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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18038372976991656372017-05-20T00:28:00.781-07:00Touching on InfinityAnnie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-22315246199134752622017-05-12T13:33:00.001-07:002017-05-12T13:33:06.530-07:00"Daddy, is That a Dang it?" Parents worry about a lot when that first cry awakens them in the night, when the toddler takes her first steps and stumbles, when the five-year-old smashes his face from falling off his bike. They worry that something is worse than it is. They sigh in relief when the moment passes and their child is OK, all patched up in Batman bandaids or soothed to sleep again with a pacifier. They settle down to sleep at night, thankful that their child has made it through another day without catastrophe, or in spite of it.

But then, if any parents out there are like me, they might lie awake at night wondering how their great and healthy kid might still get hurt or sick the next day or, even worse, how they might be screwing up as parents, causing irreparable damage by cursing in front of their little cherub.

In this family, choice words sometimes come out of our child's mouth and they can most certainly be blamed on me. It isn't that Luke never cusses—he's not that squeaky clean—but with Mommy home all day carrying on with all the duties of house and child, she (I mean I) can sometimes let slip a taboo word or two. You'll laugh when I share what those words are, but, let me tell you, when I was a child the only expletives that were OK to use—because they didn't count as expletives—were made-up ones or those of the "shoot!" or "rats!" variety.

Fortunately, Geddy's first word in life was "more" followed by other G-rated words like "ball," "go," and "hot." Oh, and "Mama" and "Dada." As I weekly added to the list of words he was saying (I stopped doing this by the time he was two because it was hard to keep up!), they remained on the safe side, though we had to be careful to explain to others what he said for "cup," and "cracker." From age three to now, however, it has been common to hear "What the heck?!" and "Dang it!" come out of Geddy's mouth.

I could paint myself in a positive light by chiming in with, "Hey, at least I didn't say the other words in front of him!" but I think that's really just a way of patting myself on the back for the fact that I did a better job of whispering those so Geddy wouldn't hear. While you laugh, let me add that it is entirely possible that "crap" will be the next word in his vocabulary.

Send me some soap to wash out my mouth, but in the mean time get one last chuckle at my expense. The first time Geddy used one of these words from Mommy in front of Daddy he asked, in all seriousness and with great curiosity, "Daddy, is that a dang it?" Perhaps he'd been wondering for some time just what it was that Mommy was always talking about. Maybe at last he had solved the mystery and could identify a dang it. Luke laughed too hard to help poor Geddy out, so he may never know the answer.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-71321309928066454642017-04-18T14:46:00.002-07:002017-04-18T14:46:24.914-07:00Efulents and Whales: Chasing Water with My Son
My son has a friendship with water that started where else but in the bathtub. From the moment he could sit up on his own he became a slippery bundle of laughter and splashes. Sharks, turtles, and a rubber ducky taught him to squirt Mommy even though she scowled. The first time he wiggled on his tummy in the tub, shouts of "Daddy! I'm swimming!" echoed around the bathroom. When Daddy came in to see, the water sprite shrieked, "I got you!" and soaked Daddy's pants. The joy of staying wet means getting out of the bath after "two more minutes!" turns into five, and the shark and the boat have time to squirt the wall again. When the water starts to gurgle down the drain I hear, "Where it going?" and always wonder if I should say, "To the ocean."

Summer vacations at the coast gave him new water words: beach, crash, and wave. He liked to yell, "Throw it, Daddy!" and watch his daddy throw rocks and shells into the ocean to make them splunk and disappear. From his first summer visit at age one, to the latest at age three, he's been fascinated with the ocean. I imagine he dreams of whales when we leave the window open at night to hear the aquatic lullaby. Sand in his diaper, wind, cloudy skies—nothing keeps him from crawling, tottering, and running in the sand to touch the water of the big, blue sea. At home when we are far from any ocean—landlocked, dusty, and dry—my son asks to "drive really fast" to get there.

Without an ocean we settle for dancing in occasional rainstorms, wading in the backyard pool, and playing Pooh Sticks with pinecones racing through the culvert under our favorite path. When summer storms flood our street, my son collects sticks, pinecones, acorns, and leaves—his mini gondolas to navigate the raindrop river. The moment he notices the water out the window he begs to march into it. The big kids slosh their galoshes up and down the curb and my son follows. His friend across the street comes to wade and chase and scream too. They don't mind the wet clothes and cold fingers. When it hasn't rained for days and the sun screams heat on our heads, we set out the pool and have stick-boat races. Water cannot sit idle at our house.

During the winter, bath time becomes my son's main way to keep wet. Sometimes it just isn't enough. One night last winter my son, settled into bed, stretched an open hand up over his head in the dim light. He turned it back and forth, looking it over as if for the first time. He began to talk about the water-spraying elephant statues at the zoo. "I want to get my sweeve wet at efulents," my boy whispered. "Wait for summer," I told him. I pictured the fun he would have as a little efulent, trumpeting water over his back.

This summer I decided my son needed more water than could fill a tub or wading pool. My husband and I don't swim, but we want our son to learn, so I signed him up for a two-week parent/child swimming class. I thought he'd take to it like a whale, diving and spouting water all over me. We visited the pool before lessons started, to let him explore. He loved it, bravely going in as deep as his waist, laughing and splashing just as I had guessed he would. But when lessons began a few weeks later, he showed me quite fiercely that they were not according to his terms. I feared I would scare the love of water out of him, and he would dry up. Each day we struggled into the swim clothes while I prepped him for swimming with little mantras of "I'm so proud of you for trying!" and "You are so brave!" My husband even bribed him with ice cream. Fortunately, he always smiled at some point in each lesson, always went in the water of his own free will, and always made progress. He stayed friends with water, and I think I see signs of a bold swimmer yet.

Just when I thought our water days were at an end for the season, I found myself saying yes to a family-floating adventure down the Boise River. My husband invited me to go along with some friends, thinking I'd want to get a sitter for our son. It was too last-minute to get someone to watch him, so I worriedly imagined us huddled in our raft in the middle of the river with our son screaming to go home. Would he get scared or would he love it? But how could I have doubted our water-obsessed child! Clad in a lifejacket, he clawed his way over the side of the raft time after time, wanting to dangle in the water while I held him by his armpits. And the only screams of the two-hour float were exuberant joy with many a "WHOA!" as we faced the few small rapids. Even when his friend showed fear, my son only wanted more water to fill the boat.

Lately, when we can't get outside to dance in the rain, go to the river, or pull out the wading pool, my son delights in the water of the kitchen sink. He drags a chair, scraping across the floor, and parks it in front of the sink where he spends time filling and dumping cups and bowls of water. As I sit here writing he exclaims, "Mommy, there's a lot of dishes to do!" He may not always want to do the dishes, but I have no doubt we'll be chasing water for many years to come.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-50720279978091065992017-03-20T20:24:00.003-07:002017-03-20T20:24:57.367-07:00In Sickness and Sickness: A Story of Lava, Love, and the Silver Bowl"Mommy, when it's morning, I want to go to WinCo or Fred Meyer and buy ALL the cookies!"

"No. No cookies. Mommy is sick. Go back to sleep. Wait, are you even awake?"

Our son snuggled up next to me in bed and said no more. Luke coughed and stirred in the guest bed downstairs. We were now all in various stages of illness, the first attack having started in the night not many nights earlier.
______

It began with a whimper from Geddy's room. My brain went into the normal do-I-go-check-on-him-or-do-I-wait conversation in my head before I rolled out of bed and into his dark room to hear him sobbing. Thinking he was having a bad dream, I reached out my hand to where I thought his back was and touched instead a sticky, glumpy goo. The dread had hardly time to sink in as he continued to vomit.

"Oh, baby, you're sick!" Nice of me to state the obvious. I turned on the light and started flinging blankets and animals out of the way and wiping up with his shirt as I pulled it over his head. Luke came running to hold a shivering boy and calm him while I took all the yuck to the laundry room and set up a bed on the floor in our room. Geddy had made it to almost four years old without having such sickness.

"Time to check off another milestone on your growth chart, buddy!" I thought as I settled him in the new bed and sent Luke back to his. But since Geddy had never experienced such trauma to his body before he naturally wanted to talk about it.

"Well there's a sick germ in you, hun, making you feel bad. But you have a strong body and it's fighting back."

"I think the germ has a knife. Or a sword."

"Yes, I'm sure it feels that way!"

"And I have lava in me!"

I smiled at his accurate description of the vile vomit erupting from his system. We soon settled back down for sleep, but the lava had other ideas. Two more eruptions followed. This was getting a bit much for me, so Geddy, ever concerned about his parents, said, "Don't worry; I'll get better."

"Oh yes you will, buddy, you are so right! I know you will be OK." Maybe I could give myself a pep talk too.

But when I tucked Lambie up next to Geddy his optimism wavered. "No, I don't want Lambie to get the lava." So we stuffed Lambie under the mattress.

Better Geddy did get. The following day I decided that he must have eaten something bad and didn't have a virus. Luke and I had hope. But after hours of running around, being hungry but only getting gentle foods for his tummy, and having a grand ol' day as his normal self, Geddy erupted again while sitting on the couch next to me. My slow-motion reflexes left me sitting there watching and waiting for the action to end. His tears this time were for his favorite shirt, and I soothed him with the promise that we could wash it and I wouldn't throw it away. The couch, however, to me was a total loss. If I'd had the strength I would have heaved it out the door and placed a "free" sign on it.

