Single For A Weekend

I had to work all weekend and my husband and daughter did not feel like hanging around and waiting for me to come home. They packed a bag and headed south to Ryan's home town. They will be back tomorrow. It's very quiet without them around but at the same time it gives me time to get a few things done.

So what did I do? Not too much to be honest. Yesterday I crashed with Sandman on my lap as soon as I got home. I woke up in the middle of the night, hot and uncomfortable with the seams of my jeans pushing into my legs. After addressing my discomfort, I lay awake till the wee hours of the morning.

This evening I am a little more productive. I have purchased and hung new curtains. The black-out, energy saving kind. Looks rather nice. I have just started a load of laundry and as soon as I am done blogging, I am going to clear this table to work on the second part of Lola's Halloween costume.

And like the good little Wisconsinite that I have become, I have the TV tuned to Sunday Night Football. Go Pack, Go!

Single life is so exciting, isn't it?

World Wide Namesakes

Hanneke was a very popular girl's name in Holland in the sixties and seventies. In elementary school, I was one of three in my class alone. Nowadays, you don't hear it much and if you do, chances are the woman is my age. My maiden name is a lot less common. It's not so unique that every Van H. you meet is related to me, but you really don't encounter it very often. I was sure, however, that my particular combination was one of a kind. Until I learned otherwise via the Dutch version of classmates.com.

After I moved to the US, I stopped using my maiden name, except for official purposes, because my married name is so much easier to pronounce. Once again I was convinced my name was unique. With such a typical Dutch first name, how could it not be? Again, I was mistaken. This time it was Google that taught me there is another Hanneke N., a professional mediator somewhere in the Rocky Mountains.

The funny thing is, I have been in contact with both namesakes this past year. The first time was accidental. I had received a strange, legal looking email at my email address designated for possible spam. At first I thought it was junk, but that didn't seem quite right. When I got to the end of the message, I noticed the sender was from Colorado and I put two and two together. I responded, letting the sender know there was more than one Hanneke N. and she had the wrong one. A couple of days later I received an email from the other Hanneke N. Like me, she is an immigrant though she moved here as a toddler, and we discovered we were both born in the same town.

My Dutch namesake contacted me directly just days later. She had found my blog online and we emailed briefly back and forth. Isn't it amazing, and amusing, how quickly the anonymous world wide web can become personal?

With This Ring...

Photo by Jewelry by Johan

Four years ago today, I tiptoed on the arm of my uncle over the pebbles on the beach of Olympia's Priest Point Park to marry Ryan. It was my uncle's arm because our parents could not make it (international weddings are a bit of a bureaucratic nightmare), and I tiptoed because high heels and pebbles do not mix.

It was a lovely, intimate ceremony led by our friend, the Reverend Boyle, and attended by a few friends, a few strangers, and a few relatives. My cousin, my aunt, and my uncle had surprised me with their visit the night before. Just as the ceremony began, the sun came out to shine its light on our day and the start of our life together.

Ryan gave me the most beautiful wedding band, a strand of white gold that wraps around my finger five times with a green sapphire in the fourth ring. I gave him his grandfather's wedding band. Unfortunately it was lost during on one of our many backyard projects. Every once in a while I thought about replacing it, but the time was never right. Until six weeks ago. One of his customers was seriously flirting with Ryan to his discomfort and my amusement. He blamed it on not having a wedding ring. The time had come to remedy the situation. And so I did.

I wanted something out of the ordinary yet clearly a wedding ring. It also had to be something that fitted Ryan. And I preferred it to be handmade. I found Jewelry by Johan on Etsy. He makes beautiful titanium rings with a wood inlay. Plus he is a Wisconsin local and I like buying local. The wood I chose is lignum vitae, or ironwood, known for its strength, toughness, and density. Our four years together have seen some very rough times but we have proven to be strong, tough, and solid.

Happy Anniversary, Ryan. I love you with all of my heart.

Expatriates And Patriots

Source: google.com

With the Fourth of July rapidly approaching, the amount of stars and stripes I see is steadily increasing. Almost every blog and magazine I read features the American flag in some way, shape, or form. For me, this is a little foreign. The Dutch are not too big on waving the flag. Sure, during national holidays and world cups, there is quite a bit of red, white, and blue in addition to the orange, but for the most part, you'll find the Dutch flag in a piece of cheese.

