KATHRYN R. BIEL: AUTHOR

As anyone who knows me knows, I'm a control freak.  Type A.  A micromanager.  I come from a long line of females like it.  And my daughter is one too.  I plan and analyze and then end up trying to do everything myself because I need it done a specific manner and a specific time frame.  I add a lot of stress to myself.  And I drive my husband insane with it. So, I'm this person who thinks they can control everything.  I talk to inanimate objects.  When something is not cooperating (think stacking items that are sliding all over the place), I tell the objects to, "Be nice."  I talk to other drivers, warning them not to pull out in front of me.  As if they could hear me.  And yes, I talk to the tv.  I feel that I can control the outcome of, say a sporting event, by yelling at the TV. Now, I know, realistically, that this is insane.  However, I do know that I have some actual proof that I can control the universe...

When we renovated our house over four years ago, we knew the yard would need some work.  Our house faces south and is oriented on a hill that runs east to west.  As such, the driveway is lower than the house.  The previous owner used wood to terrace the hill part.  There were 2 main problems with that for us: 1. The wood was rotting out and home for carpenter ants. 2. We are HORRIBLE at maintaining flower beds, and they looked disasterous.  As such, Pat came up with a wonderful idea to build a retaining wall and a new set of stairs.  Ok, fine by me.  Pat rents an excavator and digs out.  October 31, 2008 Once Pat dug the whole, winter set in quickly, and we had a large hole in our yard until the following summer.  Once the heat of July hit, Pat got to work building the wall.  Each block weighs about 70 pounds.  I tried to lift one once, and nearly wet my pants.  Pat lifted every single block into place. Working on the...

I'm getting a late start this year, but I finally started on Halloween costumes.  I spent over an hour in JoAnn's this morning (no kids!!!) looking at patterns, material and fabric.  And then I spent a whole lot of money on just one costume.  I do this every year.  And every year, I question whether or not it is worth the time and money.  My mother likes to tell the story of how we learned our colors while looking at thread in the fabric department of JC Penney's (back when they had one).  My dad likes to tell the story of how his mother, a mother of 11, would get her own "me" time by asking who wanted to go to the fabric store.  Somehow her 10 boys never took her up on the offer.  Her one daughter is a quilter and sewer.  I like to sew, but only really do it about once a year.  Right about this time.  My dining room gets taken over by my sewing machine.  Someday, when our basement is finished (more on that later) I will ge...

I wasn't going to post today. But then I witnessed a moment with my son. And it's the type of story that I want to get down and record for my children.  (Someday soon, I promise I will write about my daughter too!) I love to read.  I always have.  I have wonderfully fond memories of my mother reading The Bobbsey Twins to my brothers and I before bed.  I associate certain books with certain grade levels.  When I was in 2nd grade, as my son is now, we read "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs," "Charlotte's Web," and "How to Eat Fried Worms."  "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" remains my favorite children's story, and was the first item I bought when I found out I was expecting Jake. Jake, like me, started reading early.  In fact, I think he's a better reader than I was at his age.  And he reads signs, labels, cereal boxes, titles on TV.  But he doesn't like to read fiction books.  9 times out of 10, if forced to read,...

Memory is a funny thing.  I have an awesome memory.  Sort of.  I can remember all sorts of useless, trivial facts and details.  My dream is to someday be on Jeopardy!, kick some serious ass and win a whole bunch of money.  On the other hand, I have a library book that is 19 days overdue.  When they called with a reminder, I did not even remember that I had a book checked out. I can remember the details of an outfit I wore when I was three, and how I felt that day.  But I cannot remember to RSVP for birthday parties my children are invited to.  I vividly remember a dream I had when I was about 4 or 5.  The dream was in black and white, and my mother had made me toast for breakfast.  I can still picture her getting the toast out of the toaster, which was our old one and got replaced when I was about 4.  And in this black and white dream, my mother spread orange marmalade on my toast.  And the orange marmalade was in color, li...

"What are you doing?" That's what my seven year-old just asked me.  While I responded, "Starting a blog," the actual truth is I have no idea! I'm not sure why I'm even doing this.  I spent last night reading my college roommate's blog.  I just found it last night, even though she's been doing it since 2009 or so.  And she has a two year-old and 5 month-old triplets.  I think what inspired me is her reason for starting her blog--to give her son (and now all four sons) her words and thoughts and feelings during their childhood. Seems like a good idea to me. You see, I'm the historian in the family. Since I can remember, I have loved to look at old family pictures.  I have asked questions and learned the family stories.  Frankly, I'll look at strangers' pictures too.  (This is where, had I been prepared to do this blog, would post the scanned in picture of me, age 3, looking at photo albums at my grandmother's house.  However...