Geddy went to the tub and there he was when Luke got home. Somehow I made dinner that night—not for Geddy—and Luke and I took comfort in the fact that Sabbath was next and we didn't have to go anywhere or do any work except to keep cleaning up lava that might continue. Oh how we hoped it wouldn't.

My reflexes were starting to kick in once 24 hours of volcano silence had passed. In his sleep Geddy coughed and I lurched up and grabbed him, ready to put his face in the silver bowl.

"I'm not sick!" He hollered.

"Oh. Sorry."

But then the lava came for me. When I first started tossing cookies Saturday night I told my son I was sorry to wake him with all my noises.

"You didn't wake me. I was just listening. It's funny."

"Funny? Don't you remember how it felt when you were vomiting?"

"It's funny."

And here I thought he had been scared.

"I'll hold the bowl for you when you have the lava."

"Thanks, Geddy. You're a great helper."

"Yeah, I know. If Daddy gets the lava he won't think it's funny."

No, when the lava erupted from Daddy he did not have a smile on his face, but he was ready.

While I had been moaning in bed wondering how Geddy had all his energy and yet I was completely incapacitated, Luke had spent most of Sunday doing chores around the house and stocking up on sickness supplies. What I didn't know as he was making his favorite Jell-O, was that he knew the germ was coming for him.

Luke went down hard, just as I had, and Geddy remained the helper. On Monday I managed to drag myself out of the house for more supplies. Geddy wanted to help by buying jelly beans, cookies, and more Jell-O, but I firmly declined. Yet Jell-O dinners with a side of saltine crackers became a staple for the week.

Through it all the silver bowl was our constant companion. When Geddy was at his worst he carried the bowl around, from room to room, as I directed, just in case one of the eruptions could actually be contained in it. Then it lived on the floor by his bed for a time, getting a rinse once or twice. By the time Luke joined the party the bowl took up residence in bed beside him, moving to the couch when he was able to sit up for a period of time. Like another member of the family, the bowl was loyal and ready to carry our burdens.

When the wave of turmoil had passed, once and for all, I didn't put the bowl away immediately. Weakness and the inability to consume much food still left me skeptical that the danger was over. It was kind of like wanting one more day to stay home from school or one more reason to drink 7-Up through a straw: The bowl was a crutch to lean on.

Now the bowl is back on its shelf yet still ready to serve. If such an illness ravages our family again—you say "when," but I can't face that—we and the bowl will be prepared to care for each other. And if you find yourself in volcanic distress, just call on Geddy, because, as he said, he'll "help anyone who has the lava." He'll hold the bowl for you.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-28380518838227006702017-02-20T11:55:00.003-08:002017-02-20T11:55:38.262-08:00In Bed With Luke and Louis (L'Amour)Insomnia strikes me infrequently—really never—though I sometimes argue in my brain instead of sleeping. Even in the months of little sleep during Geddy's babyhood falling asleep happened easily for me. I don't get enough sleep, I don't get the best sleep, but I sleep. I stare at my husband's sleeping form next to me in bed, grumble because he can fall asleep seconds after hitting the pillow, but still I do sleep. Luke, however, doesn't always. His instant sleep state offers no promises that he won't be awake at 3:00 a.m.

What causes Luke's wakefulness has a lot to do with me, but when I am not the cause of his sleeplessness it is usually his active mind. All the stations are turned on and turned up. He has to have something override them. Sometimes it just takes an episode of Star Trek. Or a few chapters in a good book. But when he just wants to close his eyes and get good rest he can count on the audiobooks of Louis L'Amour. The tricky part with any of his methods is that I prefer darkness and quiet while I sleep, so he usually has to go downstairs and create his atmosphere for rest in the guest room.

Recently I relented to letting Louis in our bedroom. I didn't want to banish Luke and he wanted to stay upstairs. I figured after he fell asleep I could just turn off the iPod and then I would sleep too, because I knew there was no way I could sleep with Louis' stories playing between the pillows. What a shocker, then when morning came and I had no recollection of the story or the night. We had both fallen asleep before the story was over and no one had needed to turn it off! In fact, I think I might have even fallen asleep first.

Years of sleeping alone gets a person comfortable with the whole situation, and one of the challenges of marriage can be having to share a bed, a blanket, a space with another body. I've mostly gotten used to Luke in my bed, but when Geddy comes crawling in I usually lose comfort, a pillow, sometimes an eye. With Louis, however, this new guest in our quarters, I surprise myself saying he just might be welcome to join us any time!

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-61958763697731341882017-01-22T20:43:00.001-08:002017-01-22T20:43:10.640-08:00God's HouseSometimes I remember to talk to God out loud so Geddy will know that I ask for guidance and express thankfulness. Modeling my relationship with God helps me to work on actually having a relationship.

The other day we were out driving and I told God how grateful I was that we were safe. We had been having car trouble before being rescued by my sister. Rather than breaking down on the freeway the car had died in my friend's driveway. It was the perfect place to hang out, happy and warm, and wait for my sister, whose house was right around the corner.

While I was thanking God for being with us, I heard Geddy ask from the back seat: "Is God in the clouds?"

"God is down here and up in the clouds and everywhere at once. Isn't that great about God?"

"But where's her house?"

(Geddy always refers to God with female pronouns. I pretty much adore this.)

"That is a good question. I don't know if God has a house. Maybe more like a bird, just flying around everywhere. But I guess birds do have houses."

"Yeah, birds have nests."

"Well maybe God has a nest too."

That night I tucked Geddy into bed and said prayers with him. Luke usually leads this, but he wasn't home yet, so I was going on like "Please be with this person and that person" when Geddy interrupted me.

"Tell God to be here with me because I don't want her going to somebody else."

"Well remember, God is here and everywhere, for everyone, but yes, please God watch over Geddy tonight. Amen."

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-73614947229360472892017-01-12T08:41:00.000-08:002017-01-12T08:43:04.485-08:00When Winter Goes too FarWinter falls in beautiful snowflakes that dance to the rhythm of excited children. Snowmen and snow angels, sledding and skiing, holidays at Grandma's house, hot chocolate, fuzzy hats and new boots, snowshoes and snowballs—winter is enchanting and cozy by the fire and the best friend whose visit you never want to end.

Until this year. Now, winter for many on my slice of the planet has become an unwelcome guest. And it's only mid January. I smell the work of the White Witch, because, like that time in Narnia, it feels like "always winter but never Christmas."

Honestly, the cold hasn't gotten to me yet. Neither has the dark sky or the snow—or what's left of the snow here. What makes it a bit too much winter is the rain uglifying the snow and flooding our sidewalk and the ice building up in between the meltdowns. And my car trapped in the driveway. These are minor problems considering those of people dealing with leaking or caving in roofs and other ice and water damage.

For many days, Geddy and I relished the snow fun right in our neighborhood. We did all the snow cool events, from sledding and snowshoeing to just flopping in the powder and taking a bite of nature's ice cream. But now we mostly stay inside. It's not so bad, not like it is for the children and teachers whose snow day wishes came true, just in excess. But just as they want to go back to school, we are kind of ready to get outside again.

So yesterday we went out to shovel some water around. We tried to clear the path for the water to have a steady flow down the street. Geddy had fun, as he doesn't seem to notice that the weather is less than ideal. I slogged through the water cringing at the thought of it all freezing, which it did. I guess today I can get out my ice skates.

Perhaps that is bringing this winter full circle, because the thought of ice skating conjures up all the warm fuzzies of this season again. Concern has settled into a steady resignation that winter isn't going anywhere yet so we might as well make the best of it.

Geddy certainly has no complaints. He keeps asking to go camping. As we filled up jugs with water and got out the oil lamps—just in case—he reminded us to not forget the marshmallows. This morning he and I made a makeshift tent, packed it with stuffed animals and a flashlight, and told camping stories. We looked at colorful stars and talked about chipmunks following us for crumbs. Then Geddy said the chipmunk was running through the snow. I said What? No snow here; we're camping. He said Yes, there's snow! I said OK, some people do camp in the snow but Daddy and I are not those people. Somehow, I think Geddy will be one day.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-51056428950322810372016-12-31T19:12:00.002-08:002016-12-31T19:24:36.529-08:00Perfect TimingWe rolled into Portland at the perfect time. Perfect for stand-still traffic anyway. Christmas traveling is hectic at any time of day, but rush hour in the big city makes it even worse. Our Garmin map told us Grandma's house was fifteen minutes away, but the road signs warned it would take forty-seven minutes just to get to our next turn. Geddy was grumpy; I wanted to stand up and stretch. The rock station on the radio kept turning out disappointments for Luke and he sighed, "What we need right now is a Rush song." Three seconds later his wish came true. As he cranked it up and Geddy Lee started singing, our Geddy started bobbing his head. "Perfect timing!" Luke exclaimed, happier than he had been in miles. Thinking over our long day, he realized that we might have had perfect timing more than once.

