How much wood ...

Talk about a WILD birthday party.

We had a little get-together today with Jim's family for Carter's upcoming birthday. It was a summer-like day with temps in the 80s so we spent some time outside, enjoying the sunshine.

At one point I hear Jim yell, "Robyn, get your camera! Hurry!" So I get out near the side yard and everyone's talking about some animal they saw. Was it a beaver? Was it a woodchuck? Where did it go?

The scary part is that this wild thing is allegedly living under our steps that cut through our landscaping area in the back yard. So we decide to camp out on the back deck (with camera in hand, of course) until it makes another appearance.

We didn't have to wait long. Out comes this woodchuck that really looks like an obese gopher that ate a squirrel or something fluffy. It just meanders about, eating some dandelions while I snapped pictures and recalled the only other time I saw a woodchuck.

I was probably 10 or 11 and our dog Boomer discovered a woodchuck in our woodpile (go figure). He had that thing cornered but it made a run for it and Boomer ended up chasing it in circles around the tree.

Dad had a brilliant idea that he would whack that woodchuck on the head with a baseball bat. It was literally like watching the "whack-a-mole" game where you wait for the right moment to bop a varmint on the head.

So around and round Boomer and the woodchuck go. Dad readies the bat for a swing, and unfortunately his timing was off. He saw the woodchuck, but by the time the bat came down, it was Boomer's head that took the blow. That was the only case I've heard of a dog getting a concussion.

I had to call Dad tonight to ask him how he ever did get rid of the woodchuck -- in case we need to try something. Did he shoot it or what? "No, he got away," Dad said, "while we were driving Boomer to the vet!"

Hmm... I think we'll look for another solution.

Tongue-tied

Concentrate. Think hard about doing something that takes focus. Something like drawing a three-dimensional box or cutting out a snowflake or putting a title on a scrapbook page. Or maybe kicking a soccer ball.


What does it take to concentrate?

If you are like Carter and me, it's just: Stick out tongue and engage brain cells.

When I was young, my mom would point out to me that I stick my tongue out when concentrating on an important task like decorating Christmas cookies or coloring in the lines. I don't think it's gross or anything -- just a goofy mannerism that has become so automatic I don't realize I still do it (but I do).

I've seen Carter do this during similar types of close-up concentration work. I had no idea one could carry it to the next level on a ball field. I don't think I even noticed his tongue sticking out during today's game, but it was obvious the minute I looked at the pictures later.

I guess it's proof he can think on his feet. I bet he can walk and chew gum at the same time, too ... though the gum would probably fall out when he sticks out his tongue!

Gas pains

OK, the headlines are starting to scare me. In the news this week:

"Watch out: Here comes $4 gasoline"

Yikes. That's not what us commuters want to hear. Obviously, Jim and I choose to live 44 miles from work. We're not required to stay where we are -- we just like it. We like our house. We like our yard and our neighborhood. And, of course, we like being close to the "big boys."

We just don't like the gas prices!

We try to make the most of our "gas mileage" by riding together whenever possible, which is most days, and using a gas-friendly car. But with driving a minimum of 88 miles a day, we've put 100,000 miles on our Honda Civic in 3 years. Another yikes.

It almost pains me to talk about the van, also well over 100,000 miles. I'm guessing it gets more than 20 mpg so it has to be a little better than those trucks and SUVS. But the tank is so big it's like we need to take out a small loan to fill it up.

The other day Carter and I stopped to get gas for the van. When I pulled up to the tank, I said, "Wow, it went up to $2.89!" Carter happened to have his wallet with and he pulled out two singles and handed them to me and said, "Here Mom, now you only have to pay 89 cents."

Oh, if only that were true!

What a joke

Well, my stand-up career is over before it started. I discovered this morning it is difficult to be funny on command.

Today is "Joke Day" in Mrs. Klingforth's class at Grant Elementary. So Carter asks me this morning if I know any jokes he could tell.

Despite the fact I get hundreds of jokes in my e-mail inbox each year, my mind was blank. I couldn't even think of a blonde joke -- though that probably wouldn't have been appropriate for third-graders anyway.

I finally came up with a joke I probably learned in 5th grade: "Why didn't the skeleton cross the road? Because he didn't have the guts."

