amazing memory so she knew that store=horribleclawmachinethatwastesmoney. I have a similar association. Store = sweetdeliciouscaramelmacchiatofromStarbucks. So I can relate. Really.  So she spent her hard-earned money. On the claw machine. And of course lost. She was very disappointed but it was a good lesson. She reasoned with me the whole drive home, “Wow momma. That game is hard. If I had 12 minutes to choose where I want to put the claw down I’d for SURE win.” “Mmmhmmm Bella,” I say between sips of God’s sweet nectar.  She now has no money. So the other night she brought up again how she needs to work on her business. She REALLY wants to work on it and now she’s going to charge more per cookie. Maybe $10.00 per cookie. And she also made sure to tell us that this time, family doesn’t get any for free. Her and Dave were throwing around ideas for business names. While looking at fonts with Dave she saw a butterfly. Enthusiastically she said, “Dada! I know what it should be. ‘Don’t give up to catch a butterfly.’” And we thought that was just perfect. *smiles* Note from Dave:Isabella art directed this piece. She insisted on purple and pink. 

    Comments

    “Don’t give up to catch a butterfly.” — Isabella Elliott


    Once upon a time I met a handsome young feller named Dave. 10 years later we have three kids, a house, a dog, and two (as of today) cats. One thing that hasn’t changed, he loves to make things. Art. Music. Love. (okay too much information). *laughs* But really. So we’re doing this. We’re making art from everyday life. Because that’s the art that people relate to. That’s the art that makes you laugh. Or cry. Or realize that you were wrong. Or to value the small moments. Or the kind of art that inspires you to want to create something yourself. While I’m trying to sound poetic here, my dog has drank out of a glass on the end table, my husband has asked for a power cord, and I was told that grape juice is too concentrated. My life is odd but it’s mine and I love it. I’m excited to share with you the moments from our lives that inspire my husband to make art. 

    We want to force each other to listen to the words that make up the sentences of the paragraphs of the stories that are our lives. We want to slow down and do what we enjoy. For Dave that’s designing. When a design is just right he tilts his head to the side and says, “Yes. Yes. I think that’s good.” And then of course changes one more thing. We have always believed in the motto “side by side”. We’re a team and we’re doing this together. Dave will design a phrase from the day. I will tell you about it. My words will hopefully compliment his designs. And if not, at least it’ll give you something to read if you’re sitting online and not quite ready to get up and and go to bed. *smiles* And away we go!

    Bella (born Isabella Gold) is our firstborn. She is the type of kid that makes you think that having a second child will be just as easy as raising your first. She’s a joy to have around. Bella loves animals but in an odd “I don’t get too attached to you” way. She and her brother were allowed to bring home some kittens about two months ago. They’ve become outdoor kitties and I noticed that on one of them, her belly was quite large. I told Bella that I thought that she probably had worms but that I couldn’t afford to take her to the vet right now. Bella said, “I need a job then.” Dave and I brainstormed ideas with her about what she could do. Her best idea was a bike cleaning business. She would charge $10.00 per bike. It’s November in Michigan. Yeah. So we moved on. Then she decided to make cookies to raise money. We bought enough mini M & M’s for about four batches of cookies but Dave and I plowed through those in about two days.

    There is a reason that I am on Weight Watchers.

    We ended up with one lonely batch of cookies that we sold to our neighbor for $3.00. Bella was so proud of her money. She dropped it on the way back from the neighbors and Dave had to go out there with a flashlight and search under the recently fallen leaves to find as much as he could (considering the fact that the neighbor had to pay in change, it was quite a bit of rummaging). 

    Then we went to the grocery store. There must be a secret blog entitled, “Screw You Parents” that frequents posts from Lunchables, Lucky Charms, Gogurt, and of course the Claw game. They have all mastered creating something your children beg for that we as parents know is not good for them but for some reason we say it’s okay. I can just invision threads starting something like, “I placed a small ugly Santa doll on the top of the pile. 64 kids played and no one won!” That’s when Skittles posts, “Yeah, 657 people bought me today because their kids saw a rainbow on my package *high five*”. Anyways… *laughing*

    “Momma! MOMMA! I want to do that claw game.” I hear before leaving for the store. Bella has an amazing memory so she knew that store=horribleclawmachinethatwastesmoney. I have a similar association. Store = sweetdeliciouscaramelmacchiatofromStarbucks. So I can relate. Really. 

    So she spent her hard-earned money. On the claw machine. And of course lost. She was very disappointed but it was a good lesson. She reasoned with me the whole drive home, “Wow momma. That game is hard. If I had 12 minutes to choose where I want to put the claw down I’d for SURE win.” “Mmmhmmm Bella,” I say between sips of God’s sweet nectar. 

    She now has no money. So the other night she brought up again how she needs to work on her business. She REALLY wants to work on it and now she’s going to charge more per cookie. Maybe $10.00 per cookie. And she also made sure to tell us that this time, family doesn’t get any for free. Her and Dave were throwing around ideas for business names. While looking at fonts with Dave she saw a butterfly. Enthusiastically she said, “Dada! I know what it should be. ‘Don’t give up to catch a butterfly.’”

    And we thought that was just perfect. *smiles*

    Note from Dave:
    Isabella art directed this piece. She insisted on purple and pink.