Luke's Christmas shopping procrastination had caused us to be sitting in the car that morning, waiting for a store to open, when we should have already been out of Boise. When ten o'clock rolled around and the store still wasn't open, we were feeling out of luck. One last check at the door and Luke came back with a story. The employee had gotten locked out of the building and it would be half an hour before someone got there with a key. We went on to a different store, bought the present, and got on the road. A few hours later, while stopped in traffic on the freeway waiting for an accident up ahead to be cleared, we felt thankful we hadn't been involved. Leaving late might have been the perfect time after all.

Days later in our vacation adventure we probably did come close to being a traffic accident, or at least getting stuck in the snow. As the wind blew the powder in vicious waves across the road I thought we were definitely in the right place at the wrong time. We made it to the country road, ready to go visit Luke's father at his ranch. It didn't take long before we found ourselves backing up to get out of the drifts that quickly engulfed the previously plowed path. We paused, weighing our options. Should we continue? Maybe we would just make it in time before the road disappeared. But maybe we would get stuck, too far from the ranch to walk in that weather and too far from town and without cell service to get help. The deciding factor was when a much larger vehicle had to back down the road as well. With sighs we headed back to town. The drifts and whiteouts continued but we made it safely. It all worked out except we didn't get to visit family. (The good news is we heard today that roads got plowed and he got his groceries!)
______

The new year bursts to life in a matter of hours, ready to flip the calendar and give us no excuses for the perfect time to do everything better. Regardless of the year change, every moment we get choices. We can choose what we eat, what we buy, what we do with our time. But sometimes no matter what we choose life is just plain out of our control. Talk of God's timing often frustrates me because, what the heck, why can't he operate on my timeline? I don't see his perfect timing when I'm in the storm. I don't always give him credit for his perfect timing when all goes well.

I suppose what I want to say for this coming year is that it's the perfect time to be grateful and to focus on patience and faith. I don't have a magic wand to make things work out or a secret knowledge of what God might do each step of the way, but I have hope that loves shines bright on the horizon.

We had perfect timing to view a gorgeous sunset around Mount Hood.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-5222163465266734802016-11-09T20:15:00.001-08:002016-11-09T20:15:13.318-08:00Just Breathe, and Color Outside the LinesImpatience and frustration rear their proverbial ugly heads in my psyche a little too often these days. Motherhood seems to have breathed life into these nasty twins. With other people's children I can handle a lot of trying situations without bother. When I taught little ones, I found them amusing, gifted, and pleasantly rebellious when they would, say, tell silly jokes instead of work math problems or color outside the lines. I didn't mind if they giggled loudly in the hallways. Even more serious offenses, like not getting their homework done, or lying to save face, didn't ruffle me. I was there to love them, teach them what I could, and model kindness and patience. (Notice I said little ones. My teenage students pushed my buttons!).

So I figured I could keep it up when I had a child of my own.

Well, now, you shake your head and smile.

What is the truth? I tell my son to "Hurry" so often that he has made a game out of making sure I don't quit saying it! "Mommy, say, 'Hurry' " he demands, as he moves like a snail when we should be out the door and in the car already. I get frustrated when he won't stop running around the kitchen long enough for me to wipe the food off of his hands and face. I growl when he splashes around in the sink instead of opening his mouth for me to brush his teeth. I even get a bit mad when he lies and says, "NO POOP!" and there is really quite a lot of it.

Sigh.

It certainly puts me to the test, shows my true colors, brings out the worst in me—any more hackneyed phrases?

But—and probably my husband should get all the credit—somehow, this tiny human I love like crazy who brings out my crazy, oozes a whole lot of empathy and love for his mommy.

Every other day he tells me, "Don't worry, Mommy." Every other day, and sometimes a couple of times a day, he leaps forward and hugs me tight after a particularly bad bout of mommy frustration. Every day he says, "It's OK, I don't mind about it," when I say phrases such as, "Don't get your shoes wet!" and "You'll be cold without your jacket!" and "You'll be hungry later if you don't eat something now."

I mean, this boy, he's up on reading my body language too. He knows when Mommy is stewing.

Recently we were supposed to all leave the house early for a trip. I wasn't quite ready on time, but when I finally was, Luke was upstairs singing and playing guitar. I knew we had to get on the road, especially because he had told me what time we should leave. Luke didn't get frustrated with me, when I missed the time, but boy was I at peak impatient-boiling-into-frustration when he wasn't ready. I didn't say a word, however, trying to be calm and kind, but Geddy sensed it. He looked up at me and said, "Don't worry, Mommy, I'll go get Daddy." He ran upstairs and told Luke we were all ready to go and then—get your Kleenex box—he came back downstairs and hugged me and said it would be OK.

Well. May I remember this daily and keep my priorities straight. It really is all going to be OK. Just breathe. And love. And let go of the little things, because really, wet shoes, skipped dinners, slowpoke little boys, are so not things to lose my cool over. It's all "coloring outside the lines," and we need more of that.

Creative Commons: flickr Sami Ben Gharbia

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-91764159996614172822016-10-10T21:20:00.000-07:002016-10-10T21:22:57.914-07:00Dirt's Best FriendSometimes, in spite of living in a sprawling old neighborhood with a big park in our backyard, we feel the itching need to escape our little big city and go touch the land. We especially want our son to experience the wide open wild that we knew as children. And we want him to laugh and play and get into mischief with cousins. Fortunately, this time of year dirt and cousins are not too hard to find.

This weekend in the wilds of Eastern Oregon, we watched in amusement as the kids tromped through the corn maze, chased each other around straw bales, and got to pile on for rides on the four-wheeler with their Nana/Great Aunt. But even with so many activities to choose from, the kids also loved just playing in the dirt.

They crawled in the dirt.

They rolled in the dirt.

They made piles of dirt.

They kicked and scuffed their shoes to make trails in the dirt.

They picked up handfuls of dirt and let it sift through their fingers and blow in the wind.

They threw dirt on each other and on their own heads.

They buried their legs in the dirt.

I even saw one tiny cousin cheerfully eating the dirt!

We parents, meanwhile, tried not to think of the mess that would be in the car, the dirt ring that would circle the tub, and the snotty dirt that would be coming out of noses for days. We remembered when dirt was our friend too.

The dirt-clod wars we had.

The dried mud pies we sampled.

The dirt and brush forts we built.

The dirt roads we made with our toy cars.

Every dirt memory surfaced with each cloud of dust the kids displaced. Dirt used to constantly live under our fingernails.

Our country-escape-turned-dirt-reunion ended long after bedtime. As we said Good bye to all the cousins and family and drove off into the dark and the sage brush, our son said: "We're going to get lost! There are no lights!" My husband explained: "This is what's called the country. This is where I lived when I was little like you. I know my way around."

And then I think I heard the dirt whisper, "Take care, old friend, and come again soon."

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-9196246550100676342016-09-21T12:22:00.002-07:002016-09-21T12:22:42.693-07:00Rabbit HoleSometimes I find myself thinking so much that it leads me on a journey to the bookshelf, and I want to suddenly reread all my favorite books or read others again that I hadn't put much thought into before. One idea reminds me of that one part of that one story, and then I wonder if I still have that other book that I held onto for years but probably finally donated to the library. With excitement I relish the idea of revisiting the poignancy of the pages.

This was my Monday, pulling out Franny and Zooey, digging through the boxes in the garage looking for a college text about the New Testament letters, and thinking that my husband had a good idea in rereading Tuesdays with Morrie. Then I found a children's book in French that I forgot I owned, which got me to thinking about pulling out all my French texts to study through, and then I wondered if I read my French Bible would I gain any insight I couldn't get in English.

The pile of books on my desk was growing. I immediately saw the danger of getting overwhelmed by the stack and leaving it there to go and do something far less intellectual than start reading. But where to start? I wanted all the information and brilliant revelations in my head RIGHT AWAY. It took some nudging from my husband, but that evening I chose to begin with Salinger instead of Netflix. Then on Tuesday I spent an hour in the sand pit of the park reading Zooey (having gotten through Franny just barely, the night before, as I tried to stay awake), and found myself transported on my journey back in time to who I was when I first read it. (I didn't stay back there too long because my son kept throwing sand my direction!)

What a strange feeling, though, to read a text and be transported in time to my past self. I can't exactly explain it except to say that I felt at one time all important and intellectual and completely confused and not at all wise. The "wisdom" of my younger self fell dead at the feet of the present me who realizes she knows nothing at all. I was at the same time deliciously nostalgic and sad that I hadn't gotten anywhere.

I suppose these conflicting feelings have a lot to do with what I was reading and why I picked it up to read again. I wanted an answer, that I thought I had found a long time ago, and I wanted to remember it and be all the better for it. Maybe I will still get there—have to finish the book first—but perhaps what I am to learn from this experience, if anything, is that what I needed to know back then is not necessarily what I need to know today. And perhaps feeling less wise is actually being more wise.

In the long run, then, this journey should lead to more self-discovery. Then in ten years I can go back and read these books again and maybe remember where I was at the second (or third or fourth) reading and find that I have learned after all. It makes me wonder what it is like for the authors. They have—presumably—read their books so many times in the rewriting and editing processes that they may be too sick of the stories to read them ever again. But what if they do? Ten or twenty years down the road do they sneakily pick up a copy of one of their books in the library and start reading it? Do they find themselves taken back to that first time the idea popped into their heads for the story? Do they smile with nostalgia and cringe? Do they learn something new and wonder how they could have missed it the first time? Do they wonder how they ever thought they knew anything?