Americans are very different in this respect. Displaying the flag is the most visible sign of patriotism. And of that, there is quite a bit. It starts early on in schools with the daily Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America. The Dutch are not patriots, we don't display any pride in our heritage or country, a few zealots notwithstanding. We do not stand united. In fact, we are more divided than ever. It makes me very sad.

Where I come from, the saying goes "Just act normal, that's crazy enough." All this patriotism is a bit over the top for me. I have a hard time dressing Lola in an American flag dress, to be honest. Fortunately the dress we received is way too big, so this year I can get by without it. But I do like that on days like the Fourth, the whole country celebrates together, and the emphasis is on American, whether you're Native American, African American, Asian American, Italian American, Irish American, or Dutch American.

I know we are still a long way from universal peace, love, and understanding, in my new country as well as my old. But while the use of the different varieties of Americans may be considered politically correct, it also creates a sense of unity, attainable for every immigrant. The Dutch could learn a thing or two here.

Happy Fourth of July! Have a wonderful weekend, everyone.

Beads Revisited

My bags are almost packed and I am getting ready to go. On Thursday morning I am driving down to Milwaukee to join my former boss at the Bead & Button Show. For three wonderful days I get to play with beads again. I cannot wait, to tell you the truth. The beading business is the part of my old life I truly miss. I am working on my shopping list to get my basic supplies organized. And I promised to bring back something shiny for one of my staff and silver crimp ends for my niece.

Unfortunately my little beading retreat is threatening to turn into a stressful event. Aside from Bead & Button, I have agreed to a family reunion, the Locust Street Beer Run, and driving to Wausau and back late Friday night to pick my husband up at the airport. He is returning from a week long training in Denver. It's my own fault. I always do this. Not wanting to disappoint anyone, I try to find a way to make everyone happy. And I usually do. Everyone but me.

A woman in her forties should know better, don't you think?

Making Do

I had a little break down this weekend. It came over me quite unexpectedly while I was reorganizing our bedroom. The piles of clothes and miscellaneous clutter had been getting to me and I decided they needed to go. Right now. As I was putting stuff away, folding clothes, and doing laundry, I looked around and realized I wasn't happy with the result. It was nicely organized but it still looked like crap. I do not like the plastic stackable bins that hold my clothes, I do not like the shelf Ryan brought in from the garage for me, and I hate the fact that I do not have a place to store my bead and craft supplies. One where I can easily access them and Lola cannot get into them without supervision.

I laid down on our bed and took in the room. I am usually good at making the most of small spaces but this time it wasn't working for me. Because this is not my house. I can't take a hammer and nails and hang up a shelf, high enough to thwart a toddler. I cannot bring in my own furniture because there is no room for it. As I was lying there, not having a place of my own weighed heavily on me. It's not just this house, it's every house I have lived in since I moved to the US.

When we moved into Snug Harbor, our 700 square feet quaint cottage was filled to the brim. Ryan's things mostly, and what little I had brought with me from Holland. It was far too small to accommodate all our stuff. The furniture was too big. Nothing matched. It felt cramped. We fixed the house up on the outside, but the inside never received the love it needed. Before we were able to tackle that project, we were forced to move again, and found ourselves living in even smaller quarters. And surrounded by bins, dozens of bins, stacked to the ceiling.

I am so sick of not having a nice, comfortable house of my own. One that Ryan and I shape together. Where the furniture matches, where everything has its own place. Where Lola can play. Where I can craft. Where Ryan can make music. Where we can live. I want it more than anything. It breaks my heart that it seems further away than ever.

Please don't get me wrong. I truly appreciate my parents-in-law taking us in. They have a beautiful house, on the lake, surrounded by nature. I love having a fully functioning kitchen at my disposal, not one but three bathrooms, a hot tub, a fireplace operated by remote control, a dishwasher, and a washing machine. For homeless people, we are pretty well off. But it's not ours. Once again we are making do. We have been making do for so long.

It will be a while longer before we can make our dreams of having a home of our own a reality. And we'll make that work. We are fine, really. It just gets to me every now and then. So I throw myself a little pity party, my husband consoles me, and we get back on track. We make do. We're getting pretty good at it.

