'Band of Bothers' Poem

A lot of people find my blog by googling 'Band of Brothers' poem. This makes me cringe. I've never seen Band of Brothers, but I know what they're looking for. They're looking for some of the best lines Shakespeare ever wrote: King Henry's speech to his troops before the battle of Agincourt in Henry V. I chose 'Band of Brothers' as the title of my blog because my family is a band of brothers, and to pay tribute to a play we absolutely adore. So, to throw a bone to all you google searchers, here is your 'poem'.

To set the scene, you see a small band of bedraggled English soldiers getting ready to fight the French in a battle where they are outnumbered many times over. The king hears a soldier wish that just a fraction of the men still abed in England could be with them to fight that day. Now, Shakespeare wasn't meant to be read, it was meant to be heard. So read it aloud. I italicized my favorite parts. Let the words and expressions roll off your tongue. Here's your daily dose of culture. Enjoy.


What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more....
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

I know, here, you can watch it!

Some Current Faves

Ice Hockey. Click on the photo, and look by the skate of the guy on his knees. That's right, it's blood on the ice. It was awesome. My husband's work has a plush suite on center ice, and we went to a match with his boss there. My husband had to warn me to watch what I say. Not that I have a filthy mouth, I just get a little too......enthusiastic.
All kinds of family. He's not related, but you can't tell from this picture, can you?
These long, strong arms. Oh yeah, and that chest. Whew!

This goofy grin. I can't resist it!

This movie. I know it's dumb, but that doesn't stop me from endlessly quoting it. I can do a wicked Nacho impersonation, complete with the buttock clench.This perfume. My husband picked it out for me. All I wanted for my birthday was big girl perfume, not the cheesy body sprays from Walmart. Now that I have my own fortress of solitude, I have a place where it will be safe. I loooove it. Next time you walk by the perfume counter, take a whiff. See if you can resist it.

This Is Me.

Am I the only one in the world that can't figure out the visual verifications on peoples blogs?


I type the crazy letters. I find out I messed up. I type the new letters, but the letters I type don't show up in the box where they should, they're tacked on to the comment I was typing! I try a few more times before they just throw me a bone and give the the handicapped code of three letters or so. It's embarrassing! I can see just fine, I just can't tell the difference between a squiggly j and an i. Is there no end to the pain?

Girls Camp- An Estrogen-Fueled Adventure

I teach the 12 and 13 year old girls at church every Sunday, and let me tell you, I ADORE the sweeties. They are my lovelies, my home girls, my chickitas. They're really great girls. They are also insane. Completely. Girls camp usually involves all the girls from 12-18, but this year, 6 very young teenagers were crammed together in the same teepee without the tempering influence of the older girls. The teepee was huge, so why was it crammed? Their attitudes. Oh, yeah.

Did you know that lack of sleep can turn usually sensible girls into screaming banshees? That it's possible to have 6 girls sobbing their hearts out, all at the same time, sure that they are the source of all trouble in the world? I learned many things week, let me tell you.

The first thing I learned, is that Sharing is Caring. I got to ride up to camp with one of my BFFs. As we were headed out the door, my husband kissed me soundly and quipped, "Sorry Noelle, none for you!" She chuckled tolerantly, but got the last laugh when she forgot her toothbrush and shared mine the whole time."I guess I ended up getting that kiss after all!"
Classic.

I learned that despite what you may think, I am no horse woman. When the wrangler asked if I was confident around horses I stood up straighter and said "Sure!" I'm used to making people obey me. It's actually what I do for a living. Do you know how long I would last if I couldn't maintain a little discipline? "Can you keep the horse from snacking?" I grinned smugly. I can defend a week's worth of lunch snacks from a ravenous horde, I think I can handle a horse. I kept it from snacking alright, but I couldn't keep the horse in front of us from kicking at us, or keep my horse from dancing all around in terror. And my bum, that's another story. It hurt to sit down for days! I was gratified this morning to see a bruise the size and shape of a quarter on my bum cheek. No, I'm not built for riding.

I learned that I like my peace and quiet. Boys are noisy, but if they went on a hike through a 2.5 mile train tunnel, they wouldn't sing at the top of their lungs the whole time. They would burp, make other rude sounds and hide and jump out at each other. They wouldn't sing. Give me burping farters any day of the week.

This Just In- Edward Dies, and Bella Gives Birth to Puppies!