Hey, he thought that was pretty clever. I guess I should consider my audience.

I'm just glad he forgot the joke he used to tell in kindergarten:

"Want to hear a clean joke? I took a bath with bubbles. Want to hear a dirty joke? Bubbles is the girl next door!"

I wish I could say I was joking. (Though it's kind of funny now .)

Bowled over

It's not a given that athletic ability is passed on from one generation to the next.

In this instance, I am actually using the word athletic quite loosely. I'm talking about bowling!

I got an entertaining e-mail from my cousin Lonna today. She said she saw my parents this weekend at a 25th anniversary for her brother and his wife. Later, a group of them went bowling. (I guess that's one of those things they do Up North after a celebration of marriage.)

She wrote: "Your dad was pretty funny, he got a strike and hit the floor just like the pins. I was worried he'd break a hip or something, but he got right back up. Your mom got a 6 her first game, I think, but improved by like 600% to get almost 60 in the second game."

OK, I can totally picture my dad doing that. I am surprised, though, with my mother's lack of kegling ability (that's a big bowling word my hubby uses when he's trying to impress people ... that and his personalized "Jimmy" ball.)

As I mentioned in a previous blog, my mom's mom -- Grandma Florence Johnson -- was quite the bowler. Flossie, as she was known by her teammates, was throwing strikes well into her 70s.

Back in the day, "Bowling For Dollars" was a popular TV show (trust me, there wasn't much on TV), so I thought it was pretty cool to have a bowlin' granny. Maybe she'd be famous! At least around the Grantsburg bowling lanes (all 6 of them), she was.

Apparently, my mother never learned the moves -- unless she got them from an ancestor who played baseball. Her excuse for her poor score, which she reported was actually a 21, not 6, was her curve ball.

Of course, in baseball, when you have a decent curve ball, it often leads to a strike. Maybe Mom was suited up for the wrong game!

No TV Week

I heard on the radio this morning that this is National No TV Week. The idea is simple: take your TV, your DVD player, your video iPod, your PlayStation, your laptop, and say goodbye to them all for seven days. Or at least encourage your children (and yourself) to get outside and enjoy the beautiful spring weather instead of laying on the couch.

I don't recall such a "holiday" when I was young, probably because one, we were always told to go outside and play, and two, I had lots of "no TV weeks" when I was grounded.

It wasn't like my twin sister and I were exceptionally naughty children (that I recall). We just got grounded a lot. Mom would say "No TV for a week!" Then it would be "No TV for 2 weeks!" It quickly escalated to "No TV for a month!"

We didn't know if our sentences were concurrent or consecutive. If they were consecutive, which was likely the intent, I think we would have been authorized to start watching TV again right after high school!

Of course, that doesn't mean we didn't watch it when we could. We'd get off the bus, watch TV until we saw Mom's car coming home from work. Then we'd quickly change the channel back to whatever it was on when we got home and shut it off.

We thought we were so sneaky. It didn't dawn on us until many years into our adulthood that all Mom had to do is touch the TV and feel the heat to know we were watching!

Duh. I should be grounded from TV for a week just being stupid ... not to mention sneaky!

Tree huggers

Earth Day found Carter and I doing a special kind of "tree" project. A pretty scaled down version of a family tree assignment -- but nonetheless, a family tree assignment! This is what Jim and I have been waiting for!

Yes, we are self-proclaimed genealogy geeks. We have been waiting for the day when Carter would come home from school and say "I need my family tree!" Hurray for us.

As far as our efforts go, Jim has been working on his branch since high school and I just started about 6 or 7 years ago. Thanks to the Internet, I quickly caught up. However, his advantage was that he was "into" it while he still had grandparents and elder relatives to talk to. I started my research after my grandparents had passed and relied on my parents quite a bit for names and information.

I have found that for the most part, though, I am actually the one telling them about people they are related to, including names of their grandparents, great-grandparents, etc. As Jim and I have both learned, our ancestors were too busy working their farms or trying to survive in general to sit around and talk about their family tree -- with the exception of Bible records, of course.

We had never printed out Carter's tree before. It ended up taking 18 pages to print (practically a tree -- not good on Earth Day). I had to get out my handy paper trimmer and tape the pages together so it looked like a bracket he could understand. It was 3 pages (8 1/2 x 11) across and 6 pages down. What a sight to see!

