UnBlessed by Crystin Goodwin

I could tell you…

I could tell you about the world. The magic of the elements and the animals. The ceremonies and the changes. The extensive history of the people.

But I’d hate to ruin the way the author unfolds it for you.

I could tell you in great detail the why’s and wherefores of the characters whom I loved and those who, upon reflection, I wished had been a little more fleshed out.

But I don’t want to introduce any prejudice. I want you to be as taken with the people as I was.

I could tell you what I absolutely loved and what left me wanting.

But I won’t.

I could even tell you just how it leaves you hanging at the end to send you running off to Amazon to see if her next book has yet been published.

I could tell you all of that.

But all that’s really important.

All I really feel you need to know.

Is that I have three young girls who all require breakfast in the early morning.

And the night I sat down to read (and eventually finish) this book I was left with far, far, less than the recommend eight hours of sleep a person is supposed to receive.

Far, far, less.

Would I recommend it? It was my turn for the morning shift with the girls and it was still totally worth it.

Rosie's Book Review team 1

This honest review was given in return for a free copy of the book from its author.

Things to Consider Before Entering A Tough Mudder

Two weeks ago John completed another Tough Mudder race. He loved it. However, I feel it is my duty, as his wife, to warn any potential Tough Mudders of some of the after effects of the challenge.

Inevitably, it has been one of the reasons we do a lot of laundry…John in the mud

It was also the entire reason his foot was swollen up black and blue and he couldn’t walk normal for a week  (it wasn’t broken he had it checked)…Electro shock therapy

And most recently, it has turned into the reason Jane refuses to let me cut her hair…Jane with bangs in her eyes

“But, I no wanna mohawk!” she cries, sad Jane

So, if you are thinking about entering a Tough Mudder, get a bucket ready for those muddy clothes, try to avoid kicking walls and please, for the sake of their vision, trim your kids bangs before the big day!

The Sign

(Sometimes I write entire posts and then for no good reason forget to publish them. This was written at the end of August as we were getting ready for the school year to start.)

Our three girls have been sharing two rooms divided up as a “sleeping room” and a “playing room.” It was a great summer arrangement. They read books to each other at bedtime and woke each other up early to play. It was like a perpetual slumber party and there was no way it was going to work when Ivy went back to school.

And so, with school looming, we have executed another big room rearrange to help insure that kids who need to go to bed can fall asleep and kids who don’t need to wake up extra early stay asleep. Of course, this means Ivy has her own room for the time being and she is very proud of it. Many times I have been called upstairs to see her new improvements.

Then I was called up to look at her door.

On the door was a sign informing me that it would now cost a dollar to enter her room. I chuckled, decided to wait and watch how that worked out for her and went to Clara and Jane’s room instead.

Ivy followed me in while gleefully informing me that I’d have to pay her a dollar if I wanted to tuck her in that night. I seriously replied that while I love tucking her in she’d have to settle for me blowing a kiss from the door if the charge was a dollar.

Ivy left.

Moments later she was back, “Now come see mom!”

If you wod like to com in my room you will have't to giv me a dollar quarter

If you wod like to come in my room you will have’t to giv me a doller Quarter

I laughed and went downstairs.

That afternoon John overheard the girls talking, looked at me in incredulity and said, “Is Ivy shaking her sisters down for quarters?!?” I explained the sign on the door and slowly followed as he went up to investigate. As I lurked upstairs I overheard him explaining mortgages, sublets and requesting cuts of the profit.

I giggled and went downstairs.

Soon I was called to look at Ivy’s door yet again:

please knock

Please Knock

At which time I happily knocked and was welcomed into the new room for the first time all day.


Relative Weirdness

On this mornings drive to school Ivy requested number 14 on the CD. Personally, I would prefer to spend my early mornings in silence but that seemed unduly harsh, even for AM me. So earlier than I’d like to be conscious I listened to My Big Sister and heard all about the boy who didn’t want to wear his sister’s hand me down coat. While normally listening to children’s music inspires visions of smashing things (like colorful CD’s) and includes songs that stick in my head torturing me for the next three years until I accidentally sing it all on my own causing me to believe that I finally have lost it. This, fortunately, was Snacktime! by Barenaked Ladies and contains music less likely than most to drive you insane.

