Scary Stuff

Newton Was Here.

We are a geeky family.  I admit this freely.  In fact, I find great joy in the fact.  One evidence for our geeky-ness is our family’s TV time.  We watch NOVA together.  And we like it.  Well, we like it most of the time.  Last night though, things weren’t so happy.  NOVA is getting a little sensational with their science, I must say.  Black holes are cool, amazing things, and yeah, it’s neat to think that in the middle of the Milky Way galaxy is one of these things.  But really, do we need to be told that at the center of our home galaxy lies a ravenous monster, seemingly fasting of late, but which will wake up hungry and ready to devour everything around it??  And oh, a few years ago it showed signs of awakening and if it does…  can you say spaghettification??

It freaked the kids out.  Sobs were heard.  Some parents mess their kids up by letting them watch Jaws, or some Stephen King film.  We go for the more heady stuff.  NOVA.  Freaked. Them. Out.

My own fears are a little different.  What I am scared of right now is not that the gravity on my feet will be greater than the gravity on my head, thus elongating my body till it snaps in two, then snapping each of those pieces in two, etc.  Nope, not keeping me up at night.  What scares me more is this.  I had some notecards printed up, with some photos that I took, with the intention of selling them to people.  The freaky thing is WHAT IF PEOPLE DON’T LIKE THEM?  What if I’m the only one who likes them, and other people have just been saying nice things about my photos all this time so they wouldn’t have to see me cry, and they aren’t really willing to shell out any hard cash for them, of course??  *GULP*

It’s enough to give a person nightmares.  This person, at least.

It’s for what I think is a good cause (our adoption process), but what if no one thinks that IS a good cause?  What do we think we’re doing, trying to become parents of another child? Look at the two we’ve already messed up!  We make them watch NOVA, for Pete’s sake.  Practically abusive.

Yeah, I have people issues.  But Christ is enough for even me.  And black-hole-fearing children.  And the parents who giggle about their fears.  Later, I mean, after they’re asleep.  Oh come on, you would too, and you know it. 

Luna Lovegood and Violet Heaslip: Separated at Birth?

Harry Potter and Word Girl don’t have too much in common. But you have to admit, these two characters bear a resemblance to each other.

Happy Birthday, #8!

Today is the birthday of my favorite baseball player ever, Gary Carter.  He played in the best World Series I ever cared about, the 1986 series that pitted the Mets against the Red Sox.  In his honor, here’s the story of my brief baseball fandom.

My brother Josh was (and is) an avid Boston Red Sox fan. I didn’t really care too much about baseball, except that I liked to play wiffle ball with Josh and the neighbor kids and Major League Baseball on our Nintendo NES.  But, being a sister, I took to the idea of being a fan of a different team than my brother.  Just out of the blue, I picked the New York Mets.  My best friend Erin also chose the Mets, while her brother Matt was into the Red Sox.  So it was pretty much perfect, until I discovered that our teams would never actually play each other.  There went the fun of rooting against my brother, right?

Basically that season I picked a couple of favorite players, Gary Carter (catcher) and Lenny Dykstra (outfield).  Both of them had great seasons.  I kind of stopped liking Lenny though.  His personal life was too controversial for me.  Also, putting his name on a t-shirt just seemed kind of … out there.

Then I discovered the little section of the paper that listed the teams in the 2 leagues, east and west divisions.  I followed them religiously, and they eventually led to the playoffs, which led to the World Series!  Imagine that, our two teams were going to play after all!  I was elated.  So was Josh,although possibly for different reasons.

I don’t remember much of the series (thus proving that I was and am not an actual fan, but rather a mere dabbler), except the whole Bill Buckner debaucle.  Gary Carter, I can now read, performed admirably.  I was proud of my Gary Carter card collection, which I still have in those plastic card pages you put in 3-ring binders.