I don't know. But for now I think I'll keep going down this rabbit hole; it's too much fun to stop. I want to know how I will feel when I pick up the next book. What will I think or reconsider? I'm not disenchanted any more.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-73254994132084615532016-08-03T14:41:00.001-07:002016-08-03T14:41:14.138-07:00The Ocean CureStanding on the beach, staring at the vastness of ocean, I felt calm seep into every pore. Every inch of me breathed peace. The madness, murder, and mayhem of the world did not exist. Neither did laundry, bills, politics, and other grown-up burdens. I couldn't even focus on anxiety. My husband felt it too. He couldn't believe how the tension and stress of life just disappeared.

But how strange. The ocean could swell and pound the sand and make us disappear, if it wanted to. We looked out at the tips of the hidden forest of Neskowin, visible only when the tide was out. Long ago the trees had stood proudly on land before the water rose and consumed them. The ocean is not safe. But, oh, it is good for the soul.

I hardly need to explain; for, anyone who has ever been to the coast must feel the same. Yes, one can surf or fish or go on a cruise, but how many people want ocean-front property just so they can gaze upon the water? Why are we so drawn to it? What power does it have over us?

Why am I not equally drawn to God? Is it because I cannot see him? He's vast; he's everywhere. He's powerful, mighty, and not exactly safe. But he is good. And he is love. He could wipe me out, like erasing a mistake, but he doesn't. When I do take the time to sit with him, I start to feel the calm and the joy and the peace that he desires for me.

The news and the traffic and the Internet get me so muddied up that I stop seeing that God is everywhere. I just want to run back to the ocean where I can forget all that other stuff exists. My sense of sight really does take control. Maybe that's why God said to meet him in private, in a closet, in the quiet. When I've gone to a crowded beach by a big city with lots of shops and noise it is true that I sometimes get distracted. I forget that the ocean is trying to offer me peace, and I busy myself with other pursuits. Then I go home from vacation feeling exhausted and not refreshed.

Maybe I should put a bottle of sand on my desk as a reminder to close my eyes and see the ocean. To meet God on the waves. He will calm the storm.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-78722578353189131882016-06-03T20:17:00.002-07:002016-06-03T20:17:30.200-07:00Little Helper, Big Lessons"I'm a good helper. Can I help you, please? Please?"

Words from Geddy, more often lately as he matures into his three-year-old self, come sweetly. He, through personal motivation and probably a little Daniel Tiger inspiration, wants to help make dinner, help select grocery items and bag them at the conveyor belt, help dig weeds, and help when Daddy doesn't feel well. I'm learning to let him as much as I can. It's true; he is a good helper and can do so much even though he's still so small and not always very coordinated. (But hey, I've broken numerous dishes in the kitchen over a few short years so I'm not so very coordinated either!). He lights up to discover what he is capable of and how he can bring smiles to his parents.

Today he wanted to help make someone else feel better. I almost didn't include him, but he asked so earnestly and I realized what a great moment for him to use his helpful spirit outside of the family. I've been wondering lately how to model compassion and a giving spirit in ways that he will see without me having to schedule a service opportunity the same way I might sign him up for an art class. In other words, I want to fill his day with meaning without putting something on a list to check off.

This is what I need for me too. I want to act on the nudges from God to be that "good helper" without thinking I need to go out looking for a specific opportunity to do a good deed. The moments are all around for kindness. I need to just let them happen.

I also want my son to learn that joy in seeing someone helped is all the reward we need. I cringe when I recall high school honor society and how we got points for "helping" our community. It felt a little wrong to me at the time, but still I submitted my slips of paper detailing what I had done so I could get those points, earn that letter, wear that collar at graduation. What the hell was that all for? Most of what I did I was going to do anyway. I didn't do it for honor society, but I certainly used it after the fact for my own interests. And who cares which people were in honor society in high school and which weren't? It didn't make any difference for when I applied to college. It didn't help me get a job somewhere. And it shouldn't have anyway. Why should we get real or pretend awards for doing what is right?

I try to let it go, not be bitter about old stuff, not feel guilty for how I acted in high school but learn from it, especially as a parent. I really shy away from rewards of any kind. I'm hesitant to potty train my son by using treats. Yes, I know it works for many, and I really am not mentioning this to judge any one who does this. I have my own personal history I'm battling with. I have no perfect answers on how to raise a child or teach him to poop in the potty and not in his diaper. I just want my motivations to be pure and to pass that spirit on to my son.

He's on the right track, I think, but then he's not perfect. He whines when he doesn't get his own way. He expects, and quite often does get, praise. That's not a lot different sometimes than something tangible. But he and I are a work in progress. And each day is a new day. And he really is a good little helper! He helps me practice patience, learn to let my lists go unchecked for a little while, laugh, and love life even in the hard moments.

("Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood" is a children's show on PBS, modeled after the show "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood", which I watched more than religiously as a child.)

If you need your kitchen mowed then Geddy is your guy!

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-9154540147732108912016-04-28T12:23:00.000-07:002016-06-02T17:33:19.185-07:00How Adafruit's Circuit Playground Board has Changed My Life
(Guest post from my husband, Luke Hindman. He shares where his hobbies and interests have led him over the past five months and what it means for the coming year in his personal and professional adventures. Check out Adafruit and follow this link to see what the circuit playground board is and how you can get one: https://www.adafruit.com/product/3000)

It all started last November as I watched Ladyada walking through the design process of a new board we weren't supposed to ask any questions about. I tuned in for every session to learn more about the design process. Then there was the prototype build and sessions on how to solder surface mount components by hand. I have loved electronics and programming since a very young age, so I thought this board was a brilliant idea for teaching kids.

Later on, my wife and I invited a few friends over for New Year's. My friend Shane, who is faculty at Boise State University, told me about working with a local middle school to start a programming club. Once I learned what he wanted to do, I told him about the circuit playground board and sent him links to the videos. I also showed him several of the wearable projects I had made for a steampunk gala my wife and I attended in 2013.

Shane and I exchanged many excited email messages, and he persuaded me to help him create an engineering club at the middle school. I'd never taught before, but it sounded fun. Instead of just programming in a browser, we decided to teach programming using wearable electronics. After many requests for a possible release date for the circuit playground board from Adafruit Customer Support (great people, but they unfortunately "didn't know" anything about a circuit playground board), I designed a kit using NeoPixels, Flora and a few small sensors.

The class was 6th, 7th and 8th graders and they were blown away by what they could do. We had them customizing the sample code and playing with color gradients by the end of four weeks. They eventually built their own wearable projects and we taught them how to solder everything together. It was such an incredible experience.

While all this was going on, Shane was trying to persuade me to apply for a faculty position in the Computer Science Department at Boise State University. I told him there was no way. I am an engineer, not a teacher. As the months went by, February became April and I realized that I could in fact see myself as a teacher. After an application, interviews, presentations and an awkward conversation with my employer of seven years I am going to be teaching CompSci Fall 2016!

It is now the end of April and the circuit playground board went on sale this afternoon. I felt it was time to step back and reflect on the past five months. The November 2015 version of myself would not have believed the path that those late nights watching deskofladyada would lead to. All of that education and growth and the board wasn't even released yet. I can't wait to see what happens when it arrives next week! :)

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-17372771488030346212016-04-27T13:39:00.000-07:002016-04-27T13:39:21.727-07:00The Wild Indoors One of our greatest joys as parents is witnessing our son's amazing imaginative play. He morphs from puppy to lion to bird over the course of five minutes and a bowl of Cheerios. Or he transforms carrots, rocks, and washcloths into precious babies that he tucks into the couch where they are "shhhh, sleeping!" and we must turn down the audio on our voices.

Naturally he can't go about having all the fun and drags us into his pretend world with a simple, but persistent, "Pretty, pretty please." Soon we are crawling on the floor or hiding in the closet or opening the back door to boot monsters to the curb.

A recent adventure involved one of Geddy's favorite activities: going to the river to throw rocks in. He had been tossing and splashing and "getting all wet" for a little while when he tugged at Luke, engrossed in his laptop screen, and asked him to come to the river. Luke rose from the dining room table and walked three steps to the living room where he had to catch himself before slipping down the bank and falling into the swift flowing water. Geddy started pointing out the "big ones," so Luke squatted a bit and lifted a large rock to his shoulders and then, shot-put style, heaved it into the river where it made such a splash that even I got wet in the kitchen.

This imagination thing got so intense that as I went upstairs I heard Luke say, in all seriousness, "Geddy, don't throw rocks at me." I turned around and chimed in, "No throwing at people." Luke started laughing. You know you're a little carried away when you start admonishing your child for imaginary rock throwing!

"That very night in Max's room a forest grew" Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-5678506015830777612016-04-06T21:22:00.002-07:002016-04-07T05:07:54.298-07:00Geddy's World Geddy: "I see the moon!"

Me: Hello moon!