Girls Night In

Lola seems to have caught a case of the Terrible Twos lately. Trying times. Everything is a struggle; going potty, getting dressed, going to bed. Especially going to bed. The sweet little girl that climbed cheerfully up the ladder every night at bedtime, was content with reading a book and snuggling with mommy is gone. She climbs out of bed at least half a dozen times, she cries (sometimes screams) for a good thirty minutes most nights, and has become a master at stalling.

She goes exploring every day and empties out every cabinet or drawer she can get into. She refuses to sit in a shopping cart but insists on walking (read: running - toddlers don't walk), and yesterday she managed to sit down and poop on the floor. Trying times indeed. The only thing still going well is brushing her teeth. The girl loves to brush.

But tonight was different. Ryan was at school and it was just the two of us. We watched a little Scooby Doo together and chatted about her day. When it was time to start dinner, she brought a little stool into the kitchen, offering her assistance. She stirred the bacon and rolled out the dough with a rolling pin. While I finished preparing the savory leak pie that was on the menu tonight, she played with the dough scraps, baking a pie of her own and whipping up a batch of cookies as well. Good times.


At bedtime she protested only a little. Once upstairs she insisted on reading me the story of Spot. Afterwards she invited me to spend the night with her and her 30,000 stuffed animals but didn't seem to mind when I respectfully declined. She then proceeded to lovingly arrange her babies around her, laid down and went to sleep. Good times, indeed.

I love watching Lola care for her babies. She is normally your fairly clumsy toddler that likes to roughhouse. But when it comes to her babies, she is incredibly gentle. One baby in particular is treated in the most delicate way, a tiny leopard-like creature with a long tail and a human face. It is a little Anne Geddes doll and Lola adores it. She cradles it in her arms, softly petting it. I melt every time she does that. (On a side note: am I the only one who wonders what Anne Geddes was thinking that one Halloween when she was carving pumpkins? "Hmmm..., instead of the usual candle, why don't I stuff a baby in there?")

Lola will turn three in April and that will be the end of the Terrible Twos, it says in the manual. But I have already been warned by folks in the know. Apparently there is also the Terrible Threes. The good times are going to get even better...

Adventures Of A Dutch Girl

Born and raised in The Netherlands, I left windmills, wooden shoes, and tulips behind in 2006 to follow my heart to the United States. It led me to Olympia, located at the tip of Puget Sound in the beautiful state of Washington, and the 24th wettest city in the nation. My Olympic Adventure has been my greatest adventure yet. I moved halfway across the globe after a two-week courtship, married the love of my life and became the mother of Lola, the most enchanting girl I have ever met.

It hasn’t been all moonlight and roses. My pursuit of the American Dream didn’t quite work out the way I had imagined. Surprisingly, potential American employers were not all that impressed by my Dutch employers and experience, and it did not rain as many job offers as I had hoped. Not one, to be exact. And when Ryan ended up without a job, and the economy went to pieces, stress levels in our household went up a bit.

This did not keep us from stubbornly proceeding with our plans to build a home. We built a small but very charming barn in our backyard. Unfortunately we ran out of money before it was done. That did not stop us either. We simply rented out the house, and moved into the barn, finished or not. We had no windows, no stairs, no bathroom, and no running water. We didn’t mind roughing it, because we were convinced our persistence would pay off and one of us, if not both, would find a proper job and all would be well. And in the meantime, we were building character.

Interesting decisions and not very wise ones, in hindsight. We were not rewarded for our perseverance. Although we did find work locally, it was not enough to turn my Olympic Adventure into a success story. Because both of us have family there, we expanded our job search to include Wisconsin. Within two months I found a job as a marketing manager, and things are looking good for Ryan as well. In the Northwoods no less, where marketing and sales jobs are few and far between. I think the universe is telling us something.

Having been a city girl all my life, I cherished the rural feel of Olympia’s Westside. I loved pretending to live the country life, with city benefits. It was just us on forty acres of land. One acre was ours, the rest was a nature reserve. The nearest supermarket was a mere five minutes away, and good lattes were readily available. In the Northwoods I have to pretend no more, it really is the country. No yoga classes, no bead stores, no fancy bakeries. My Northwoods Adventure might just surpass all my other adventures.

All this drama does have an upside; it makes for good blog copy. (It would have been great copy if I hadn’t edited myself. Not everything needs to be on the world wide web for all eternity, after all. I have to save something for the book.) Because let’s face it, Happily Ever After is just plain boring.