(Skip to number 13 to hear it for yourself.)

As the song finished Ivy giggled while declaring that it was “weird” that the boy didn’t want his sisters coat. Even my AM self knew better than to debate in the relative “weirdness” of imaginary persons. Instead I told her that we were lucky because girls can wear most all the clothes boys can but boys can’t wear all the clothes girls can.

Ivy: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Well, for instance, boys don’t usually like to wear skirts and dresses.”

Ivy: ” Uncle Jim does.”

Me: “Yeah…Uncle Jim in his kilt in the snow

“…. but he calls it a kilt.”

From Ivy’s silence I decided she must not have wanted to talk about relative weirdness early in the morning either.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

The plot was interesting – depressing, disturbed and dark, but interesting.

The narrator…

Perhaps a book narrated by a drunken man who merely stands on the edge of things while being overly concerned with his own appearance sounds appealing to you… I didn’t so much love it.

Would I recommend it? Nope. But after a conversation at book club I believe that if you had a sober person tell you all about it with a marked amount of enthusiasm that would be a good story!

March. March. March. March.

March. March. March. March.

(Here they come!)

March. March. March. March.



March. March. March. March.

(Yes, those are tomatoes on sticks.)

March. March. March. March.


March. March. March. March.

(There they go!)

March. March. March. March.DSCN8591-(2sm)

March. March. March. March.

(No, I have no idea. But they were very happy and that’s worth two ripe tomatoes!)

March. March. March. March.

Practice Makes Perfect

I went from sleeping to sitting bolt upright in bed with a shout that I”ll not repeat in print. I looked over at John who had been startled into the same position, our eyes met, we both groaned, got out of bed and followed the noise of little feet.

It takes much less than a giant clap of thunder to pull Clara into our bed and we hadn’t made it to the bottom of the stairs before she passed us at a run and was burrowing under our covers.  I checked on Ivy, who wasn’t even wakened by the rain coming into her room, and listened to John and Jane try to come to an agreement on going back to sleep in between the rumbles as I checked the rest of the windows. Jane has never been the snuggling type but the storm was right on top of us and they headed down to our room. Soon windows were closed against the rain, the air was getting thick and hot, and I went to climb into my considerably smaller portion of the bed to fall back asleep…

Then, there was more thunder.

And more lightening

And quaking girls.

And little girls hiding under the covers.

And little girls playing peek-a-boo.

And little girls giggling.

And hot.

And stuffy.

And crowded.

And one grumpy Dad leaving to find a different bed.

And a sad, Jane following him.

And a sad, small girl coming back.

And a sad, small girl wanting to sleep on the couch…

… on her bed…

… on our bed…

…on the floor…

… by her sister…

…by her other sister…

…by Dad…

…by Mom…

… with a cat…

While the other happy, small girl continued to gleefully snuggle into my spot in my bed.

Hours went by.Jane watching thunderstorm

I’m sure that there are proper ways to parent a two year old who is roaming the house during a thunderstorm that involve something more than following them about wishing that this will be the spot they want to sleep. Something more than wishing with all your exhausted body’s might that this time they will actually want to cuddle, so that when the next flash of lightning comes they don’t come looking for you even though they very clearly just told you to “Go away!” Some ingenious parenting technique that calms the two year old enough to lay down with a parent and at least attempt to sleep.

I’m sure there is a proper way to do it.

At four in the morning I can’t figure it out.

The following day after five hours of broken sleep the idea eludes me.

In fact I still have absolutely no idea what to do.

But with more thunderstorms in the forecast I’m afraid I’m going to get a chance to figure it out.

After all, you know what they say, practice makes perfect.

We got up around 3:30 with the first big boom, and I thought, “Dang, I can’t even use this for the One Day One World Project.” Be careful what you wish for. Before we were all back asleep I had my (admittedly poor but cut me some slack I’d only had two hours of sleep at this point) picture. Check out Northwest Frame of Mind  and see what other people were doing between five and six am.