Geddy: "It doesn't have eyes. It doesn't have a mouth to talk."

Me: Oh.

Geddy: "Is it coming to see us? Is it?"

Me: What would you do with the moon?

Geddy: "Play with my toys. It can pick them up."

Me: If the moon had a name, what would it be?

Geddy: "Hmmm, how about Pink? And blue nose and green head."

Me: And it could talk?

Geddy: "Yep."

Me: Where would you go with the moon?

Geddy: "A restaurant with Daddy with the moon."

Me: What would the moon eat?

Geddy: "Cheerios, I think. He will like Cheerios. He will like peas."

Me: Do you like peas?

Geddy: "No I don't. They make me like not yummy. They yucky."

Me: Why are peas yucky?

Geddy: "Cause, um, like a circle! Like peas!"
---
Geddy was picking up all of his toys in the living room and tossing them into a cardboard box. All the while he had a running dialogue with himself (or maybe it was his toys talking):
"Did you say marshmallow? Yep I did say marshmallow. You got it. Duper. Did you say duper? Ya I did. Super duper."
 ---
Geddy burrowed his toes under the blanket at bedtime.
"Toes not sleeping. They're working in the garage."

Me: Ok, but Geddy needs to sleep.
Geddy: "Not toes. They're working."
Me: Ok, not toes.
 ---
Before church: "Mommy, can we go to the river after church?"
Me: Maybe.
He turns to Luke:"Daddy, can we go to the river instead of church?"
Luke: No, we are going to church.
Geddy: "I don't like people."

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-46309501191288407492016-04-04T14:36:00.002-07:002016-04-04T14:38:33.091-07:00Dissecting the RainbowAsk me what I do and I might say I take care of my family, stay home with my son, and write a little. But I should add to my resume that I also work on the many projects that my husband would like to do but just doesn't have time for.

Oh, like mowing the lawn, cleaning the gutters, and buying parts at Home Depot?

No, he's all over that stuff. (Especially the Home Depot visits.)

I mean like dissecting rainbows.

See, pillow talk last night revolved around Luke wanting to know if it is possible—and how—to separate the red and the blue from a mixture of purple paint. He wondered if the colors really merged together or if, by using a high-powered microscope, one could distinguish the red and the blue as distinct separate specks, such as digital pixels. He also wondered if it could be done without adding anything to the mixture. I didn't know. I just told him that paint is really sticky. I thought maybe a chemist could do it. We then both pondered the idea of using a centrifuge or something like to sling apart the individual colors.

So far I haven't put in an order on Amazon for any materials, but my research online brought up the word chromatography. Something in the back of my mind tells me that I may have played around with paper chromatography in art classes way back when. Here's a page to explore for doing cool experiments at home: Colorful Chromatography.

When it comes to paint, however, is it all chemically bonded and thus cannot be separated? This may be the case.

I have a feeling if I need someone to help me figure this all out I can employ Geddy, our in-house color expert. He knows his colors and enjoys using chalk, crayons, and Play-Doh. We haven't done much with paint yet, but we could start with his Play-Doh. The problem is, he's more into color amalgamation than separation.

If we can separate this hodgepodge I think we deserve a prize. And a break from all these extra projects.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-6669244096079628802016-03-22T13:24:00.002-07:002016-03-22T13:24:18.776-07:00Three Vignettes of a Mom at HomeThe Delivery

The doorbell rang. Out on the front step was a giant box, one I had waited so long to get—two whole days with Amazon Prime. I couldn't wait to open it, but wait I did until Monday morning when Luke was at work and I could be alone with my prize. Geddy was there, of course, to share in the excitement and cheer me on as I removed the packaging and assembled all the parts to—wait for it—my new vacuum cleaner!

OK, I am officially boring. Don't jump to conclusions, though. I still want something less appliancey for my birthday. I still like roses. But this vacuum is a relief to my back, an answer to clean floors, and a reason to dump everything out of the closet and clean from top to bottom. Spring cleaning, here I come!

The Mess, in 79 Words

"I love you," I told my husband, and hung up the phone. Another late night at the office meant dinner for two not three. The salad dressing waited as I answered the beep of the oven timer; the bread was done. After filling Geddy's plate, I turned back to my salad. Ah yes, the dressing. I gave the bottle a vigorous shake to mix up the oils and spices. Except, huh: I forgot I had taken off the lid.

The Bathroom Break-in

Jokes abound online about moms needing time alone but only getting it when they can escape to the bathroom. Of course along with those jokes comes the punchline that with small children at home, time in the bathroom is rarely a solo routine. My son makes sure that I am not the exception to this scenario.

The other day we were all downstairs when I said I needed to go use the bathroom. I didn't make any special provisions for Geddy because Luke was there. In other words, I didn't check to make sure the stove was off or force Geddy to be on my side of the locked gate at the top of the stairs (so he wouldn't escape to go to the park while I was occupied). But I should have shut that gate for my protection.

I settled in for a nice rest when outside of my door there arose such a clatter. Moments later there was Geddy, dragging in one of his chairs from his room. What are you doing? I foolishly asked. "I just watch you," he said, smiling as he plopped down on his chair and started swinging his legs.

There we were, both seated, for the duration.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-36019228949762918642016-03-01T12:39:00.000-08:002016-03-01T12:39:38.871-08:00Our Son is Rock and Roll"How did you pick the name Geddy?"

We get this question a lot. The most recent asker was about to cut Geddy's hair. She was fortunate to have some atypical salon chitchat.

I told the tale quickly, focusing on the most straight-forward answer: we stole the name from the lead singer and bassist of Canada's preeminent rock band, Rush.

When the name first struck us as a good idea, my husband had some reservations. Did he really want to name his son after a rock star? But the name was too good to pass up. We bestowed it on our son with no strings attached.

But even though we have no dreams of pushing our son into stardom, he is growing up with a musical library at his eardrums. Since his daddy has quite a talent for guitar and loves an eclectic supply of tunes, Geddy has heard a lot of music—live and canned—in our house. While only a few weeks old he kicked his legs vigorously to Lady Gaga. And every month of his life he's jammed to his daddy's guitar interpretations of Matchbox 20, Gaelic Storm, Garth Brooks, or, of course, Rush.

When Geddy was a baby and I would leave him home with his daddy while I shopped, I would return to a house blaring with music and a happily sound-asleep boy. He spent many months where he couldn't sleep without at least a little music at night. We opted for the quieter Norah Jones when we wanted to sleep too.

Now that our son is older and able to ask for what he wants, we often hear his voice in the backseat of the car asking that we make the music "louder." His favorites now range from the Christian "Lighthouse," from Rend Collective, to the pop rock "Shut Up and Dance With Me," from Walk the Moon. He loves to sing along and belt them out as loud as he can.

I was surprised the other day when I heard my little boy running around the house singing out, "Beat it! Just beat it!" over and over and over. One little viewing of a Michael Jackson video with his daddy and he was hooked on the, well, beat!

The funniest rock moment, however, happens frequently. Our son dearly loves the Pixar movie, "Planes: Fire and Rescue." Whenever he asks to watch it he usually says something like, "Want to watch Fire Rescue, the SOFTER one!" What he wants, as he breaks into a singing chat of "Softer! Softer!" is to get to the part of the movie where AC/DC belts out "Thunder! Thunder!" Why he thinks it's "softer!" is anyone's guess, but he loves to rock his head up and down and run around in crazy excitement.

Our own little rock star after all.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-59708851818794979452016-02-16T13:10:00.001-08:002016-02-16T13:10:30.955-08:00"Making Friends With Shadows on My Wall""Daddy, I need my hat! I left it in the car!" My son's first words as he woke up to the rat a tat rain on the trailer roof and two sleepy parents on either side of him. Minutes later he was off the bed and going to the door saying, "I go get it. Be right back. I come right back!" No, nope, wait, I mumbled. Even though he had let us sleep in after a full day and a late night up, we were not ready to dash out into the rain so he could play, or get a hat, or see his cousin's sheep. I found a flashlight on the counter and handed it to him, then slumped onto the pillow again.

He started to explore the closet and pull out more pillows that he said I needed. Then he sweetly threatened to turn on the light above our heads. No, no, not yet; I covered up the switch with my hand. "It's not dark anymore!" He answered back. I don't care; I'm not ready to be awake.

Soon I saw the flashlight orb on the ceiling, light swirling around while his fingers danced. I got sucked in despite my sleepy state. What's that? A bird? "Yep, you got it!" He laughed maniacally, "Muah ha ha ha!" We had brought along our mad scientist apparently. From bird to dinosaur the shadow puppets flitted this way and that with an occasional flash of light in my eye. Not in faces, I reminded him.

Why, I wondered, did I have to lose this innocent joy over small things like flashlights and shadows? It stinks, this growing up, where worry washes over every surface. Right now, as I remember the events of our hectic weekend—the fun and the frantic—my boy is playing with a piece of fluff on the floor. He blows it around then calls it his marshmallow. Before that he was making paper airplanes and taking them to the bathroom in the cupboard. It's the simple and the silly that bring delightful sounds from his lips.

Whatever it is that he's got, I need to go find it again. Maybe it waits out in the rain, deep inside a mud puddle that wants to be splashed.