After the series, Erin and I had some serious ammunition against our brothers.  That was a great fall and winter in that respect.  The next year, neither of our teams made the series, and Erin and I jumped off the Mets ship.  I decided to pick the Oakland A’s and follow that team.  I can’t remember why that particular team allured me.  It may have been something to do with Jose Canseco and Mark McGuire, who were slamming baseballs as The Bash Brothers or something like that.  Plus, the A’s now had Don Baylor, who had been on the Red Sox in 1986, so ha HA!

Then the A’s won the World Series against the Dodgers.  Wow!  I was some kind of a baseball oracle, choosing which team would win when I knew nothing at all about baseball! I was awesome.

And what was Gary Carter doing in 1988?  Umm, I have no idea.  Checking the wiki, I see he was still on the Mets.

1989.  The A’s won again!  Rock on!  (This was the year of the earthquake in Candlestick Park at the beginning of game 3, remember?)

Then, 1990.  Alas poor A’s.  This was also the year I had my first real boyfriend (all the previous ones had been imaginary?), causing me to lose my interest in baseball and in taunting my little brother.

So that’s my baseball story.  Happy birthday, Mr. Carter!  And thanks for not, you know, having DUIs and assault charges and stuff.  Or obvious steroid use.  We love you for that.  And you’ll always be a Met in my eyes, if only for the fact that I followed baseball for those few years. 

Any historical errors in this post are here because I have a bad memory and I never knew much to begin with.

Already, a Discovery!

School hasn’t even started for the year, and my kids already have been learning. Here at the Dellinger household, every day is a school day. After some experimentation, it was discovered that plastic animals can stick to the ceiling if enough blue sticky-tack is used on their feet. This works even with the big dinosaurs.

You’ll have to use your imaginations on this one. Even though it was a great sight, I hesitated to photograph the process at the risk of condoning such behavior.

But it was funny. And creative.

Should I mention it on our report to the state? Hee hee.

p.s. If you want to see other people’s inventive uses of Sticky Tack, you can google the term and look at people’s images. Interesting. I also personally know one person (who shall remain nameless) who tried chewing it like gum. She was disappointed in the result.

An Observation, and a New Way to Spend Your Money!

What am I describing:

It has the ability to suck all good thoughts out of those around it. Its kiss is a fate worst than death as it will steal your soul. It feeds on the positive emotions of human beings and forces them to relive their worst memory. Eventually, if kept in the company of one of these for too long, one will be driven insane by wallowing in one’s own sadness and horror. The power of the kiss is to suck up a person’s soul, leaving them an empty shell, yet not quite dead - just a soulless, jibbering person, incapable of a single thought.

Those knowledgeable of things Harry Potter will no doubt be able to yell an answer. In fact, I took the text for my description from two HP fansites (and added my own emphases). It’s those seriously spooky dementors, subjects of You-Know-Who.

I have noticed, however, a curious similarity to something in our own house. The television. After watching it, the children become either actively nasty to those around them, or passive, gelatinous blobs that communicate only with grunts and whines.

So that’s my new name for the TV. The Dementors. Heh heh.

Anyway…

Okay, on to the second thing on my mind today.
The opportunity now exists for you to relive the life of your favorite pet, over and over. The first pet dog has been cloned, giving its joyful owner the chance to have her faithful companion back after his (untimely?) death from cancer.

His name was/is Booger.

She wanted her Booger back. (I am laughing in a rather middle-schoolish way about the name, hee hee.)

The cost for the service for future patrons is over $100,000, but the owner of the Booger in question paid a mere fifty thousand, since she helped out the Korean company with publicity and things like that.

I know what I’m doing with MY tax return money next year.

I read these weird news stories and my imagination just runs with it. And I like to share that journey with you. Aren’t you glad? Oh, also, if you are amused (ashamedly or not) by that phenomenon known as Engrish, you can find some fun examples on the RNL Bio website (that’s the company who produced the litter of Boogers for this lady).

A litter of Boogers. Giggle.

More Photoshopping

This is my friend and nephew, Silas. Clicking the image will bring up a larger-sized one. Aren’t computers fun?

Give a Kid a Camera…

And look what you get. My apologies to those of you on a slow connection. My blog is image-heavy these days because it hurts to type. And because I like images.

