Funding Yogi's Future

My husband and I have a small home-based vinyl graphics business. Today we had the honor of lettering a very special van for a very special child.  

His name is Logan and he is four years old. Logan has Cerebral Palsy.  Although we have never met Logan, we know his cool Grandpa Ken.  Grandpa Ken is very proud of Logan (or Yogi as his family calls him) and G'pa beams when he tells us stories of him.  Logan and his family have a new handicap accessible van. 

There is another important person in this story too.  Her name is Keri. She is Logan's mother.  On top of her other duties, she has committed herself to post regular updates in a blog to keep friends and family current on Logan's condition.  I have never met Keri but I have spent some time on her blog, viewed photos of Logan and family, and read several of her entries which are beautifully written as only a proud mother can do for her child.

To virtually meet Logan, Keri and other important people in their life you can visit them at www.loganssuperheroes.blogspot.com.

Most importantly, Logan is due for a surgery that is not covered by health insurance and will cost around $20,000.  His family has set up a fund at a local bank and is accepting donations to offset the costs. If you feel so inclined, I hope you will spend a few minutes visiting Logan's site and consider donating in Logan's honor.  We did. Thank you.

Farewell MJ

Today the world is mourning the loss of the King of Pop. From Boy Wonder to Wacko Jacko, I'm going to miss Michael Jackson and his antics. I always thought of him as a troubled, tormented lonely person with more talent in his white, sequined pinky finger than I have in my whole soul.  

His music spanned four decades and was always catchy and entertaining.  He was a philanthropist (We are the World), an obsessive with appearance (Man in the Mirror), had attitude (Beat It!), was a lover (Billie Jean) and perhaps launched his individual career into orbit with Thriller in 1984.  I can't recall whether my copy of Thriller was in the form of a vinyl record or cassette tape, but I remember singing along with MJ in my living room and pretending I was his favorite backup singer while trying to master the moon walk.

Over the last few days I have enjoyed watching the news channels as they pay tribute to the multi-layered facets of Michael's life and legacy.  Despite the sadness of his passing, I find myself smiling at the memories that dance in my mind as his music is played over and over on the television and radio.  I am reminded, too, of the many faces (no pun intended) of Michael and his music over the years. His music reminds me of the many different phases in my life as he passed through his.

Farewell MJ - your contributions to our world are many, your talents are great and, despite your troubled accusations and loneliness, your are a legend in your own way...  

Now where did I leave my sequined socks and can of Pepsi?

Mopping Award

Can you spell S-L-A-C-K-E-R? I'm a bit remiss on blogging entries and I had a request from a follower to add a post (thanks Mom!). So, today I'm reminded of the unenviable task of mopping the kitchen floor (which was recently completed - I should get an award -- a "moppy"?).  I'll start preparing my speech...

Anyhow - did I mention how much I don't enjoy housework? Dusting, vacuuming, cleaning toilets...  It has been nearly four months since our cleaning lady, Donna, was here.  That was one of the expenses that was cut when I lost my job. I appreciate her now more than ever... I would love to reinstate that expense as a worthwhile investment!  $60 every other Thursday is a priceless check to write in my mind!  Although I've kept up on other housekeeping detail (not a stellar effort, but acceptable), I despise mopping the floor.  It's a hard wood surface and covers a large high-traffic area through our entry way, kitchen and dining room. It does get swept at least once a week in an attempt to keep the sand, cat hair and dust bunnies under control. But I've ignored the dirt build up, an outline of a tiny kid footprint, skid marks where the dog has exceeded the speed limit and skidded across the floor with wet paws, and the one that put me over the edge - a mysterious sticky patch where cat hair and sock fuzz has been collecting.  I finally had to admit I needed to do something about the deep down grime. (now where did I put Donna's phone number?).  Sweeping alone, could not buy me time any longer.  It was as if the dust bunnies and dirt particles organized themselves in protest in that sticky spot and demanded attention.