I want to be boring now. At least for a little while.

Back to The Dutch Girl's Adventures

Gainfully Employed

It was sunny and crisp this morning, when I got in my father-in-law's car to go to work. It took two tries to actually make it into the car, as pencil skirts and pick-up trucks do not match very well. A quick stop at the Tribal Offices to pick up the coveted gaming license, and I was off. I took the long way round today. I probably will quite often this winter because it is the busier and therefore better plowed road to work.

Today was my first day as Marketing Manager of the Potawatomi Carter Casino and Hotel, PCCH for short. It was only half a day and consisted of the grand tour, shaking many hands, a crash course in spotting money launderers, and filling out an enormous stack of paperwork. My colleagues were friendly and welcoming, and I really enjoyed myself. Tomorrow I'll sit down with the Marketing Director, meet my staff, and fill out more paperwork.

The best part? [Big Fat Grin] The preferential parking for managers!

Tough Girl

We're here. Here is Crandon WI, population 1961. Make that 1964. Lola, Sandman, and I flew into Wisconsin last Friday. Ryan will follow in a little bit with a U Haul truck full of furniture and clothes. Lots of clothes. After a busy week of packing boxes and suitcases, visits from friends, and selling more antiques, I kissed my husband good bye, and left Washington for good. My Olympic Adventure has come to an end.

I have mixed feelings about Washington. When Ryan and I were driving back to Olympia after celebrating Thanksgiving with friends in Seattle, we were telling each other our happy Washington memories. There are so many. It is the place where I fell in love, became a wife and a mother, where I watched a bald eagle fishing not thirty feet away, where I camped in the rainforest, where I built a home.

Washington is also the place where I learned first hand about the harsher side of America. Where not one employer would give an experienced communications expert a chance. Where most companies cannot be bothered to reply to an application, or have the decency to tell you they hired someone else after interviewing you. Where no work means no health insurance. Where it is every woman for herself.

But that is not all I learned. I found out I am as tough as they come. I am resilient. I can rough it. I can start a fire from scratch. I can operate an excavator. I can go a year, or longer even, without buying clothes. I can give birth without pain medication. (As I write this, I remember how giving birth the old fashioned way empowered me. If I can handle that kind of pain, I told myself at the time, I can handle anything. And I have.)

I know from experience that over time the bad memories will fade and the good ones will remain. So will the life lessons of my Olympic Adventure. I will apply them to my new adventure. Whatever it is, I can handle it. Bring it on! Forged titanium indeed.

Stellar Solace

Today's horoscope for Scorpios:

The links in your chain are straining under the weight of their load, but they will hold. You are forged titanium. You are built solid, from the ground up. No shortcuts, no alloys.

It may be a generic horoscope in today's paper, but I'll take it.

Virtual Friends & Idols

Did you catch the new slide show of favorite posts over on the left side of Olympic Adventures? I would love to be able to say I made that, but no, I do not possess the necessary skills. Yet. Someday I want to learn all about programming HTML, Flash, etcetera. I think it would be a valuable addition to my resume and I know I would highly enjoy doing it.

No, I won the slide show! My new virtual BFF Cheri hosted a give-a-way on her blog Its So Very Cheri. She had quite a few gifts to hand out and I won the slide show made by Jane of Frugal Fine Living. Jane makes a mean autumn pork roast, too, by the way! Thank you both very much, ladies.

It's a funny thing, the business of blogging. I really enjoy blog hopping when I have the time, and finding inspiration for crafts, decorations, and recipes. Or life in general. You leave a comment here and there, and before you know it, you've made a new friend.

I highly admire the women that have turned their blogs into businesses. Not by simply adding Google Ads to their blog, but by being creative. Like The Crock Pot Lady for instance, who decided to use her slow cooker every day for a year and blog about it. Hers was the first blog I started following. She has just published a cookbook! Or Tip Junkie, who wants us all to buy from 'Mom-preneurs' this holiday season. (I am going to ask Santa for the slow cooker cook book I think, doing just that.)



Someday I hope to do something similar. I have no idea how or what at the moment, but there's something brewing in the back of my mind. With life becoming a little less stressful soon, it will be fun to play around with and develop ideas. I'll keep you posted!