Carter was impressed that on Daddy's side he could go back 11 generations. "Mom, do I have to write great-great-great 10 times or can I just say my great (10) grandparents are so and so?" I let him off the hook - even though he could use the cursive practice.

On my side, he could go back "7 greats." I thought that was pretty good. Of course, Daddy trumped me. He is a "Mayflower descendant," which means Carter is too. I had to remind him what the Mayflower was, but I think he thinks that's cool.

I also reminded him that my branch wasn't done yet. Maybe there is someone famous 8 or 9 generations back that I have yet to discover. I'm sure they can't be as famous as Robyn Austin the blogger, but I'd be happy to include them!

Raking it in

Gorgeous day today in central Wisconsin. About 75 and sunny. I saw lots of people taking advantage of the perfect weather to rake.

Good for them. I detest yard work.

I take that back. I don't mind mowing so much. Only because I can multi-task: get a tan and good exercise while pushing that mower around our big yard.

Raking is another story. When I was a kid, it seemed to take forever to rake that big ol' acre we lived on. When us four younger kids were living at home, we'd line up and it was almost an assembly line-type process. We kept that line of dead grass and leaves moving.

We probably got it done in only two days, but those were long days! The second day is always the worst. You're dealing with blisters and sore muscles. It starts to look more and more like slave labor. We thought that a lot when we were kids, between raking, mowing, weeding and doing dishes. What torture! And we didn't get paid for it!

One time my twin and I did get paid. Dad said he'd pay us a nickel for every thistle we dug up in the yard -- and 10 cents for the big ones! Well we got the yard done and figured we should take advantage of the cash cow, so we went after the big, tall thistles on the edge of our property near the pasture and the ones behind the old outhouse and shed. We must have worn gloves. I don't remember this being a painful process. I also don't remember how much we got paid. But it seemed worth it at the time.

I don't think any amount of money would be an incentive today. I'm still the queen of instant callouses and backaches that linger for days. I guess if we're going to get this raking done anytime soon, I might have to start looking into the current "slave labor" laws ...

Anatomy of Grey's

Friday wouldn't be complete without a download of last night's "Grey's Anatomy." Thankfully, there was FINALLY a new episode this week so we had something to talk about ... and gush over and analyze and make predictions for next week ...

Our courtesy rule at work is that if someone didn't get a chance to watch it (how dare they?!), then we don't talk about it -- at least not while they are within earshot. That's tough to do, especially after a good episode!

As luck (and my crazy schedule) would have it, I wasn't home to watch last night. I still don't have Jim trained to use the VCR so that wasn't an option. Thankfully, they invented this wonderful new tool called online episodes!

Not wanting to be the spoiler of our female bonding time today, I got up at 5:15 a.m. so I could shower then drool over my cereal -- and still get to work on time. You gotta admire commitment, right?!

This light obsession with a television show reminds me of a LONG time ago when my girlfriends Kristin and Laura and I would plan our social lives around "Knots Landing" on Thursday nights. It gave us something to do together, talk about for days after and the days leading up to the next episode.

And so it is with Grey's. The neighborhood moms watch it and a good portion of the female population at work does as well. We love it!

And what's not to love? Where else can you escape to a completely fictitious land of McDreamys and McSteamys who fall in love with slightly dysfunctional career women with perfect hair and bodies?!

Oh wait, there's something about that dysfunctional part that reflects a bit of reality!

Whistler's Mother

I can't whistle worth a darn. I can't just blow out air and casually whistle the theme to "The Andy Griffith Show" or anything. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but we've trained Carter to come running from the neighbors when he hears a whistle.

I learned the two-finger method awhile back and I've been quite proud of how loud I can whistle. Or so I thought. Unfortunately, when I whistle for Carter (yes, he's our son, not our dog), he doesn't come a-running.

I summon Jim to the front deck and his shrill whistle does the trick. I hear the neighbor boy say, "Carter, it's time to go home." It's just that easy. Carter can whistle a tune, too, just like Daddy. It's not super loud but I'm sure that will come in time.