(title credit: Matchbox Twenty and song "Unwell")

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-75994362692219364642016-01-28T20:36:00.001-08:002016-01-28T20:36:49.862-08:00Why "Star Wars: The Force Awakens" Nearly Crushed MeReminisce with me. Rural Idaho, the late 1980s: two young girls sit with their tape recorder playing the audio they have recorded from some corny little movies known as "Star Wars." They memorize the lines, act out the roles. Then they return to their VCR and re-watch the video tapes they made from the TV showings of their beloved movies. They love Chewbacca, Han Solo, the Ewoks. They fight over who gets to be Luke and Leia. The younger sister never wins. The older sister names her cat Princess Leia. Good times.

Let's fast forward. Three more "Star Wars" movies come into existence, much to the initial delight of the girls, now all grown up, but then they watch them, one by one, over the years ending with the last in 2005, and they grumble. They return happily to their VCRs that still work (yay!) and decide that they need Luke, Leia, and a Wookie to be in their happy place. The little sister still loses. She still has to be the woman with only one line.

Jump really far ahead now. There is a new disturbance in the force. Disney is taking on the "Star Wars" legacy. Will there be singing? Dancing tea cups? Magic carpets? The sisters are skeptical. It didn't go well the last go around. The little sister is now married to another "Star Wars" fan (though named Luke, he's really a Trekkie at heart), and he has the original, unadulterated VHS tapes of the best three movies. The older sister now has a (nearly) grown daughter and has indoctrinated her well into the love and the lore. Everyone decides to give the seventh movie a try. The older sister goes to a premiere, dressed as Princess Leia (no, not slave Leia!), and takes her daughter, who is dressed as the new character, Rey. They LOVE the movie. The little sister sends her husband to see the movie on his birthday, with a friend. She plans to go with him for his second viewing. The older sister sees it twice. It is finally time for the younger sister to see the movie.

OK, travel now with me, the younger sister, to "Star Wars: The Force Awakens." I go with my husband. He is excited to see it again and this time with me. I am excited too. I've heard great things from a reliable source: my older sister. The action begins. I'm laughing with Solo and Chewy. I'm cheering on Rey. I'm waiting with everyone to see where Luke the Jedi Master is. Then I start to cry. And I. Can't. Stop. Through the credits I fight to regain control. My husband waits patiently with me. I try. I try again. I think I'm there, but nope. I feel as if my heart is tearing from my chest. The walls are closing in. I fight to breathe. Why? Why, when the movie lived up to all I had hoped. When it was like a return to all I had loved as a child when watching the movies. What makes the difference?

I am now a mother.

No matter how often my sister got to be Leia when we played as kids, I am now Leia too. I look at her: one who raised a son to know the force, the truth, the light. That is what I try to do with my young son. Did she do everything right? Did she fail? Where did it all go wrong? I see her pain and I can't shake it.

My son, God bless him, will also have a choice. What will he choose?

I think about the unknown mother of Finn, the storm trooper. Her son was taken from her, as an infant. He was indoctrinated—brainwashed—into being a servant of darkness. That was all he had ever known. But one day. One day he takes off the mask and says no more. What does he know of the light? He doesn't, but he chooses it nonetheless.

My childhood innocence is gone. Being a mother has wrecked me, in the best way, in the hardest. It's the closest glimpse a person can have to God's agony and his delight. I don't see "Star Wars" as a fun fantasy anymore. I see it as the test we all have. The test we can't take for our children.

Heartless storm trooper or loving mother?

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-52731389735915432692016-01-07T16:45:00.002-08:002016-01-07T16:45:38.058-08:002015 ReflectionsTravel started off the new year. I took my first trip away from Geddy (and I haven't taken one since!). Only a little over 24 hours, but that meant a night and a morning that my little boy couldn't find me. He did well with his daddy, but they both missed me a lot. When I returned and Geddy was angry at me, it hurt, but we have healed. He has grown and changed so much over this year, but he tells me often at night, before he sleeps: "I need you. I want you." I say, "I need you too. I want you too."

What I remember of February was lots of illness and tissues everywhere! Fortunately March was better and we traveled to Aunt Tammy's wedding. Geddy was so exhausted from playing with all the cousins, though, that he slept through the ceremony, clinging to his Daddy-roo!

April meant more travel, this time to see family in Oregon from the bottom to the top, the West, to the East. Of course that included beach time! In May, Geddy turned two and had his first official birthday party with kids and ice cream and lots of playing time outside. The grandparents came as well to make the day extra special.

Mommy's birthday and Father's Day were the same day in 2015, so it was a super special time. Fun at a nature center and lots of good food made it a perfect day with family. July and August offered camping adventures in Idaho and Oregon. Geddy had so much fun that we are eager to camp again this coming summer. But we need better sleeping arrangements . . . .

In September we got to see the beautiful "boon boons" over two days. I'm hoping to take Geddy up in one next time, since they have a free day for kids! October was pumpkins and friends and two dates for Mommy and Daddy! I think we are getting a little better at prioritizing those! The holiday season rolled in and we rolled away in the car again to spend Thanksgiving with family, seeing many friends along the way. We cherish those days and memories as they were shadowed by sadness soon after with the loss of Grandpa Jerry. But we know we will see him again one day.

Christmas came quietly. Wait, not with Geddy it didn't. Luke and I were rather sick, but we had a nice day at home, just the three of us. Thankfully the sickness didn't last long.

Welcome 2016. We are ready for more adventures!

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-71893579095020174972015-12-07T21:57:00.002-08:002015-12-07T21:57:55.234-08:00My Husband's New NameLuke really ought to change his initials to B.S. I mean seriously, this guy can smooth talk crap like his brain has downloaded a copy of the internet—and maybe it has. For someone who can't stand small talk, you wouldn't guess it the way he can chat with acquaintances or strangers as if he's fully engaged in the topic and knows exactly what they are talking about. And maybe I shouldn't be shedding light on his little secret, but it's too funny to pass up.

Now I'm not trying to say he is a know-it-all. He tells me nearly every day how much there is that he doesn't know, how much he has to learn. And he loves to learn. He can skim through a 500 page nonfiction book and soak up the knowledge like a proverbial sponge. More more more, he can't get enough. He's the five-year-old boy still asking questions every minute.

What I'm talking about is his uncanny ability to appear as if he knows what he's talking about in his nice-guy manner of carrying on a polite conversation that leaves the other party smiling.

Here's the latest example that had me laughing through the whole exchange.

We went on a trip for Thanksgiving break and naturally had to fuel the car many times while on the road to and from relatives' houses. Our journey took us through Oregon, where you have to wait on someone else to pump gas. Luke got out of the car from habit and thus handed his debit card to the attendant right by the gas pump. Being face-to-face while the fuel ran seemed to require chit chat, but instead of the awkward question/answer session that often occurs at the hair dressers—So what do you do? Do you have kids? Have you lived here all your life?—the attendant took the opportunity to share his love of the Broncos with Luke. See, Luke happens to have the Denver Broncos symbol emblazoned on his debit card. As soon as I heard the man ask, "So, did you catch that last game?" I knew I was in for a good eavesdrop. What followed sounded like two fans talking up their football heroes and lamenting their ill treatment or revered actions. Luke even threw in a little tale of his family members who were Cowboys and Dolphins' fans making fun of him for liking the Broncos. Oh my Luke. BS to the max.

He got back in the car and I started teasing him, but he just gave me a huge grin. He gets a kick out of his little secret. The truth is, the only football my husband is interested in, maybe just a little, is the Boise State Broncos, who just happen to share colors and mascot with the professional team. But he's lived in Boise for years and has never attended one of their games! Rather than explain which team he actually likes, he just goes with the assumption that he's a Denver fan. Does he have a clue what the pros are even up to? Not a one.

If you're curious to try and stump him on a topic perhaps in a future conversation discuss embroidery. No, don't do that. His mom knows that topic left and right and Luke could probably BS that one no problem.

Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-52707106175384729302015-10-27T13:58:00.003-07:002015-10-27T13:58:34.512-07:00Where No Toddler Has Gone BeforeGeddy recently discovered the book on the back of the toilet. I mean, doesn't everyone have that book? The one that keeps a man in the bathroom for hours, even if you told him before he went in there that dinner would be ready in two minutes? In our house that book is one about "Star Trek: The Next Generation." Within its pages lies a compelling read discussing the show's creation and a 7-season detailed episode guide.

Naturally, since Geddy is male and since he wants to do everything his daddy does—such as play guitar, build with LEGO, tickle Mommy, and watch "Star Trek" shows (he seems to favor the original series lately, because of Spock)—he wanted to start reading this book every time he used the potty. Every time. Flipping through the pages of this book is now part of his routine. It gives new meaning to the term "potty talk". Wipe, and flush, and recite "Star Trek" trivia. A normal trip to the bathroom now goes something like this:

Geddy: "Read Star Trek?

Me: "OK." I get the book and hold it in front of him. Then I start pointing to characters in the pictures. Identifying Data and Captain Picard comes easily for Geddy.

Me: "Who's this?"

Geddy: "Data. Yes!"

Me: "Who's this?"

Geddy: "Captain icard. Yes!"

Me: "Who's this?"

