A Rose By Any Other Name ...

I am not a huge fan of my first name (love you Mom!  love you Dad!).  It probably started in 4th grade when we learned Spanish for a few weeks and I was assigned the name Juanita.  Juanita?  I'm a Juanita?  That is nothing like my name.  Or is it .. am I really a Juanita?


But I LOVE my middle name (thanks Mom!  thanks Dad!).  From time to time I have flirted with going by my middle name instead of my first name, but what a pain that would be!!  What, would I expect people who already knew me by something else to start calling me by something different?  How annoying and presumptuous of me. 


But now I'm moving.  Here's my chance!  Do I dare introduce myself by my middle name?  Heaven knows I would never expect people who already know me to change how they address me.  But people I've never met ... hmmm.  Thinking about it.


Thoughts?

Cleaning All Day AND Night

I don't like cleaning, as those of you who have ever lived with me can attest to.  I am naturally content with slightly mussy chaos.  In self defense I have been MUCH better in my married years, no longer is my bedroom knee deep in clothes.  But it is still a daily struggle against my slobbish nature and I can honestly grumble with my kids every chore day.  So trying to sell a house, and KEEP IT CLEAN, especially when five children reside in it, is truly exhausting both physically and mentally.


It has even wreaked havoc on my dreams, with the majority centering on showings and panicking and cleaning.  Night before last I dreamed I was trying to get ready for a showing (shocker!) and kept trying to shove more and more things under my bed to the point it was overflowing about a foot on each side.  Then I tried to hide three HUGE wooden cradles in my bedroom - I vividly remember the panic I felt as I tried to find an inconspicuous place for these mammoth things.  There was a fairy in my room (naturally) and I tried to convince her to put a glamour on my house.  Oh the lengths I will go.


Last night I had another vivid dream.  I was back in college with my favorite roommate (Hi Lizzy!  Nice to see you last night!).  There was a competition in a big office building - teams of college students would take turns trying to clean the place and the winning team would win coupons for free food.  Now, in the harsh light of reality, this strikes me as a huge (and rather clever) scam.  But in my dream we suspected nothing and were determined to win.  We scaled up a huge cliff, won our place as first team to try, and started cleaning.  In the course of exploring (cleaning!) this huge place, I found a room full of mini alligators (one tried to escape, but I put him back in his cage), I saw my brother and his wife (who were living in one of the rooms, Hi M and T!  I'm not sure why you lived in an office building but you seemed content!), and picked up an amazing amount of clothes and toys.  Because we all know that clothes and toys are littered all over the average office building.  I don't know if we won or not, but my dream self was pretty convinced we had.


Please oh please, my dear house, sell quickly.  So I can sleep.  And stop cleaning.  But in the meantime, if anyone knows a fairy, please send her my way. 

A Leprechaun's Lament

My dearest Dane is ALL boy.  Think four year old Dennis the Menace - adorable, blond, mischievous, good hearted, destructive.  Pure, unadulterated boy.  So really, what in the world was I thinking when I signed him up for the "Leprechaun and Fairy Tea" at the library?


Well, I was thinking - fairy?  No.  Leprechaun?  Hmm, I can see that.  I knew the Fairy Queen Fafa would make an appearance, the children would dance before the Queen, and then have tea (apple juice) and cookies with her.  But I was still thinking he would rather go with his 7 year old sister (who dons fairy garb as naturally as she breathes) than be excluded.  I tried to prep him - I told him he needed to have his best manners, that he was going to dance pretty - and that's when I should have heeded my internal warnings.

Dane: "I don't dance pretty."
Me: "Well, you don't have to dance pretty.  Maybe just don't dance crazy."
Dane: "Mom".  With a look.  "I dance crazy."


Okay, yes, he dances crazy.  Adorably crazy.  But this is a LEPRECHAUN and fairy tea, right?  Surely leprechauns might dance a little crazy.  And possibly even a fairy or two. 


I knew we were in trouble when we entered the library in the midst of fluttering wings.  There were fairies everywhere.  In vain I looked for a leprechaun, but Dane was the only boy in green I could see.  Hmmm.   When we got to the room, pink and tutus and flowers abounded.  There were probably 30 little fairies and only two other leprechauns.  (One of whom was dressed in a church suit with a sparkling green tie.  NOT in green sports pants and a green pajama top like MY leprechaun.)  I could tell Dane felt a little out of place in such an estrogen soaked room.  So I gave him the choice of staying and having fun with the fairies or leaving and having fun with the toy trains in the playroom with me.  I even gave him the choice with none of the shame I admittedly dole out in similar circumstances when my children are reluctant for me to leave.  (Yes, I do, I am slightly ashamed to say.)  He chose to stay.  I left but lurked.  He was fine but wary.  And then they asked all of the children to stand up and learn a dance for the Fairy Queen.  A ballet dance.  Complete with ballet instructors dressed in tutus.  And he completely lost it.


So I rescued my crying four year old from the fairy tea.  He kept sobbing "I don't WANT to dance ballet.  I don't WANT to.  Not ballet!"  And yes, I found it extremely funny.  He might be able to handle the fairies, the wings, even the manners.  But he drew the line at ballet.

Getting some Ninja therapy at home.