I must be whistling into the wind or something. I hate to admit it, but when Jim isn't home, I have resorted to using my old lifeguard whistle.

Yes, that does the trick, and no, no one drowns.

Perhaps women aren't engineered for it. On a recent long trip up north, we stopped at one of those truck stop-convenience store-gas station-potty break places. I am in a bathroom stall when I hear the door open and someone walking in, whistling.

My first thought: Women do NOT walk into restrooms whistling!

And I was right. Sure enough, as I am standing at one of the sinks washing my hands, one of the stall doors opens and a young man steps out and says "Oh (insert expletive here)!" I just calmly said, "That's OK." I just couldn't stop chuckling about that for days.

Maybe it's a good thing guys can whistle so we can keep tabs on them!

It's a Small World

OK, I honestly am not going for a Disney theme this week with "It's a Small World." From what I hear from people who have gone to Disney, the song gets downright annoying after hearing it for the 100th time!

-----

Ever notice how small the world seems these days thanks to the Internet? Information is right at our fingertips -- and so are people!

A strange thing happened a few weeks ago. I was looking up a Web site emailed to me by my sister. To my surprise, it was a site managed by a woman (Julie Bowe) who was a camp counselor with me 20 years ago. Thanks to the "contact me" button, I was able to email her and reconnect.

It was great to see what paths our lives had taken since the carefree days at Luther Point Bible Camp. Coincidentally, we both have followed publishing careers. She was especially pleased to report that her first book, seven years in the making, has been published. Kudos! I am so jealous -- and so proud of her!

In fact, much of her site, www.juliebowe.com, is dedicated to the release of her children's book, "My Last Best Friend." The book is a funny middle-grade novel in which 4th-grader Ida May is determined not to make a new best friend, despite the best efforts of the new girl in the class.

If you happen to live in Northwest Wisconsin, you can meet Julie tonight at 7 p.m. for a reading and book signing at Borders Books & Music, 4030 Commonwealth Ave., Eau Claire.

The book is also available from www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com and wherever fine books are sold.

Best of luck, Julie!

I'm glad it's a small world so we could find each other again. It's also inspiring to see small dreams turning into big realities.

Circle of Life

If you ever watched "The Lion King," you'll recall the Elton John song, "Circle of Life." The song and story -- as in real life -- illustrates the fact that as some people leave our lives, a new person can fill that empty spot in your heart. This has hit close to home over the past few days.

Last night we visited my friend Becky to see her new baby boy. I had no idea that at the exact same moment I was cuddling and rocking her newborn son, the mother of a close friend of mine was fighting for her life after a car accident. Unfortunately, Toni's mom didn't make it.

It was a cruel twist of fate. Helen had battled cancer and beat it. She was recently given a clean bill of health and the family breathed a little sigh of relief. They had hope again.

How unfair it seems when God unexpectedly takes away a loved one. When we're struggling in the depths of pain and grief, it doesn't make sense to us. But when that passes -- and it may take a very long time -- we realize we can and should celebrate that person's life. And be grateful we were a part of it.

This is why we must tell our friends and family we love them. And tell them often. Tell them today. Tomorrow may be too late.

Circle of Life

From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done
There's far too much to take in here
More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life.

Tough as Grandmas

My husband's grandma died today. She was one tough cookie.

Grandma Austin just turned 96 last month. This year would mark 20 years since her husband passed away. After Grandpa's death, she moved off the family farm and into town. Up until this past Thanksgiving, she had been healthy, sharp-minded, living on her own, making cookies and driving. Yes, driving. She was Ms. Independent.

Grandmas are tough that way.

Unfortunately, this winter, doctors discovered cancer. It didn't take long for it to ravage her frail body, infusing it with pain. Jim felt helpless, feeling an emotional pain tied to Grandma's physical discomfort. But he visited her often and we prayed for her more often. Today, Grandma is with her heavenly father and free of pain. We have to be grateful for that.

By coincidence, both of my grandmas outlived their spouses as well and stepped up to the role of independence.

Grandmas are tough that way.

Grandma Hedberg was living in an apartment, making her special cookies and singing Swedish Christmas carols to us when she was 90. Grandma Johnson was waitressing in her 70s and bowling in her 80s. She had to quit when her hips got the best of her, but she could still play cards!

