We’re at war with England!

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . June 30, 2010 . 7:51PM

During the summer months, there are some days where I have so few clients that AJ doesn’t have to attend his summer program and he is allowed to come hang out with me at the office. My friend Meggan is doing her practicum with us and he thinks Meggan hung the moon. He hangs out with Meggan or plays his Nintendo DS and I see clients while he avoids going to the summer program he claims is boring him and rotting his brains out. Hardly. The summer program does cool things like going to Jump Zone and swimming and playing games. But AJ is a momma’s boy and that little guy would rather be in close proximity to me than most anything in the whole world. When asked what he’d liked to do for vacation if he had one week, with the thought of Disney World being an option and anything else in the whole United States being the other option, he replied “Go to NeeNee’s because we PARTY.” He has no idea what he’s passing up and we love family time.

I’m veering off topic by a lot. I’m just going to say that my son is not worldly in the slightest and move on.

We were in the car on the way to my office when AJ asks, out of nowhere as per the norm, “Why do we celebrate 4th of July?” I’m not good with history, but I did my very best to explain our declaration of independence from England and why we chose to do so. He took this to mean that “we’re at war with England!” I explained that this was a long time ago and we are fine with England now. In fact, we’re pretty good friends. We like them. We do tea without tossing it over boats.

No. This is unacceptable. They were bad. They must pay. Grudges must be held.

I could feel the stewing going on in the back seat…and I chose to ignore it.

Until trivia night last night. There was a question regarding the back of the new quarters and the design on the back of one of them. The question had nothing to do with England, nor did it have to do with 4th of July or our war with England. But AJ chose to answer the question as “Florida. Because it has a direct line from England.”

I may not be strong in history. He’s not strong in geography. We’re both strong in grudge holding, but I think he’s got me beat. He mutters “England” in the same voice I utter “Derek Jeter.”

That’s my kid.

England, you better watch your back.

Sweet Home Illinois

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . April 21, 2010 . 8:01PM

When things go wrong as they do, the saying goes that blood is thicker than water. I’m a firm believer in the idea that we make families of the people that we choose to allow in our hearts and keep them there. However, I’m really close to my mom and sister, who are my whole immediate family pre-marriage, and I couldn’t wait to go to Illinois to see them last weekend.

As expected, seeing my family had a calming, cathartic effect on me. It has taken many years for home trips not to stress me out, but my relationships there are finally where I feel like they need to be and I could have stayed much longer this go around. Sometimes you just want your mommy and your sissy. I think the whole trip can be summed up in these three pictures.

Sweet

Comforting

Loving

Vague memories of an Irish pub

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . February 26, 2010 . 8:19PM

When we last left our heroine, she was at an Irish pub in the awful land of Washington, D.C.: a land full of people with agendas and horribly arranged streets…

We’d moved to a larger room in the back of The Dubliner and our group was gaining people like crazy. By this time, many in the group were inebriated. I was drinking my Coca-Cola (yeah, yeah, I’m drinking caffeine again–I’ll pay for it later) and enjoying the show.

It’s not my job to tell you everything that they did or said. It’s really not fair to them. Truly. They desperately need to be tattled on, but they all have their own blogs and if they can remember, more power to them. What I remember most keenly was our waiter. In an Irish pub, anyone with any kind of European accent sounds Irish. This is particularly true when everyone in the room is inebriated. What happens is that everything is much funnier than it really is.

Because of this situation, when it came to conversing with the waiter, I thought that it was hysterical that he wasn’t really Irish (look, he SOUNDED IRISH–if it looks like a Lucky Charm and walks like a Lucky Charm–yep, I’m kidding and yep, someone is gonna take that personally and yep, someone is gonna call me names). If you’d like to call me sauerkraut, go ahead.

Anyway, I made it my mission to discover the heritage of our waiter. As such, I refused to give him my order until he would disclose. What? I was in Washington. Disclosure is the name of the game. You can’t live there and not carry around your birth certificate, right?

Eventually, he gave it up to me and my friend Sarah that he was English and French. Sarah is French so this was an incredibly delightful conversation that ended with us holding our waiter up for ten minutes while we compared family histories and had a new best friend who was now required to serve all of our food “with love” because it was inevitable that we were somehow related (me being 1/4 English and Sarah being French).

And yes, I required him to say that everything had love in it.

This was much better than the experience we had at a bar later in the week where they wouldn’t allow us in because Caleb’s license had expired and they refused to believe he was over 21 even though he was supporting a full logger beard and it was clearly him on the license. And then when the guy who refused to let us in mouthed off to Caleb and Ben and made the situation ten times worse… Oh, you want to hear about that, too?

It was a long weekend. And I met a girl named Beer.

Happy Birthday AJ!

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . January 8, 2010 . 11:30AM

Let it snow!

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . January 7, 2010 . 5:53PM

In Tennessee, we rarely experience snow. Our weather doesn’t fluctuate often and this week we experienced our most extreme temperatures as they dropped down to single digits. Luckily, this happens, at most, once or twice a year. We may get snow 2-3 times a year. As I grew up in Illinois, snow doesn’t bother me and I am fine with driving on ice, black ice, freezing rain and snow.

People from Tennessee do not share this sentiment with me.

In fact, I would say that the term that applies to the fine folks here is “scared to death of snow and ice.” Last night, before a single flake of snow had fallen or flurried, the mere thought of snow had schools cancelled. This is how it has been here for the duration of the time I’ve lived here.

Schools have been cancelled tomorrow due to the threat of refreezing. Logically, I understand this. There are plenty of winding roads and hills and valleys here. Buses cannot safely travel them and if you can’t get kids to school safely, school should be cancelled.

What I don’t understand is the mad rush to the grocery stores to buy necessities? At most, the snow will last one day. I don’t know of anyone that doesn’t have a days worth of food in their home. Those that don’t have food don’t have the funds to mad rush Kroger.

When I lived in rural Arkansas, storms knocked the power out for days and it couldn’t be restored. They had a genuine reason for fear. In the Metro Nashville and surrounding areas, we generally don’t experience this phenomenon.

I’m not knocking my TN folks. I love living here and the people are second to none. I’ve just lived in different conditions. We’d go to school in 6 inches of snow. Teenagers, myself included, drove in it. Nothing was canceled and even when there was little heat in the schools, we went. No, I didn’t walk in 3 feet of it, smart alecks. But we did have the old school radiators and it was cold!

I just think it’s kind of…wimpy.

There. I said it. I think it’s wimpy.

I want enough snow to make forts like we used to when I was a kid and lived across from a church. They would plow the church and the entire small neighborhood would choose a side of the plowed area, dig into it and we’d have serious snowball fights. We’d sled down the 8-10 foot forts for hours. When we were done, we’d go into the house, have some hot chocolate, warm up, and be back out within the hour.

As I got older, and had older friends, we took it to the next level. There were bigger sleds and bigger hills at the park. One friend had a house in a rural setting and four, yes four, of us went down a hill at a time. I remember being between Rich and Chad and the sled tilting as we crashed into trees. I had a huge scrape on my cheek, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

Or Dave and I power sledding down what we thought was snow, but was really ice on the largest hill in the park. That was a huge mistake.

Or James and I attempting to snowboard down the hill behind his house and me biting it and vowing that I would never faceplant again because I was “never doing this crap snowboarding” again.

Or Jenny and Rachael throwing snowballs at me while I tried to get in the fort more quickly.

Or Olivia sprinkling Reindeer food on the snow so Santa would come.

Yes, please let it snow. I want my son to have memories like mine, too. Even if it’s just 2 inches of snow to make angels in or some flurries.