i guess i shouldn't throw stones at goose flutes, since i'm sitting in a glass house wearing ankle suspenders

Well, hello.

Happy Friday.

I'm in my PJs, enjoying a fire, and listening to the melodic notes of a goose flute.

If you think that last part is a joke, you must be new around here.  

The Amazon truck pulled up around dinnertime.  I didn't know we were expecting a package until Matt said, "Oh awesome! I bet that's the goose flute I overnighted!"

On the off chance you're not currently in the market for a goose flute, the going price for one is about twenty dollars.  Since Amazon requires a $35 minimum for one day delivery, Matt needed to add an item to the order, so naturally he bought something else we really need.

A Canada Hammer goose call.

In case your husband doesn't spend Friday evenings practicing all manner of goose calls, let me tell you, they're not quiet.  In fact, Matt just said, "Do you think the neighbors can hear me?"

I think the Canadian goose IN CANADA can probably hear you.

There's nothing like hunting season.

Since our Friday night goings-on aren't all that exciting, I'll share a local weather report.  Yesterday, NOVEMBER FIFTEENTH, we got our first winter storm, which consisted of a few inches of snow, topped off by ice, all falling on untreated roadways which quickly transformed into skating rinks.

My office closed early and I got on the road at 1:30.  I live 14 miles from the office and it took me nearly 3 hours to get home.  I wasn't too happy about sitting in my car for that long,  but I'll admit that I sure was happy to be sitting in a new SUV with four wheel drive as opposed to Old Blue.  

I was also happy about the heated seats.  

The defroster, however, threw me for a loop.  About 45 minutes into the drive, or more appropriately, the sit, my windshield started fogging up.  I figured it was because I was releasing so much hot air between my singing and talking (I called everyone on my favorites list.  Some of them three times-sorry mom).  So I turned the defroster to cold and cranked the AC up, which only did a mediocre job of clearing the windshield, and I was freezing.  Finally I called home (again) and asked my dad what temp the defroster should be on.  "HOT!"  he said.  "You're trying to melt the snow!"

Sure enough, right he was.  As soon as I turned it to warm, the window cleared right up.  And I stopped shivering.

Today's commute was much better.  I made it home in 1/6 of the time it took yesterday, and I was smiling when I walked in the door and kicked off my snowy boots right inside the front door.  That's when Matt said, "WHAT are you wearing?!"

I fought the skinny jeans trend for a long time, because I hate when the ankles of my pants get pushed up as I slide my feet into tall boots.  So, I came up with  solution.  I wear normal ankle socks, and cover them with a pair of knee highs to secure my ankles in place.  Basically, I've created ankle suspenders.  Patent pending.

Anyway, that was the style that I wore today.   

I texted my mom and Emily about it because a few years ago, the three of us we were out and we unexpectedly went shoe shopping.  I tried on a pair of shoes and happened to be sporting my ankle suspenders (patent pending) in the middle of DSW.  If Emily could have chosen one moment in her life to disappear out of sheer embarrassment, I think it would have been then.

I wasn't going to let Matt's fashion judgment ruin a good day.  Not only was it a dream commute, but at work I went to an Adoption Day celebration. I don't share much about work on here because I believe in the separation of work and blog, but I work in the child protective services/foster care/adoption field and the truth is, the majority of days are filled with pretty sad stuff.  It can sometimes feel like weeks or months go by without seeing a happy ending to a case.  

But today, nine children were adopted from the foster care system by five families.  And those children aren't brand new, perfect tiny babies.  They're kids of all ages who have complicated histories and trauma and deep hurts and scars, but now they also have moms and dads and families.  Forever.  I'll never forget the first Adoption Day I went to several years ago, and an older boy was adopted.  He said his main reason for wanting to be adopted wasn't so that he could have a mom and a dad, but so that someday, his future children would have grandparents.