Geddy: "Um. Let's see."

Me: "Riker."

Geddy: "Yeah! Riker."

We do this through each group photo we come across. Geddy now does well recognizing Geordi and Worf too. And if I don't quiz him on the characters, he gets upset. He's very disciplined about it. The only trouble is that he often won't pee and read at the same time.

One day Geddy trotted into the bathroom and got a shock: the Star Trek book wasn't there. I didn't want to go see where Luke had put it, so I said it was gone and Geddy should just go ahead and pee. Well, that took some time. The book had its place and it needed to return. A day or two later, Geddy, having had nothing to do while he sat on the toilet but wad up toilet paper and try to make a basket between his legs, needed another book. He tried one of his board books with the planes and helicopters, but that was just over too quickly. To his delight, he found the book he desired on the nightstand next to Daddy's side of the bed. He insisted it go back in the bathroom at once.

So there it is. If you are trying to get ahold of me, I'll probably be kneeling on the floor pleading with my son to just go already while he smiles and points to pictures, learning Dr. Crusher, Wesley, Guinan, and Counselor Troi. I just hope this isn't how he wants to study kindergarten.

 photo credit: AmazonAnnie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-42866793603779961232015-10-20T13:02:00.002-07:002015-10-20T13:06:21.519-07:00Intending to OffendAfter watching a comedian online go through a short routine about something that sounded rather funny and innocuous to me, I scrolled down to read some of the comments on the video clip. This is a habit I sometimes feed and then feel as if I should have just let it alone because the comments often litter my brain with word trash. My reason this time was that in the back of my mind, as I chuckled over the jokes, I thought perhaps some people actually wouldn't find the topic funny. Yep, my suspicions were confirmed. The comedian was bashed for being rude, for not accepting people who were different or had interests that she did not share. And many of them were VERY MEAN about it.

I know that comedians often get away with any type of joke because it's almost protected under the comedy banner (except racism usually gets them blasted by the media), and I don't usually like this aspect. We teach kids in school to be kind and not laugh at others when they fall down but comedians can laugh. Funniest Home Videos can give people lots of money for footage of someone falling down because it's apparently hilarious.

But my reason for writing isn't to pick on the comedians.

This social media age where people post what they think every other minute causes the words offend and offensive to be tossed around a lot. For example, someone will prelude a post on Facebook with, "I hope this doesn't offend anyone;" or, "This might be offensive to some people, but. . ." People are smart. They know if they start spouting off their opinions on a political or social hot topic they will get comments back from people who say they are offended. They know if they post certain jokes not everyone will laugh along. But people usually do it anyway. Why? Sometimes they want to offend just to get those comments so they can then reply and continue the thread: offend, retort, offend, retort. Who gets the last word becomes the battle. People might TYPE that they don't want to offend anyone, but they really do.

Now I don't believe it is wrong to speak up about political matters, news topics of the day, social injustice. I don't believe it's wrong to share jokes in person and online, and not just because of some free speech laws. I certainly don't think it is wrong to feel offended, because feelings are real and valid. But do we really believe we will change someone's mind/actions/beliefs by ranting about our offense? The comments, by known and anonymous people, just trigger more strong feelings when they blast back in attack. Does that mean stay silent? Sometimes. For the health and sanity of both sides. Think before posting: Will it bring awareness to an important issue or will it just cause more harm than good? Think before responding: Is there a non-offensive way to reply? And sometimes, can't we just hide/ignore the comment/statement/joke and LET IT GO?

It's hard, I know. I've participated in some discussions online and in person where I've realized I opened a can of worms that I should have kept sealed, or I've responded back in a way that others immediately saw as offensive and I knew, I really did, that it would cause strong feelings without helping anyone. We know all about the suggestions I just gave to avoid some of these situations, but naturally life shouldn't be spent walking on tip-toe to avoid offending others. It's a tightrope walk sometimes, and sometimes we just have to risk the fall and hope there's a net. But maybe we can start by checking our motives first. Do we really want to help/inspire/ignite a fire for good changes to come/laugh over something really funny, or do we just want to stir the pot? Next time I feel like stirring, I hope I just go make some soup and share it.

(Comments? HA HA HA HA HA.)Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1803837297699165637.post-90745516033536632592015-09-21T18:10:00.000-07:002015-09-21T18:10:33.598-07:00Bubble
We blow bubbles in the backyard, beside the wading pool full of floating sticks, leaves, and green tomatoes plucked from the garden. I ask the finches' and sparrows' pardon as my son scares them away in his joyful popping of soapy rainbows. Geddy just hollers, "Birds! Come back birds!" And they do, noticing he's not a serious threat, though he is competition for eating the sunflower seeds from the birdfeeder.

We watch the flurry of wings then return to the bubbles; my son wants a go so I hand him the wand. He presses it to his lips each time, getting a shiny mouth of drippy solution and spattering me with spit and soap. Success comes eventually as the bubbles string along on the wind to the sound of cheering. Again. Again. Then my turn, as I'm directed to send the bubbles "up high." The bottle suddenly spills on the cement pad as I lunge for my son to keep him from toppling off the chair he has climbed. He's not distressed in the slightest; now his feet can play in the bubbles too. He giggles as he dances in the puddle and races around making footprints.

"Two minutes, Mommy, TWO minutes!" cries my slippery boy when I announce it's time to go inside for supper. I give him more time, knowing he's likely to come happily when I say two minutes are over. He needs to have some control in his little world. Once inside, though, bubbles are still on the brain as he's washed and sitting in his chair. He tries to blow bubbles through the tines of his fork after he dips it into his water cup. I retrieve the fork but Geddy still finds delight in making it "rain" as he dumps water on the tray and splats puddles, popping imaginary bubbles.

_____

Naturally he has his whiny moments and his "Geddy need" cries, but he still turns to giggling at the slightest bit of fun distraction. That's his childhood superpower: making moments awesome.

I dream to blow a bubble big enough to surround my son and strong enough to protect him from the not-so-awesomeness in life. Then I waffle and burst that idea as it forms in my brain because if he can go out into the world and see its filth maybe he will light it up a little and wash a corner clean.

Creative Commons: Martin Thomas
Annie Lambeth Hindmanhttp://email@example.com


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Kris' Pheasant Inn & Sports Bar
View Website Favorite 7694 W Main St - Siren, WI 54872
Information: 715-349-5755
Homemade pizza, soup, broasted chicken, burgers. Watch all your favorite sporting events on out new 15' big screen TV or on several others. Not a bad seat in the house!
Choose Your List(s)
Some name
- Restaurant Type
- American
- Barbeque
- Fish Fry
- Pizza
- Meals Served
- Lunch
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Nearby Places
Peggy's Fashion Rack & Gifts Siren - 0.06 miles away
Yellow River Siren - 0.11 miles away
Burnett County Farmers Market Siren - 0.33 miles away
Moose Mulligan's Adventure Mini-Golf Siren - 0.39 miles away
Syren General Store Siren - 0.41 miles away
Making Memories & More Siren - 0.42 miles away
Nouveau Salon Spa Siren - 0.42 miles away
Siren Antiques, Collectibles & Gifts Siren - 1.19 miles away
More To Explore
4 Milwaukee Beer Gardens With Great Food 15 Stops for Wisconsin Comfort Food Local Secrets: Where to Go in East Central Wisconsin Six Wisconsin Sports Bars to Visit on Game Day Dock & Drink: 4 Boat-Up Bars in Wisconsin Real Fun: Our Wisconsin Charter Fishing Story Milwaukee's Vibrant Restaurant Scene Sobelman's Bloody Mary Milwaukee Pedal Tavern

subset: commoncrawl


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Foursquare © 2017 Lovingly made in NYC & SF
4713 Quail Lakes Dr (at March Ln)
678 N Wilson Way
5070 West Ln
Make sure your information is up to date. Plus use our free tools to find new customers.
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Product Description
Around these two superbly drawn characters, a double narrative assembles an enthralling array of people, places and stories - from Theo, whose life plays out in the long shadow of the past, to Hana, an Ethiopian woman determined to reinvent herself in Australia.
Award-winning author Michelle de Kretser illuminates travel, work and modern dreams in this brilliant evocation of the way we live now. Wonderfully written, Questions of Travel is an extraordinary work of imagination - a transformative, very funny and intensely moving novel.
Praise for The Lost Dog:
'This is the best novel I have read in a long time.' - AS Byatt
'a beautiful piece of writing - place your bets now for the Booker.' - Kate Saunders, The Times
Praise for The Hamilton Case:
'one of the most remarkable books I've read in a long while - subtle and mysterious, both comic and eerie, and brilliantly evocative of time and place. I've never been to Sri Lanka but I feel it's become part of my interior landscape, and I so much admire Michelle de Kretser's formidable technique - her characters feel alive, and she can create a sweeping narrative which encompasses years, and yet still retain the sharp, almost hallucinatory detail. It's brilliant. (Booker judges, where were you?)' - Hilary Mantel, author of Wolf Hall


