Ice Castles in the Air

***Stay tuned...the 2nd monthly Home School Open House is next Tuesday the 25th
(not the 24th- correction!) and I'm hoping many more of you join in! And to sweeten the pot, I'm going to be doing a giveaway!*** (Yes, I'm resorting to bribery.) ;)


It seems my "blog fog" drifted down and settled in for the rest of the week.
Because I was just totally post-less.

But we did have an interesting and fairly nice week.

On Thursday, we met up with our home school group for afternoon ice skating!
My oldest had taken lessons years ago, but I wasn't sure how my six year old would do.
But the rollerblading she did this summer paid off, because she surprised even herself!

Sasha Cohen, move over...

Or, for those of us over 40, Dorothy Hamill...

Only without the haircut.

(Or for those over 75, Sonia Hennie....)


Although she wasn't quite floating over the ice like Dorothy here, she was so good that not only did I not have to hold her up, but she started skating around with some actual speed while her mommy got to sit on the bleachers for a break and chat!



But I'll tell you a secret...I hadn't ice skated in about six or seven years, so at first I was even shakier than my six year old. The teens zoomed past me as I hovered close to the wall and they would ask me sweetly if it was my first time skating...sigh.

But by the fifth time around the rink, I was actually zooming around too, thank you very much! And it felt soooo good! Kind of like I wasn't as over the hill as my birth certificate might indicate.
In my mind's eye, as I got just a little better each time around the bend, I was no longer an old mommy but a graceful Olympic hopeful, gliding over the ice...

I know, that's Sasha...but if I had been dressed in yellow, it would have been so me.

So, what about you...have you ever ice skated?

You could call me Goldilocks, except that I'm not blonde

So...back to the bed story...

When the girls and I arrived home on Friday afternoon and walked into my room, the bed seemed strangely different.

If you missed the first part of this tale, a quick re-cap.
I had suffered and travailed through six long years with a sle*p number bed.
I suppose this would be a good bed for couples that never want to get near each other with a 3-foot pole, and therefore, that less than subtle line that divides the bed from "fairly firm" on one side....to "mushy valley hole" on the other...serves a good purpose.

But although -like any married couple- we do have our moments of disagreement...basically, we like being near each other once in awhile. Which was one of the reasons we got married.

And also, if you've ever rolled over in your sleep and found that your right side of your body was ten times lower than your left side (and the next morning, felt like Quasimodo) well, then you might understand my true sleep woes.
I don't know how this could have happened to you, though, unless
a) you have owned a sl*ep number bed now or sometime in your past or
b) you roughed it and slept out in the wilderness on some rocky, sloping hill

So, Friday as I further examined my bed, I realized that it wasn't my bed anymore...but a new bed! I looked everywhere for those wires and buttons to pump it up or deflate it....but gone were these instruments of torture.

Instead, was this simple...yet very thick mattress beneath the sheets.

I tentatively sat on it.

At first, it was very firm...but then...I started to sink.
This was a little discouraging.

And I quickly discovered this was the bed that I had mentioned to my husband that I thought might be the answer for us...
The memory foam mattress.

When my dear husband came home that evening, you can bet it was one of the first topics of conversation!
It seems he went ahead and put our old mattress on c*aigslist, got a buyer while I was gone...and then at the very same time, this foam mattress went on sale big time. So he thought he'd just surprise me!

Actually, I honestly thought this was very sweet...I was beginning to give up hope that we would ever get rid of that bed. So, really, the thought behind this was wonderful.
And because of that, I kept to myself the fact that when I had mentioned the memory foam bed, I kind of thought I would be checking it out first...you know...lying down on it in some store...
seeing how it feels...
pushing at it...
kicking it.

Well, I'm sorry to report that the first night didn't go so well... but I immediately realized that perhaps it was because we still had the "topper" foam mattress on top of it!
(Yes, we had even tried a topper foam mattress over the old bed in hopes of evening it out a bit. Didn't work.)
With this extra foam topper over the new foam bed, I would start to lie down in firmness...then sink...sink...sink...down as if it were some marshmallow quicksand.

It was just simply memory foam overload.

So the next night I removed the topper...and I have to admit, it was much better!

OK, I do find I still start to slowly sink after a few seconds...but then after a moment I realize I'm actually pretty comfortable. There's still a firmness around me. A soft firmness, mind you...but it's there.

Yet, as a gal who likes her mattress nice and firm, with not too much give (my husband might say, "read: anything just a little softer than floor board)...this whole concept of your body sort of melting into the foam is just... different.

But each night I think I seem to like it just a wee bit more.

They say you have to test out a mattress a good week at the very least before making a permanent decision. So I'm keeping an open mind for the next week or two...and I will keep you posted.

It goes without saying that it's at least better than the old system. (But then again, I can't think of too many things that wouldn't be.)

But I know my sweet husband wanted so much to compromise with our sleeping issues...plus wanting to surprise me and all.
So I'm kind of routing for this bed for these reasons alone.

But you know, I really think part of pre-marital counseling should include revealing your sleep number.

What about you? What kind of bed do you have, and are you happy with it?

It's Hip to be Square

I admit it. I am part of of a minority. But I can not hide it much longer.... as I visit blog after blog, friend after friend, it becomes apparent that the time to simply come out with the truth cannot be put off any longer.

I don't watch American Idol.
There. I said it. And I hope that those of you who are "normal" will still like me just a little, quirk and all.