November is Adoption Awareness Month.  Not everyone is meant to adopt!  But there are over 100,000 kids in the US right now waiting to be adopted (and hundreds of thousands more in foster care), and if you have an extra case of diapers at home, I guarantee your local children and youth services agency could use them.  An extra few dollars could sign a child in foster care up for the soccer team.  Or buy them their very own brand new winter jacket.  Or a toy from their Christmas wish list.  And for kids who really do sometimes come into foster care with nothing but the clothes on their backs, what might seem like something small to you and me, can have a huge impact on their life.

Okay.  This got serious so I should share that November is also National Peanut Butter Lovers Month and National Fondue Month, so please celebrate those accordingly!

Finally, if November isn't National Pretty Sunset Month, it should be.  I saw this as I walked out of the office tonight.  It was a good ending to a good day.  

hi mom!

I was out with my mom this weekend and she said she faithfully clicks over to my blog every morning hoping to see a new post, and gets so sad when she sees the same old post that's been there since October 23rd.

But since I've got to keep my status as the favorite child, here I am!

A new store opened in our area a few weeks ago called Home Sense.  I'd heard that it was like "Home Goods on steroids" and I love nothing more than a huge store full of discount home decor, so we decided to make a trip out on Saturday.  For the last few years, my mom has done 99.9% of the driving when we go out together, but since I have a new reliable vehicle, I drove this weekend.

When my brother and I learned to drive we would always laugh because my mom used to press an imaginary brake pedal while she sat in the passenger seat, and would sometimes even hold onto the handle on the roof if we made a particularly hasty maneuver.  Oh, we were so wise and knowledgeable at sixteen.  Our silly mother!  Imagine!  Being nervous about a completely inexperienced child behind the wheel of a vehicle!

Of all the hypothetical future parenting tasks to worry about, here are my two biggest fears: teaching a child to ride a bike and drive a car.  I've already assigned those two jobs to Matt, along with any and all math homework.  Give me anything that can be done on solid ground and/or with a calculator.  If it has wheels or involves an equation with one or more variable, oh Laura Darling, OUT.

My dad was the one who taught me to ride a bike, which, from what I understand, was quite a challenge because I had a tendency to simply take my feet off of the pedals mid-ride.  My dad pretty much taught me to ride a bike with six words.  Those words were "KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE PEDALS!"

As it turns out, those words were good advice for me not only when it came to mastering a two-wheeler, but life in general.  When things look like they might go off track or what's coming from the other way is a little overwhelming, just keep your feet on the pedals.

I don't remember my dad teaching my brother to ride a bike, but I do remember being in the car while he taught Phil to drive a car.  And I remember he used three words for that, and said them three times in a row.  Those words were "Stop the car. Stop the car.  STOP THE CAR!!!"

It's almost like my dad gave the perfect advice that each of us would need for the rest of our lives.  To confirm this theory, I asked my sister what piece of dad's advice she remembered most, and she said "Easy --- Put a hat on, the barometer is falling." 

Theory confirmed.

But it certainly wasn't just my dad who gave advice. 

We didn't have a dishwasher at our house until I was in high school. 

Until then, we used disposable EVERYTHING.

Just kidding.  We hand washed. 

We also had side salads with dinner every single night in little wooden salad bowls that couldn't go in the dishwasher when we got one.  When my brother and I would do the dishes, my mom would motion with both hands and remind us, "Don't put the salad bowls in the dishwasher."

Eventually she would just do the hand motion and we would say "We know! Don't put the salad bowls in the dishwasher!"  

As time went on, the directive kind of took on a general meaning of do the right thing/act like I expect/don't let me down.  Now, years later, if mom does that hand motion or says "Don't put the salad bowls in the dishwasher," we all know exactly what she's really saying.

While it's not necessarily advice, another thing my mom always says is "There is always hope."  No matter the circumstances or situation, there is always hope.

Maybe that's what I was thinking when I kept taking my feet off the pedals and hoping for the best.

Or what my mom is thinking every morning when she opens my blog.