Emotional Wreck

That's me. Ever since I was offered the job in Wisconsin, my emotions have been all over the place. I am driving my husband, my child, but mostly myself absolutely nuts! Very uncharacteristic of me. Perhaps the past years of bad luck and financial woes are finally catching up with me, now that they're about to end.

I want to be happy and joyful about being offered this job but I just worry too much. It keeps me up at night. I am afraid I will not be granted a gaming license, a necessity for working in a casino. It also makes me sad to walk away from so much potential, the property we put our hearts, souls, and savings into. Not to mention there is so much to do before we move. And almost no time to do it.

But we're finally taking a step forward. A small step maybe, but in the right direction. And I am truly appreciative of the opportunity we have been given here. I am very much looking forward to living in Wisconsin.









I just need to have faith that this is where we are meant to be right now, and hand my worries over. The universe will take care of the rest.

Including the FCP Gaming Commission. Hmmm...

A Midwest Adventure

I was in Wisconsin the past few days, visiting with my in-laws, and interviewing for the position of marketing manager with a casino in the Northwoods. My interview went well, after a bit of a rough start. Rather than opening with the standard "So Johanna, tell us a little bit about yourself..." the first question posed to me was: "Please tell us about one of our promotions and what you would do to improve it?" It felt like I was taking a test I hadn't studied for. "Eh..."

The next question was also a good one: "Tell us about your past experience in gaming." I have none. Things improved after that, fortunately, and I left with a good feeling. I had made a portfolio of marketing materials I have made for my previous employers and it was very well received. I am absolutely convinced they like me as a person, but more importantly, they must like as a marketeer as well. I really hope so, I want to move to Wisconsin. I want to live within driving distance of family and friends, and make a fresh start. It will be a major transition with some very serious consequences, but I am so ready to take that step.

On Friday, the day of my birthday, my parents-in-law and I drove south again. We took the scenic route along the river, through the woods and the rolling hills of America's Dairyland. I have this fantasy of one day living in an old farmhouse on a couple of acres in the middle of nowhere. My dream was almost tangible as we were making our way down state. At one point we saw a young couple parked by the side of the road. They had removed the back seats from their car and simply sat there, looking out over the river.

"Even if something is left undone, everyone must take time to sit still and watch the leaves turn." - Elizabeth Lawrence

I celebrated my birthday and Halloween with my brother and sister-in-law. The afternoon was spent carving pumpkins. It was fun watching my nieces work on their creations. E. meticulously carving an intricate design she had downloaded off the internet. M. confidently drawing a face on her pumpkin in one go and carving it out. And L. insisting on scooping out all the goop and seeds herself.

They live in a neighborhood with plenty of children. Every year at Halloween three streets are blocked off to all traffic and one street is converted into a Haunted Street with a haunted house and more spookiness. Huddled around a fire pit in the driveway we watched hundreds of creatures great and small walk by. At one point one of the neighbors remarked he had already handed out 1700 pieces of candy. And he needed more! Since this was Wisconsin, plenty of parents accompanying their kids sported a beer. Something you would NOT see in Washington. A Starbucks coffee maybe, but alcohol? Never!

As I was watching the little ones trot by, I really missed Ryan and Lola. Her first official trick or treating, and I wasn't there. That is the only thing I did not like about my trip: having to celebrate my birthday and Halloween without them. Next year it will be different! I think I'll go as a witch...

Style Or Comfort?

I scored a pair of Levi's the other day. They used to belong to a teenager but I don't think they have ever been worn. They were in a bag with children's clothing that was given to Carla. They're a size 6 (36/38) and they fit like a glove! "You suck," Carla told me when I was able to close the zipper and still breathe. I was really pleased.

The thing is, they're 'mom jeans'. Jeans where the waistline actually comes up to a natural height. Somewhere in time jeans' waistlines dropped and 'low riders' became the norm. Only mothers (and the occasional world leader), notoriously uncool, would prefer comfort over style and stick to natural waistlines. Hence the term 'mom jeans'.

Despite having been told for years now that the waistline is on the rise again, I have seen no evidence to support this. It feels very strange to wear pants this high and when I look in the mirror, I am instantly transported to the early eighties, back to my high school pictures. This pair of pants may have belonged to a teenager, proving that fashion recycles itself every thirty years or so, they're still mom jeans.