I don't know when this whole quirky thing happened for me. I started out adult life just fine...watched Entertainment Tonight at least two or three times a week, knew who was divorcing whom, and even sat through personal interviews from the likes of Vanna White.
Every year I faithfully watched the Oscars and once in awhile, even a Golden Globe.
And of course the Emmy's. I was there to see Susan Lucci give her annual good-natured smile year after year after snubbed year...

And of course there were the sitcoms. I watched Seinfield and Cheers and even Designing Women. Oh, I was a hip single gal, let me tell ya'.

But something happened soon after I got married. I know it hasn't happened to most of you, but that's OK, because this is my story.
Something slowly...subtly began to change and I started watching more of that new channel called HGTV. Not the Food Channel though...not yet...that would come later...

Oh, it was innocent enough at first...just a few minutes here and there while channel surfing in-between sitcoms. Soon, though, I was watching whole episodes at a time and before I knew it, I was noticing when Suzanne Whong from House Hunters grew out her bangs.

I wasn't completely a lost cause yet, though...after my first baby was born, I became part of the mass of viewers glued to the set each week for Survivor. Hubby would sometimes watch with me to be nice, but he could take it or leave it. But this was before we had two TV's so he usually had to take it, and be quiet about it...especially at the end when they all gathered around the smug young guy with the torch, as the next victim was kicked off island- crying bitter tears because she no longer could fry up grasshoppers for dinner with people she loathed. It was all so intense and I wondered how I would endure until the next Thursday.

But...somehow...after two seasons...I began to strangely not care. I can't explain why...only that the pull of what they would find hidden behind 100 year old houses began to lure me with "If Walls Could Talk"...and then....

Then, I was actually flipping over to the Food Network and watching Paula Deen and wishing she were related to me so she'd come over with her homey accent and fix me some southern fried chicken and sweet tea...
and then came the real excitement- "The Next Food Network Star"!
Talk about a nail-biting reality show...those poor contestants would have to rattle on and cook in front of the judges without making a dork out of themselves or it was curtains!

(And speaking of curtains, those 20-something kids on Design on a Dime could whip up gorgeous drapes out of a moth-eaten bedspread, don't you think?)

In the mornings, it's a different world altogether, though. When I allow television time before 5 pm, my world consists of The Disney Channel and PBS.Kids. (Those Backyardians are really talented!)

So...there you have the whole, sorted tale. And the sad fact is, that my 78 year old aunt, as well as my mom who turned 80 watch American Idol faithfully. In fact, Mom seems to know all the young, hip celebrities and keeps me informed if someone gets married, has a face lift or passes away in Hollywood.
But unless their from the old movies, I have to ask who she's talking about. Most of the time, she mentions someone under 30 and then I haven't the vaguest idea who it is she's talking about.

There's something strangely backwards about this scenereo...

But it works out alright. Between my cable channels and the Nick Jr. shows that my children watch, I keep her current, as well. She would be none the wiser if it wasn't for me telling her who won the "Ace of Cakes" ...and of course, you can imagine how totally informed I felt the day I casually mentioned that Go Diego Go was actually Dora's cousin. The woman had no clue, even though it was old news.

So, I'll stay warmly in my little bubble here, watching my little shows....while you talk amongst yourselves about "24" and "Lost". (Nope, never saw them either...not even once! Just have heard about them on the streets...)

Besides, I like to remember Paula Abdul the way she was....when she was dancing with a cartoon animal on VH1. That's when entertainment was true entertainment.

I'm dreaming of a white potty

Just wondering...

Were you ever peacefully sleeping, drifting off to that pleasant state of R.E.M., when slowly...somewhere in in the deep crevices of your mind, you become slowly aware that you need to go to the bathroom. But all of the rest of your body is arguing with the one renegade member- the bladder. The rest of your body does not want to get up out of your warm bed, just for the selfish needs of Bladder.

So, it hunkers down deeper under the covers, trying to ignore Bladder's irritating pleas.

But your dreams start to take on a slightly different path.

Suddenly, you excuse yourself to that old flame -you- knew -in- high school- that- doesn't- hold- a- candle- to -your- husband- but -you- always- wondered- whatever- became- of- him, and hurry to find the little girl's room. But on entering, you find that it isn't a restroom after all, but is actually a crowded room filled with people of both genders, eating Ritz crackers and socializing. You think you see Mary Tyler Moore laughing at a joke your mom just told, but you don't have time to make sure.
Because by then, you feel your bladder begin to do the mambo, and you quickly duck out to continue your quest for a bathroom- any bathroom.

Finally, you find one...and it's gorgeous with cushion seats. Just as you sit down, however, you see to your horror that there are no partitions and that it is in full view of the previous party you encountered...along with your former boyfriend, who is now dipping into a bowl of guacamole.
Hurrying back up, you hope no one- especially what's his name- saw your attempt at the open potty, and you scurry away, searching through every nook and cranny you see for an available and private commode. To no avail.
Whenever hope seems to be in view, it turns out to be just another sad mistake...all the while, your bladder is yelling and screaming "Just go anywhere!".

Finally, you wake up with a start. The rest of your body gives in to that squeaky wheel of a bladder, and you stumble down the hall to your real bathroom.

The actual feel of cold porcelain never seemed so good in all your life.

So...I was just wondering. Hypothetically, of course.