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AUSTRALIA: Foodland shares steam ahead, for now
Australia's Foodland supermarket chain continues its fairytale share price story with new all time highs being set weekly. The share price hit A$15.82 (US$8.11) last week, up from about A$13 at the start of February and A$10.82 last July. Three weeks ago the West Australia-based company revealed a near 30% jump in second quarter sales, which has helped push the share price towards the A$15 barrier.
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We stayed here in June with our 3 children aged 2, 5 & 7. The whole place is very well maintained, and very clean. On arrival the staff noted we had 3 kids, and the next morning had left inflatables by the pool for them to use for the duration of our stay.........nice touch! The kids loved the pool, which was fairly small but ample for our holiday and aged children. Pool was always cleaned ready for the next day. The staff are super helpful and friendly. The little beach nearby (Cala Pada I think) was lovely, easy to walk to, great for kids and nice restaurants on the beach. Everything you need is close to the villa, supermarket, beach, restaurants, but I'd recommend hiring a car to explore the island which is really lovely. Santa Eulalia is a really nice place to visit, very laid back and easy for kids to walk about. Kids enjoyed the climbing place up the road from the villas, Acrobosc I think it's called. Fun couple of hours for them, and plenty of shade from the trees.
- Official Description (provided by the hotel):
- S'argamassa offers two types of accommodation depending on your holiday needs. The Standard Villa with basic services and layout and the Deluxe Villa that has been newly reformed and offers personalized guest services. Both types of villas boast of their individual swimming pool and garden. Our villas in Ibiza with private pool are ideal for guests looking for privacy during their stay in the island. Our villas in Santa Eulalia are very close to many island highlights including Es Cana Hippie Market, Las Dalias hippie market, the Marina of Santa Eulalia and the recently inaugurated Nikki Beach. They are a hideaway in an unspoiled more laid back part of the island but within minutes of beaches, Ibiza town and the exhilarate nightlife. During your stay you can also enjoy the "Flor de Sal Tapas Bar" where you can find a special selection of simple dishes- creative tapas, savoury salads, sandwiches and burgers. All home made with carefully selected natural ingredients. If you wish to chill-out you can simply sit back and enjoy the relaxed and peaceful atmosphere while letting our attentive team prepare you a cocktail or Gin & Tonic. Our loyal team will be delighted to welcome you to our holiday villas in Ibiza, Santa Eulalia! ... more less
- Reservation Options:
- TripAdvisor is proud to partner with Booking.com, Odigeo, Priceline, TripOnline SA, Traveltool, S.L.U. and HotelQuickly so you can book your Cabau S'Argamassa Villas reservations with confidence. We help millions of travellers each month to find the perfect hotel for both holiday and business trips, always with the best discounts and special offers.
- Also Known As:
- Villas s`Argamassa Hotel Balearic Islands
- Hotel s Argamassa
- Cabau S'Argamassa Villas Ibiza/Santa Eulalia Del Rio


text:
Caribbean Carnival is in the Air
Carnival season is upon us here in South Florida and it's only fitting to kick off the week with a video to celebrate. Thousands upon thousands of Caribbean folks will be rolling into South Florida every day this week for the dual carnivals happening in Miami and Broward County through next Monday (hangovers included). Since Alison Hinds is scheduled to perform as part of the celebration, here's a video from the neo queen of soca. --Jonathan Cunningham
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Around one per cent of the population suffers from schizophrenia, a serious mental disorder that usually does not develop until adulthood and is incurable. Psychiatrists and neuroscientsist have long suspected that adverse enviromental factors may play an important role in the development of schizophrenia.
Prenatal infections such as toxoplasmosis or influenza, psychological, stress or family history have all come into question as risk factors. Nevertheless, until now researchers were unable to identify the interplay of the individual factors linked to this serious mental disease.
However, a research group headed by Urs Meyer, a senior scientist at the Laboratory of Physiology & Behaviour at ETH Zurich, has now made a breakthrough: for the first time, they were able to find clear evidence that the combination of two environmental factors contributes significantly to the development of schizophrenia-relevant brain changes and at which stages in a person's life they need to come into play for the disorder to break out. The researchers developed a special mouse model, with which they were able to simulate the processes in humans virtually in fast forward. The study has just been published in the journal Science.
Interplay between infection and stressThe first negative environmental influence that favours schizophrenia is a viral infection of the mother during the first half of the pregnancy. If a child with such a prenatal infectious history is also exposed to major stress during puberty, the probability that he or she will suffer from schizophrenia later increases markedly. Hence, the mental disorder needs the combination of these two negative environmental influences to develop. "Only one of the factors – namely an infection or stress – is not enough to develop schizophrenia," underscores Meyer.
Mouse model provides important clue
Once the mother's infection subsides, the microglial cells lie dormant but have developed a "memory". If the adolescent suffers severe, chronic stress during puberty, such as sexual abuse or physical violence, the microglial cells awake and induce changes in certain brain regions through this adverse postnatal stimulus. Ultimately, these neuroimmunological changes do not have a devastating impact until adulthood. The brain seems to react particularly sensitively to negative influences in puberty as this is the period during which it matures. "Evidently, something goes wrong with the 'hardware' that can no longer be healed," says Sandra Giovanoli, who, as a doctoral student under Urs Meyer, did the lion's share of the work on this study.
The researchers achieved their ground-breaking results based on sophisticated mouse models, using a special substance to trigger an infection in pregnant mouse mothers to provoke an immune response. Thirty to forty days after birth – the age at which the animals become sexually mature, which is the equivalent of puberty – the young animals were exposed to five different stressors which the mice were not expecting. This stress is the equivalent of chronic psychological stress in humans.
Diminished filter functionAfterwards, the researchers tested the animals' behaviour directly after puberty and in adulthood,. As a control, the scientists also studied mice with either an infection or stress, as well as animals that were not exposed to either of the two risk factors.
Environmental influences more significant again
"Our result is extremely relevant for human epidemiology," says Meyer. Even more importance will be attached to environmental influences again in the consideration of human disorders – especially in neuropsychology. "It isn't all genetics after all," he says.
Although certain symptoms of schizophrenia can be treated with medication, the disease is not curable. However, the study provides hope that we will at least be able to take preventative action against the disorder in high-risk people. The study is a key foundation upon which other branches of research can build.
The ETH Zurich researchers also stress that the results of their work are no reason for pregnant women to panic. Many expecting mothers get infections such as herpes, a cold or the flu. And every child goes through stress during puberty, whether it be through bullying at school or quarrelling at home. "A lot has to come together in the 'right' time window for the probability of developing schizophrenia to be high," says Giovanoli. Ultimately, other factors are also involved in the progress of the disease. Genetics, for instance, which was not taken into consideration in the study, can also play a role. But unlike genes, certain environmental influences can be changed, adds the doctoral student; how one responds to and copes with stress is learnable.
Urs Meyer | EurekAlert!
Further information:
Further reports about: > ETH Zurich > brain region > environmental influences > glial cells > immune cell > mental disorder > microglial cells > mouse model > risk factor
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Free Comic Book Day
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Top 100 Comics: April 2017
Steve Rogers unleashes his plan for Hydra domination of the Earth in Nick Spencer, Daniel Acuna, and Rod Reis'
Secret Empire
#0 from Marvel Comics, the first chapter of Marvel's summer crossover event and April's best-selling comic book.
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PREVIEWS How-to: Using a Pull-and-Hold Service at Your Local Comic Shop
Make sure you get the comics and merchandise you want each week at your local comic shop! Learn about how shops offer a Pull-and-Hold Service to their customers!
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How To Use PREVIEWS To Order From Comic Shops
Read our handy guide on how to use the PREVIEWS Catalog to find exactly the comics and merchandise you want (plus a few you didn't know you wanted!) and get the most out of your local comic shop!
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Convention Calendar
Drive your business, interact with fellow fans and retailers, and meet comics, gaming, and science-fiction professionals at a convention in your area!
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Store Hours:
Monday: 10:00 am - 7:00 pm
Tuesday: 10:00 am - 7:00 pm
Wednesday: 10:00 am - 7:00 pm
Thursday: 10:00 am - 7:00 pm
Friday: 10:00 am - 10:00 pm
Saturday: 10:00 am - 6:00 pm
Sunday: 10:00 am - 6:00 pm
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An approved reseller of Wizards of the Coast, The Topps, Inc., The Upper Deck Company, Panini North America, Diamond Comics, Alliance Games, and about another 15 Games manufacturers. The nature of the collectibles hobby industry is that change is a constant. New products, new innovations to satisfy collectors and the hobbyist. A key component is a diverse product mix. As a general rule, our customers dictate which products we carry. We sell the following: Board games, roleplaying games, card games, puzzle games, dice games, CCG, TCG, CMG, game supplies, comic books, trade paper backs, graphic novels, magazines, books, autographed memorabilia, sports memorabilia, comic related memorabilia, t-shirts, sports licensed merchandise, calendars, plush toys, action figures, coin banks, pricing guides, gift certificates. Novelties items related to gaming, sports, comic superheroes, and movies.
We Sell:
New Comics
Back Issues
Import Comics
Magazines (Imports)
Graphic Novels
Books (Fiction)
Books (Non-Fiction)
Toys (New)
Toys (Vintage)
Toys (Imports)
Other Apparel
Models & Statues
Trading Cards
Trading Cards (Non-sport)
Supplies (Comic)
Supplies (Non-comic)
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