Anthills in the driveway. Important and interesting stuff if you’re a kid. Or me.

Enchiladas. We all need to remember this meal, so we took this picture. Yeah.

The view under Gannon’s bed. Those are his swim trunks. That he couldn’t find. Not sure what the other stuff is. Let’s not think about it.

Breakfast.

Bling.

Here’s Daddy, from an Acadia’s Eye View.

Not to be left out, here’s Mommy. And James, Jared, and Brian. But you really have to look hard to see them.

Metal waiting for the trash guy’s metal day. Glad we have this moment preserved.

We have a sword on the garage roof. What? Don’t you?

This is a radish we are growing. Gannon needed a photo.

Here’s the neighbor kid, Noah. This is usually the first view of him we see each day, when someone from our house bangs on his door, or vice versa. “Can you come out and play?”

I do not know this man. He appears at periodic intervals to mow a neighbor’s lawn. He cheesed for Gannon’s camera. We digitally captured his photons.

And my favorite so far, taken by one or both of the kids, is this picture. They love each other.

Feathers Come, and Feathers Go

I think we’re far enough now from the real reverence of Memorial Day for me to post this story.

While much of the rest of the country was observing the day with parades and, well, memorials, for us much of this past weekend was spent with my nieces and nephew over at my Mom’s house. While there, the kids found a dead bird. As a result, the three adults present were witness to a ceremony of delightful solemnity. I have to apologize that I didn’t have my camera during this documentary-worthy event, but in hindsight, maybe it was better that way. Out of respect.

First the five kids (ages 8, 6, 6, 4, 3) examined the poor bird at close range, gently poking it with sticks. Then the oldest carried it around the yard (with sticks) to find a suitable hole in which to inter the remains. They found one, plopped it in, and set about to decorate the gravesite.

The kids arranged flowers, grass, leaves, a brick, an old bird nest, a notebook, and a keychain reading “NC STATE RECYCLES” on top of and in front of the hole. This they did quite reverently, except for the screeching of one child at the appearance of a few largeish beetles from under the bird carcass. That was pretty much the end of that particular child’s involvement in the project.

Then it was time for the actual service to begin. By this point two of the kids had wandered off, and the other three stood in a line, gazing down at the grave. I knew we were in for something good. I waited for what would come next. This is what I heard:

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic….”

When they had finished, the oldest sort of looked around, wondering what was to come next. Inspiration hit, and he went down on one knee and gestured dramatically to the grave. The other two eagerly followed suit. They said a few words.

“I’ll always remember this bird.”

“I’m sorry you won’t be around to make eggs next spring.”

And a few more oddly appropriate sentiments. Then, the clincher came. The moment that it all became perfect.

It was during the eulogy that the sound of Taps could be heard wafting over the trees.

I joke not. Taps was being played. Somewhere downtown a Memorial Day ceremony was being held at just the right moment. Close your eyes for a moment and picture it. Three solemn children, kneeling, extolling the virtues of a bird they hardly knew, while a lonely trumpet plays Taps. It was almost more than we grownups could bear. I wanted to howl with laughter, but somehow remained quiet enough so as not to disturb the service.

As the small group began to depart, the oldest stood facing my son, a concerned yet resigned expression on his face. He put his hand on Gannon’s shoulder, looked him in the eye, and nodded comfortingly, a gesture that was lost on my son.

At the conclusion of the affair, the gang of cousins went back to playing knights and ladies in distress. (I must say, however, that it was the girls’ dresses that were really in distress. Tulle does not hold up well to hemlock branches and lilac bushes.)

This Would Be Us.

Yes sir, yes sir, three vacs full.

Don’t Like the Weather? Wait a While.

I just want to announce that, after SEVERAL days of upper-70’s, sunny weather, it is now snowing.  That’s right.  Suh-know-wing.

Oh wait, now it’s sunny again.

I don’t know what to do with my kids’ clothes.  They’re all in a pile in their rooms, unable to fit into the drawers.  Summer clothes?  Winter clothes?  What the heck, let’s do it all.