This is a tough group of farm girls who grew up in the Depression era, working the land and taking little time for fun as we know it. As the grandchildren, we know nothing of this type of life, but we certainly admire them and completely respect them for what they became. Tough women. Special grandmas.

If I am lucky enough to live 80 or 90 years in relatively good health, with an active mind and body, surrounded by a loving family of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I will consider myself quite fortunate. But I doubt I'll ever be as tough as Grandma -- any one of them.

Friday the 13th

I'm not the suspicious type. I don't give credence to the alleged evils of black cats, ladders and the number 13. However, I do have a weakness, just a little, for lucky numbers.

Since I was born on the 28th of the month, I've always felt a connection to the number 28. There are only two times I can recall that this number has proven "lucky" for me.

The first was 10 years ago, when Jim and I shared our first kiss on the 28th of March. (I won't get into details.) The second, and appropriately so, was 5 years ago in Vegas for our wedding.

We were staying at the Treasure Island Casino hotel. We're not big gamblers by any means, but one night we decided to stop at the roulette table. Feeling lucky (as newlyweds should), we put $5 on 28 and $5 on 17 (Jim's lucky number). The wheel started spinning and low and behold, the ball bounced into the 28 slot! We didn't know much about roulette, but we knew that was a good thing. A few minutes later, with $190 in our hands, we confirmed that.

Since then, we play the Powerball weekly with the numbers 28 and 17, and other numbers that came to Jim in a dream (I'm serious). We've matched a few numbers occasionally but never hit a jackpot like we did Vegas.

I guess it's best to be lucky in love and count your blessings. Those are some great numbers to keep close to the heart.

The Biggest Loser

Did you know all your weight-loss dreams can come true by opening just one e-mail? Every day there is probably a dozen offers in my inbox for a quick and easy way to a new, skinnier me.

Just click here to "banish those thunder thighs," "turn my belly into bedrock" or "make my arm flaps fly away."

If only it were that easy! I'm the typical yo-yo dieter and have been all my life. As a child, my nickname was Round Robyn and my twin sister, who was 4 inches taller than me, was Lean Raylene. I maintain that I am the perfect weight today -- just happen to be the wrong height!

A group of us "yo-yos" at work decided in January to join the Biggest Loser contest at the fitness center. Each week, we had our body fat percentage measured. I liked that better than strictly checking weight loss. Weight is still a factor but, ideally, as long as your fat turns into muscle, the percentage decreases.

What a great way to start the year off with health top of mind, not to mention a great support network to give each other the nudge to exercise once in awhile. Like those magic e-mails, it sounds good on paper, but ...

Though our intentions were there, the follow-through fell short and our team of 4 finished 19th out of 20. And while the leading team lost 68 pounds, ours was the only group to actually GAIN weight! I am not kidding. I think we could have done nothing and come out ahead.

Now the team contest has turned into an individual competition. We have no one to blame -- or praise -- but ourselves. There are at least 6 of us at work who will be vying for the title of "Biggest Loser." With aliases like Round Robyn, Critical Mass and Baby Phat, this could get crazy.

And why not go a little nuts? We have nothing to lose ... or in this case, everything.

April showers ...

There's something wrong with this picture: This morning, while my husband and son were searching for soccer cleats and shin guards for practice tonight, I was looking for my mittens and the ice scraper. Turns out, we didn't need the soccer gear -- not today anyway.

We're sitting in the middle of a lovely April shower -- of snow. There's a storm system that dropped 7 inches on the Dakotas and could dump 10 inches on Wisconsin by morning. This is one of those cases where I'd love for the weatherman to be wrong.

I'm tired of winter. In fact, I'm tired of saying I'm tired of winter. I just want it to be over. They say there are two seasons in Wisconsin: winter and road construction. Well bring on the graders and bulldozers!

I guess I got spoiled recently with the beautiful weather in Texas. Now, I just want it to be sunny and springy here! I have some serious concerns about losing my tan -- not to mention, it sucks to drive in this slushy, slippery crap.

Plus, Jim pointed out he put the snowblower away so we'll have to shovel when this is over. I think we'll have to make a concerted effort to dig the red machine out of the back corner of the garage.