I do not want to wear mom jeans. I am too young to wear mom jeans. And too cool. I must admit though, they're really comfortable. Maybe with a long shirt, so you don't actually see my waistline?

No Guilt, No Glory

Yesterday I went to pick up Lola from daycare after work, as I do every day. The front door was locked and no-one answered when I knocked. I walked around back to find Lola, Dylan, Franklin, Carla, and the dogs playing in the backyard. They were having a blast together.

Lola was very happy to see me but when it was time to go home, she told me "No." She wanted to stay. After going back and forth on the subject for a little bit, I did what I usually do in these circumstances; I gave her a hug and a kiss, said good bye and walked away, fully expecting her to come running after me, as she always does.

It backfired. She was absolutely fine with me leaving. That was NOT supposed to happen. I walked back up to her but no, she really was intent on staying. Carla told me it was fine with her and that I should enjoy the unexpected night alone with my husband. And so I did.

I love having the occasional night off, but this time it didn't sit well with me at all. I felt a little heartbroken. (Of course the melancholic classic rock song playing on the radio the entire way home didn't do much to lighten the mood.) I thought of all the things I do not do with my daughter. We have never been to the zoo together. We do not do crafts together. We hardly ever go to the park together, or go swimming. Lola does all these things, but with Carla. Not with me.

I know this sense of failure I have is self imposed. Not working, or working less, is not an option at the moment. And I am extremely fortunate and blessed in having found Carla. I leave my daughter in very capable and loving hands every day. I do for my family what needs to be done in the best way possible. But that doesn't lessen the feelings of guilt. And that makes me sad. And not just for Lola but mostly for myself, truth be told. Which adds on even more guilt.

Motherhood, it truly is a source of joy. And of guilt, just as much.

Bye Bye Barbie

On my seventh birthday I became the proud guardian of Barbie. My Barbie had long, dark brown hair, and when you moved her legs, her arms moved as well. I LOVED her. With the help of my crafty grandparents and parents, I created and collected boxes full of accessories for her. Clothes, furniture, and linens mostly. And of course Ken, the overly tan male barbie with plastic hair, followed by Skipper, the teenager, were later added to the family.

My sister had a collection of barbies as well. Her accessories were even cooler. She had the RV, the horse, and the bicycle, if I remember correctly. Together we played and played, inventing elaborate story lines and turning all sorts of household supplies into useful items. Dish pans were transformed into swimming pools, plant stands turned into stairs.

When I outgrew Barbie, she disappeared into the trunk in my room, along with all of her clothes and furniture. The trunk that held all of my childhood memorabilia. It has accompanied me to every home I have ever had, including the barn. Over the years I have sorted through it and thrown stuff away, but never Barbie or her luggage. I have always held on to her, secretly hoping I would one day have a daughter to pass her on to.

And that's what I did this weekend. Lola loves to play with the barbies at Carla's house but I hadn't given her mine yet. On Saturday, however, the two of us were upstairs reorganizing my clothes when I pulled out Barbie and everything that comes with her.

Lola was delighted! She has played with nothing else since. The glue on the furniture is old and not holding up anymore, and the pile of 'to be fixed' furniture is rapidly growing. But Barbie is still her fabulous self. She hasn't changed a bit!

It was so much fun watching Lola play with my barbies. We emptied the boxes onto the floor and she sat amidst it all, picking everything up and examining it carefully. She even took the barbies to bed with her.

I caught myself being very protective of Barbie though. I spoke of "my barbies" to Lola and watched her like a hawk. Thirty six years of guardianship is not easily surrendered. But the time has come to let go. I am not lending Barbie to Lola after all, I am passing her on, as I had always dreamed of. She is Lola's now, and she can do with her as she pleases.

Except cut her hair. Or polish her nails. Or use make-up on her. Or markers. Or crayons...

Bert & Ernie

Most mornings when Lola wakes up, I take her into bed with us to snuggle for a little bit. I have this romantic notion in my mind of the two of us sleeping together in the big bed, spooning and cuddling. I love to look at her sleeping, with her rosy cheeks, snug in her bed surrounded by an increasing number of stuffed animals and dolls. She is such an angel when she sleeps.

A little while ago, Ryan was out with a friend and he was going to spend the night away from home. I was very tired that day and when I put Lola to bed, I decided to turn in as well. And since I had all this extra room in my bed, I took the opportunity to let her sleep with me and live out my fantasy.