That was my husband's theory anyway. I've just spent the last day and 1/2 reading the second and third book. Yeah, I read them both in that time. I've been real productive at home, let me tell ya. I gave my husband a theatrical Reader's Digest version of all three books, complete with eye rolling and arm gestures. He told me exactly how it would end. There'll be a big battle at the end (a good guess) and Edward will throw himself in front of Bella, and get torn into bits and burned. Jacob will rescue her and take her to a cave. Here my husband veres off into cartoon territory. (Avatar) It'll be a cave of love. She'll have been in the cave with Edward before, but they needed a flashlight. Anyway, she's in the cave with Jacob, and all of a sudden the cave starts glowing, because they have true love. (Picture this, he's saying all this in the craziest accents and gestures. I'm rolling on the bed laughing my head off.) Anyway, Jacob marries Bella, they live happily ever after, except she delivers a litter of puppies. The End. If only it would end this way.
Warning, offensive opinion ahead. If you don't want to be mad at me, stop reading here.




Really.





Ok, you asked for it.
I read most of the first book, and decided it's not for me. I really don't like the series. I don't like Bella. I want her to die, so she'll stop whining, crying and hyperventilating. I want Edward to die, so he'll stop being so impossibly and freakishly sparkly and beautiful. That makes me want to gag. I have a problem with the story on moral grounds: She's such a liar, and I don't approve of her living a double life, and having a teenage guy in her room every night tracing her lips, sniffing her neck and all that eternal foreplay they have going on. Don't get me wrong, I'm the farthest thing from a prude. I absolutely adore the fabulous intimacy between a husband and a wife. I'm a big fan. I think the book gives the impression that Bella and Edward are being 'good' because they haven't had sex. If your teenage daughter was living a lie, animally addicted to a boy from school, and sleeping in his arms every night, I doubt you'd praise her for her virtue. I have a problem with teenage girls reading this series and the way they are sighing and wishing they were Bella. What Bella does, what Bella wants, is not ok. Even if it's an exciting story. I do like Jacob though, that's why I've decided that he just needs to imprint on someone less of a hyperventilating, emotionally suffering, eternally horny, selfish liar. There you have it. Or even better, Hermione Granger meets Bella in a dark alley and sorts her out.
So why did I bother to read the last couple of books? I had all these people endlessly teasing me about my earlier disapproval. I had everyone and their (read: my) mother in law telling me I needed to take another look at them, give them another chance. And I was bored. So there you have it.

Beam Me Up!

I'm thinking about either barricading myself inside the TV room, stuffing myself with popcorn, and watching Pride and Prejudice all day, or running from my house screaming. I have too much to do, not enough sleep, too many kids to babysit, and a substance on the carpet downstairs that seems to be either dog poop or vomit. Shout out to the mothership: Earlgirl's ready, come take her away!

Manly Camping (warning- this post contains gross photos)

Now that all our imported teens have left the nest, it's time to start raising our own. That's right, my oldest son is now thirteen! To celebrate, he got a tent, a hatchet, and a bunch of other camping gear. And a camping trip with dad.
They took off to some beautiful but rugged land about an hour away known for it's massive waterfalls. And steep slidey trails, and cliffs, and rattlesnakes. They had a ball hiking, swimming and fishing. To get down to the bottom of the falls, they took a trail about 18 inches wide with loose rocks that tilted down off a cliff. See those little ledges? That's the trail. So yeah, they were on this trail with a cliff on one side, and certain death on the other. The memory of it still makes my husband shudder. As he tells me about it, I fluff up like an angry hen. "Do you remember how hard I worked to GET him here?! It's a good thing we PRAYED for your SAFETY while you were gone!!" Well, he's learned his lesson, I can be sure of that. When he got home, he had what looked like a scrape the size of a nickel on his shin. It was curiously black. And his leg itched. By the next day he was itching like mad and blisters were popping up and oozing all over. Yep, it was poison oak. He was a regular ooze factory. Then it got worse. He worked all week on these legs, then on Friday finally gave in and went to urgent care. He got a steroid shot in the rear, antibiotics and some more steroids. They'd never seen anything like his nasty, oozing festering legs. It was like Christmas in July, nurses were knocking on the door for a peek and asking if they could help wrap him up (it helps that he's cute). They kicked themselves for not taking pictures before they got him all bandaged up. He was that much of a curiosity there. He's very slowly recovering now. I think he's learned his lesson.