I'm convinced Wisconsin "springs" are the reason someone invented snowblowers in the first place. For those who don't have one, they invented shovels and chiropractors. I saw my chiropractor last week. I'd rather wait another 7 or 8 months to see the snowblower!

Maybe my sister has an extra room she could rent in Longhorn Country ...

Fat Tuesday :: Take 2

I’m declaring today Fat Tuesday part 2!

For those of us who tried in earnest to give up the bad and do the good during Lent — but didn’t quite accomplish that — I think we deserve a second chance to start over.

I brought a Mint Oreo Dirt Cake into work. I invited my co-workers to dig in -- thinking I could enjoy it as a guilt-free pleasure before jumping back on that "eat healthy and exercise" bandwagon again. Well, I DID enjoy it! It wasn't guilt-free or calorie-free, for that matter, but it was good!

Want my recipe? I use fat-free or low-fat ingredients to ease my conscience, but anything can be used! I also put regular Oreos on the bottom and mint ones on top so it wasn’t too much mint (though in my mind, there’s no such thing as too much mint!).

DIRT CAKE

1 package Oreos
8 oz cream cheese
12 oz Cool whip
1 C. powdered sugar
2 sm. Pkgs instant pudding (vanilla or cheesecake)
3 C. milk

Crush 2 rows Oreos and line bottom of 11x13 cake pan.

Mix cream cheese, powdered sugar and Cool Whip together.
In separate bowl, mix pudding with milk.
Fold all ingredients together and pour into pan on top of Oreos.

Crush last row of Oreos and sprinkle on top of white mixture.

Add gummy worms as embellishment.

It's like a kid treat for grownups -- perfect for Fat Tuesday 2 when the dawn of Wednesday means I have to GROW UP and take my health seriously!

Got milk?

Things our mothers told us: Drink your milk, eat your vegetables, sit up straight!

I should have listened. If I drank more milk, my bones would be strong and my body healthy. If I ate more veggies instead of say, cake and cookies, my nickname growing up wouldn't have been "round Robyn." If I could just sit up straight, maybe I could have sidestepped some of my back woes.

Is it too late to reverse the damage? I hope not. This weekend I saw a distressing sight. My mother looked like she was a victim of not taking her own advice. That's not completely the case. It seems her health has gotten out of her control. She has osteoporosis and it has advanced significantly since I last saw her at Christmas. Most times I looked at her this weekend, her chin was resting on her chest and she was having a hard time holding her head up at all. It was too painful to watch. I just wanted to hold her head up for her! There's nothing we can do -- but she has exercises she must do. And we strongly encouraged her to do so.

On the long ride home, I kept thinking: Will this be me in 40 years? Can I prevent turning into that? I know my posture has room for improvement. I'm hunched over the computer too much to even notice I'm no longer sitting up straight. I also know I don't drink enough milk-- though I try to make up for it by O.D.ing on ice cream over the summer.

My first course of action when we got home yesterday was running to Wal-Mart to get some calcium supplements. Two horse pills a day and we're on our way to stronger bones! Now I just need to replace all those leftover jelly beans with carrot sticks. I also find that if I look up and thank God for my health, my shoulders touch the back of my chair and I have good posture!

There's a cure in there somewhere. But I think I'll keep that mint chocolate chip ice cream handy as a backup!

Easter B-B-B-unny

Wind chill. Two words the Easter Bunny didn't want to hear this year. I can picture teeth chattering and cottontail shivering. Wait, I don't have to pretend to picture it ... I lived it.

As predicted, it was windy and cold, but sunny, yesterday for our annual Easter egg hunt. Five of us did the hiding. Our hands were frozen by the time we were done. We just hustled our bunny tails around the yard, hiding eggs where could and often chucking the candy in the air and letting it fall where it may. That's what happens when everyone brings too much candy! We run out of hiding places and, with the wind chill, I was not trying to get creative about finding new ones.

The hunt itself was done in record time, too. Twenty-seven of us scurrying around grabbing eggs and candy off cars, fence posts, tree branches and the old swingset. I laid claim to two peanut butter eggs and I was OK with that. The boys filled their bags and the Easter Bunny visited out hotel last night, too. I see tummy aches or cavities in the near future.