I reluctantly went to the garage and unwedged the old mop from the rafters and rinsed out the bucket. Now I know why Donna brought her own cleaning supplies... The mop is a tired old heap of spaghetti noodles that can no longer organize themselves to twist around the pole for ringing.  I was certain Donna settled on Windex-and-water as an acceptable solution to a streakfree shine.  So I guessed at the ratio of water to Windex and set about scrubbing the protest and catching the new dust bunnies that dared to dance in front of me and settle on the wet surface.  

After about 30 minutes of backbreaking mopping and scrubbing, the agony was over - and the mop water looked like a weak mug of hot cocoa (maybe I should have changed the water mid-cleaning?).

I was proud of myself for making my strategic mopping pattern and not mopping myself into a corner. 

It turns out that the Windex and water selection was not solution as I can see water spots but it is satisfactory to me.  I should be good for another four months with regular sweeping. Hopefully I will be back to work by then and Donna will resume her happy cleaning ways.

Quick Question...

Okay so I'm not big on nail polish except I like a splash of color on my toes during sandal season.  I just painted my toenails and used a "Rimmel 10-day polish". 

So if I applied three coats of polish to each toe will it last for 30-days?

Mom Gets Thumbs Up From 8-Year-Old

This morning my eight-year-old, Corbin, was eating breakfast at the table.  I realized I had to...er, um...pass gas.  I thought it would be a silent one so I let it pass. But to my surprise it had gained power on the way out and made a loud disgusting sound!  (you know, the sound that makes you think you should check your underwear for holes?).

I became suddenly amused and looked at Corbin and enjoyed the surprise on his face and then he dissolved into hysterical laughter.  I had to get an approval rating so I asked him if I was a dork or a cool mom - I got a thumbs up!

He probably bragged about this incident to his whole second grade class but I figure they would give me a thumbs up rating too.

It seemed like a good idea...

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Spending a lazy Sunday afternoon sprawled out on my hammock, listening to the sounds of nature and getting some color. Ben and the boys were away so silence was my friend. Too bad the sun wasn't.

It was a beautiful spring day in West Michigan, temp around 70-degrees, not a cloud in the sky.  I dressed in one of my workout tank tops and shorts.  I scrubbed my face and wore a hairband to hold back my bangs. After all, I don't sunbathe often, so I had to maximize this opportunity for a suntan.

I set the clock on the bench of the deck and eased myself into the hammock. I positioned the pillow just right, rolled up my shorts as high as they would go, and pulled down the neckline of my tank top, tucking it in my bra, to maximize the sun exposure on my chest.

I sighed to myself with supreme satisfaction as I relaxed and cleared my mind.  Thoughts of skin cancer were not permitted. I was going au natural without protection today, a treat, because it is rare that I sunbathe.  Each spring I have a delusional thought that my skin will be kinder to me, suddenly I will become a bathing sun Goddess instead of a 30-something with fair skin and freckles.  Why did I think this spring would be different? 

I was enjoying myself so much...I fell asleep.  Forty-minutes later I awoke with a start.  The damage was not fully evident until later that evening when the burn grew redder and redder, and my doting husband smirked at my attempt at sunkissed golden skin.

Did I forget to mention I wore my husband's Oakley sunglasses? So I have an equally attractive white bridge across my nose and white eyes to offset the red burn on my forehead, nose and cheeks.

Next time I will certainly wear my swimsuit instead of the hideous tan/burn lines I currently have on my chest, arms and legs.  When I wear a simple v-neck t-shirt I have a narrow patch of red skin bordered on each side by my normal blinding white skin - I look like a candy cane.  People immediately notice and respond "ooh! you got some sun, doesn't that burn hurt?" Yeah, whatever.

My tender Michigan skin proves to be the same skin I've had for 34 years.  I don't know why I thought this year would be different. This morning it began the lizard-like peeling process. My forehead, my nose...I can't conceal my dimwitted fate even with makeup.

At least my skin will be healthy and appear young when I'm 90 BECAUSE IT DOESN"T ALLOW ME TO ENJOY THE SUN FOR OVER 20 minute intervals...ever.  I'll just continue to settle for the "freckles just grow closer together" look this summer.  I've never had a true tan, any hint of color peels off in days.

Lesson learned. Again.