It was a nightmare! She would not stop talking at first. At one point she had become quiet and I thought she had fallen asleep. I was almost gone myself when she grabbed my nose and started singing "I like to move it, move it..." from the Madagascar movie with the dancing hippo shaking her booty. It was as funny as it was annoying. I kept shushing her until at long last she was silent.

Unfortunately, that was not the end of it. She wouldn't lay still either. She tossed and turned, kicked me countless times, climbed over me to my other side (and again, and again), she even fell out of bed once. I tried putting her back in her own bed but it was too late for that. She wouldn't have it. It was hours later when she at last conked out. By that time I was wide awake, of course.

It reminded me of the Bert & Ernie skit where the two of them are in bed and Ernie keeps waking up a tired and sleepy Bert to tell him something trivial. "Bert, Bert, wake up Bert..." By the time Ernie finally falls asleep, Bert is wide awake. At least he had his own bed.

So much for romantic mother and daughter sleepovers. Live and learn. And sleep.

Beading On

Last weekend Bello Modo organized its first annual Trunk Show. We had invited several lampwork and ceramic artists to join us at the Hotel deLuxe (wonderful venue with superb service and the best Gorgonzola Cheesecake EVER - we highly recommend both the hotel and the cheesecake) in downtown Portland OR. Like any trip without luggage or time restrictions, we loaded up a U Haul truck with far more products than we could possibly put on display and leisurely made our way south on Friday afternoon.

On a side note: there is a new television show called 'Leverage' that is set in Portland. When we arrived at the hotel they were filming next door. After we had set up, we headed to the bar for a cocktail and found most of the cast and crew there too. The show stars Timothy Hutton, my friend Susan's teenage crush. I was so hoping to run into him. Not because of him - while he was rather attractive back in the day, I can't in all honesty say he is aging very well - but just to able to tell Susan I ran into him. But I didn't, so I can't.

It was a great trip. We learned a few things like not to plan a show during Memorial Day Weekend, to book a larger room, and to bring an A-board to put up outside to attract walk-ins. I also think we should set up an area where our customers can play with their new treasures and we can show them a few tricks. In spite of these shortcomings, we did pretty good. On Saturday evening Shelly met up with a friend which left me with the evening all to myself. Finally I was able to give in to my need to bead.

Since my first necklace, I have developed a taste for more. But I hardly ever get the chance to be creative. There just isn't enough time. At work, we are busy filling orders, working on the website, organizing the store. At home, I have a husband and a daughter competing for my attention. Not to mention the endless list of projects and the bad lighting. But last Saturday evening, without any of these distractions, I played to my heart's content. And when I ran out of beads, I simply went downstairs to pick up some more. Heavenly!

Next week I am going on my first business trip ever. I suppose our Portland show was technically a business trip too, but there was no flying involved. This time there is. Pam and I are going to Milwaukee WI for five days to the biggest bead show in the nation. I am very much looking forward to it. Beads galore during the day and meeting up with family and friends at night. Who knew beading would be so much fun?!

Happiness

Sending my concerns into the universe was liberating. By voicing my fears, I let them go. And again, the universe answered me. With a little help we are going with the flow once more. It is not an official flotation device, more like those little inflatable things that go around your arms. But they work. Bills are lower than expected, we are working a few extra hours, Ryan has diversified into lawn care. It gives us hope. Once again, we feel like we just might make it here.

Yesterday was not the anticipated cold and rainy day, but an unexpected warm and sunny one. A gift from Mother Nature. Walking around the grounds with a clipboard, we made a list of every yard project we started last year but did not finish. We divided them into projects that do and do not require cash. And then we busted butt!

It is so wonderful to see it all come together. The horseshoe-shaped flowerbed between the house and the barn is finally finished. Some plants have been patiently waiting to be planted for about a year and a half. They must be so happy to finally be able to stretch their roots. I could almost hear them sigh with pleasure. Ahhhhh...

Years ago I started a list of all the things that make me happy. I borrowed the idea from a talk show host whose name escapes me right now. Yesterday I thought of my Happiness List for the first time in a long time. The first entry is the smell of freshly cut grass.

Watching my husband and my daughter mow the lawn together at the end of the day while the scent of grass tickles my nose is the epitome of happiness.