To exercise our brains at least, we played games into the evening. Sometime I'll tell you about all the great group games we play. On yesterday's docket, the "kids" played Texas Hold 'em and a group of 8 of us played Mexican Train Dominoes -- a new game I learned and my parents learned while visiting Texas. It's a fun game of strategy, timing and luck. I'm a bit competitive and was pleased to be in the lead, going head to head with my nephew Tim. We were so engrossed in our battle for the win, we didn't pay attention to who was in third place. In the final round, we both took a dive and my nephew David sneaked ahead of us and won.

I told him it was like the "Tortoise and the Hare" story. Probably appropriate for Easter. ... I hope yours was a blessed one!

Up North

We're heading up north today for an Easter celebration with my family."Up North" for us is a teeny spot on the map west of Luck. It's about a four-hour drive to my parents. Do you ever notice how we never say miles in Wisconsin? Distance is always measured by time. How far is it to Luck? About 4 hours (not 200 miles). How far do you drive to work every day? About 50 minutes (not 45 miles).

There's no rush hours to impede our progress. Just enough little towns to slow down for -- and the occasional stoplight. Going up north should be a good trip today. The only thing that will make it SEEM long is the fact that it is snowing (yikes) and the "How much longer?" and "Are we almost there?" from the back seat. Thankfully, those questions have gotten fewer and farther between over the years.

Part of that probably is due to the invention of the GameBoy! Even if the sound is off, Carter will still let out moans and groans when he's losing a game, and the louder "Yes!" when he beats it and asks who wants to see a replay. During today's trip I expect Casey, my oldest stepson, will offer to drive. He got his license two weeks ago. Clay, my 14-year-old stepson, will listen to his iPod, filled with music I probably don't want to hear -- and if I did, would I understand it?

Our goal is to get there around noon so we can have our potluck lunch -- you have to have a potluck in Luck! -- followed by our annual Easter egg hunt in my parents' yard. With today's temps forecast in the 20s, I predict this could be our fastest egg hunt ever! I'll let you know how it goes!

After that we'll spend the afternoon playing games and eating Easter candy and other treats that are so not good for us. I'll feel like crap by the time we get to the hotel tonight and then remind myself I'm going to start my new diet and exercise regime Monday ... I have to allow for another day of eating a few more jellybeans and chocolate eggs!

I'm looking forward to seeing the family today. With 8 kids -- adults now with kids of our own -- it's quite a crowd. I haven't seen them all since Christmas so it will nice. I'll be showing off my newly completed scrapbook from my recent trip to Texas, where I visited our oldest sister, Rayna -- who, by the way, won't be flying in for the frigid fun today!

I have a feeling pictures of palm trees and South Padre Island will plant some travel seeds so Rayna gets more company next fall and winter. Heck, if it stays chilly like this in April, there may be some new Winter Texans from "Up North" this month yet. Maybe I should turn my scrapbooks into travel guides and get a commission ;-)

Gotta hit the road. Happy travels!

TGIGF

It's probably kind of strange to start a blog on Good Friday. Maybe it's because Lent is coming to an end and it's that time of year when we think about what's important in our lives. I love to write and express my creativity so why not start a blog?! It's never too late to jump on the blog bandwagon, right? Seize the day!

Sounds good, but most likely the reason I started a blog today is because it's one of those tumbleweed Fridays at work. Half the people took the day off and the rest of us don't feel like working. Now and then we find ourselves breaking away from real work to talk about those far more important things like our children or "Grey's Anatomy." Since "Grey's" was a repeat last night, we turned to solving the world's problems and finding answers to those perplexing questions like "What's 'good' about Good Friday?" and "How come we always say we're going to write a book and none of us have?"

As a writer at heart but editor by trade, I wondered that, too. My husband and I talk about how we can retire early as soon as one of us sells our book and we make it big. We can only joke about it, though, since neither of us has written word one in anything resembling a book ... or novel .... or short story.

My solution? Baby steps. I'll start with a itty bitty blog in my itty bitty world to get my creative juices flowing. Once they are flowing, running and creating rapids, we can move on. In the meantime, I welcome you to join me as I observe the light side of life through the eyes of a working mother hooked on scrapbooking, "Grey's" and her 8-year-old's smile.