Marchin On

I can't get the beat of this song out of my head.

The lyrics are pretty apropos, as well.

This song pulls me out of my current limbo state and just says, "Just get to it, already.  Time's a wastin!"

Safety First

So because the weather here has been insanely warm (I have lilac buds coming out already!) Sena and I have been spending a lot of time outside.  And a lot of time at the playground, which is only about a half mile from our house.

A few years ago the playground was completely renovated and they put in all these great jungle gyms and swings and slides and sculptures that look like Danish modern art but are really things for the kids to play on.  Everything is brightly colored in yellow, red, blue and green.  There is a rubberized path through the sand, no sharp corners, all the swing chains coated in rubber.

In short, it's really really safe.

And it's totally different from the playgrounds I remember.

I remember rusty swings, rusty monkey bars, rusty Merry-go-rounds (my God, those things were dangerous!)  It was less like a Merry-go-round and more like a Puke-o-wheel.  I remember hooking my legs around the bars and letting my head hang over the side as we spun like dervishes.  If you were a total bad-ass you could impress the other kids by waiting until it was going as fast as possible and then run alongside and jump on.

I imagine it is exactly like hopping onto a moving train, because if you missed and fell underneath you were dead meat.  That was the Merry-go-round -- kid practice to becoming an expert train-hopping hobo.

I wonder why Merry-go-rounds no longer exist?

The other thing I haven't seen in years is a Teeter-Totter, or as we called it, The Board-of-Pain.

Our Teeter-Totters were wood, so you had to be careful not to get a sliver stuck in your butt, and because I was a total beanpole as a kid, I always got stuck up high and my brother or whomever I was Teeter-tottering with would sit there and watch me with an evil smile as I pleaded and whined and threatened to get let down.

Then they would.  By jumping off it.  Then I would come crashing down to the ground.  If you were lucky you could time it and catch yourself with minimal pain.

If you were lucky.

So I was thinking this as I watched Sena finally get up the gumption to go down the big, slow-moving, plastic slide by herself. (We had metal slides that turned to lava in the summer sun and seared the skin off the back of our thighs.)

She jumped off the edge of the slide and yelled, "I did it!"

I was so proud.

Then she tripped on the safe rubberized walkway climbing out of the sand and fell on her face.

I picked her up and dusted her off.  "Are you okay?"

"I'm otay, Mommy."

About five minutes later I tripped on the rubber walk and almost fell on my face.

I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that's called irony.

For When You're Feeling Small

It's Monday.

It's raining.

You forgot your umbrella.

There's 100 emails in your in-box.

You spilled coffee on your lap.

You just got called for jury duty.



So far your day is not so awesome.

Here's something to watch that is.

Needs More Pink

So the forecast (excluding today) for the coming week is all mid-fifties and possible sixties, which for Minnesota, is like skipping the whole month of March and most of April.

I am, of course, already spazzing about gardening.

I know I can't yet.  But I'm planning.

Here's my window box plan.

It's so gorgeous, it's downright crazy.

And I'm gonna do it.

I've pretty much figured out what plants are in there.  Except for the yellow ones, and I can tell it's probably gonna cost me a fortune.  My front of the house window box is about eight feet long.

So I'm planning ahead.  You can't buy it all in one fell swoop, otherwise I'll hear something like this from Matt.

Matt: What's all that?

Me: I had to get some dirt.  Regular dirt.  Potting soil.  Fertilizer.  Manure.

Matt: You spent 50 bucks on dirt?

Me: No.  I also got fertilizer and manure.

Matt: So you spent 50 bucks on dirt and shit?

Me: Well, when you say it like that it sounds bad.

So, I will buy a few things at a time.  A bag of dirt here.  New gardening gloves there.  And so on and so on.

So yesterday me and Sena were coloring with her crayons and I started drawing out my garden plans.  Lots of purple and red and orange and magenta and lime green.

Sena got very interested in my picture.

"What are you doin' Mommy?"

"I'm drawing flowers."

Sena grabs another crayon and goes to town.  "Needs more pink!"

Indeed.

I need to change my pants

Something I would probably have to say after experiencing this.

Yeah, I know it's not real.  And yes, I know there's a guy in there.

But still.

I would have the EXACT same reaction as the reporter did at the end.

But then I would probably turn around and slap the dinosaur's face.

Because when I'm terrified, not only do I scream like a lunatic, I punch things.

Matt had to learn that the hard way.

He never sneaks up on me anymore.

Spring in the City

Even though we still have a few inches of snow on the ground, I know spring started this morning.

No, I didn't see a robin.

Or a crocus.

I saw the surest sign of spring.  A crazy bum on the sidewalk, talking to himself and lurching around.

Yes, they are out of hibernation, and, like a grizzly bear, highly unpredictable and easily agitated.

So I'm walking the mile in to work.  I park on the residential street in Minneapolis and walk about a mile because:

1. There is no free parking around the U.
2. I refuse to pay to park to go to work.

I mean, it's bad enough to have to GO to work.
I'm not going to PAY money to do it.

So I walk about 20 minutes and I like it.

Except when you have run-ins with the crazy bums, who like to hang out in this particular area of Minneapolis, very close to downtown.

Me (looking ahead and seeing the tell-tale aimless shuffle of crazy bum): Oh goody....

I make extra noise as I walk in his direction, lest I startle him.  It's like when you're hiking in the wilderness and you wear bells, to let the bears know you're coming.  I briefly wonder if they make crazy-bum bells.  I bet they sound like tiny police car sirens.

I cough and stamp my feet louder as I approach.  Crazy bum man is lurching in both directions, taking up most of the sidewalk.  Suddenly, he stops and turns, seeing me for the first time.

I smile, careful not to look directly at him.  He might get spooked.

Crazy Bum: "Hey!  Are you following me?"

Me (laughing as I pass by): "No."

Crazy Bum (laughing): "Just kidding!"

Me: "Okay."

Crazy Bum (still laughing):  Herggaboodala... mrrrff...booga...

I pick up the pace slightly.  Even though he was wearing a big hoodie, I'm pretty sure he had a tin foil hat on underneath it.

Somebody I used to know

What would happen if Sting (Police days), Peter Gabriel (Genesis days), Bob Marley and Men at Work had a baby?

It would probably sound like this.

Which I'm kind of loving.

Me and Sena dance in the kitchen to this, and apparently my dance moves are too peculiar.

Sena says, "Stop dancing, Momma!"

Alright then.