House upkeep has been getting away from me

I've been keeping a fast pace of a different activity every day to make the most out of summer and keep the kids off the television and computer while the weather is nice out. I know that when it gets cold, we watch much more television and summer is my time to balance it all out. Unfortunately, in the midst of all the moving around and business, I've been finding it difficult to keep up with all the chores around the house. It's annoying but more so overwhelming when I end up having to do four or five loads of laundry at once or having to really do a massive scrub down of the tub or the stove instead of the light maintenance cleaning I prefer to do. I hate to admit it but . . . I could use a little help or I need to lower my expectations. The hubby is equally as busy if not moreso (he goes to work , does over-time shifts and takes care of the painting, yard work, etc . . .) so he can't really do much.

Well, today I managed to clean the bathroom and the second load of laundry is in the wash now although I might not get around to folding and putting away the clothes till tomorrow. I was hoping to get just one more load done today but Z2 just woke up. I guess I should remember that I could be washing clothes by hand.

Connecting the Youths to their Roots

One of the biggest things I wish my parents had done was to do a better job of connecting us (me, my brother and sister) to Nigeria and our Igbo culture and heritage. The older I get and the longer I live in the U.S., the stronger the sinking fear that there will never be a strong connection gets. I have gradually stopped emphasizing certain things like Nigerian Independence Day (October 1), staying current on happenings in Nigeria, even putting the kids and myself in traditional attire. It occurred to me the other day that this disconnection doesn't have to be although I am at a loss as to how to connect and stay connected. As it stands now, I have very little communication with my extending family in Nigeria and most of them are strangers. I wouldn't even really know how to arrange a trip to visit and with my limited Igbo speaking skills, I wonder how hard it would be (although most of them speak English). But I'm determined to give my children the gift of Igbo heritage and culture and really thinking on ways to make this reality. I think the best first step would be a trip. In thinking of Nigeria, I remember some of the not so positive things I saw but overwhelmingly I remember its beauty and potential. I would like my children to experience it.

As fortune would have it, I was in the children's library yesterday (hiding out from the scorching sun) and my eyes fell upon this book: Chidi Only Likes Blue by Ifeoma Onyefulu.

To say I was thrilled to find it would be a huge understatement. This book of colors uses elements of traditional Igbo life to illustrate all the wonderful colors in a little Igbo girl's life. The story is so cute and the photographs (I was bowled over that there are photographs and not illustrations) are full color and fabulous (Ms. Onyefulu takes the pictures herself). Definitely pick this one up at the library. I am most assuredly going to purchase it (it's in my Amazon.com cart as I type this).

P.S. Note the hairstyle of the little girl (named Nneka--one of my favorite girls' name) on the cover. I wish I had a picture book like this when I was a little girl. My mother would send me to school with similar hairstyles and I remember wishing so much that I could just wear cornrows like the other Black (African-American and Yoruba) girls (or have long flowing hair like the White girls). I didn't like being the only one but alas, my mom didn't know how to cornrow. Books like this really do build and affirm the self-esteem of young Black girls.

Four Years with My Son--A Reflection

My son is one of the greatest blessings I have ever received in my life. His arrival in my life has completely transformed me in ways I often find hard to articulate. He has magnified some of my insecurities and worries but in some areas of my life he has imbued me with a confidence that I never knew I could have. Z1 is not an easy child and has never been. He came out of me screaming, roaring like a true Leo and never stopped. I spent countless hours during the first weeks of his life walking him while he was screaming. Gripe water and every remedy for colic failed miserably on this little one. It was in those early sleep-deprived months that I discovered baby wearing and became a senior member on one of my message boards. Yet, underneath all that aggression is a peace and an agelessness that is truly profound. He has got to be one of the sweetest people I know yet upon meeting him you might think him rude or abrasive. More than one parent has confided in me that they didn't think Z1 liked their child and I have to patiently show them the ways in which he was demonstrating just how much he did like their child. He's just that unique kind of child that keeps you on your toes. Like how for a while there he was consistently saying that his aunt (my sister) smelled like poop. And how for a while there he absolutely refused to say goodbye after playdates. He's great for a chuckle too. I suffer terribly from allergies and one day he says to me, "Mommy, if you sneeze a lot you have to go to the sneeze doctor. He will give you a red lollipop. I hope he has some!" in such a sincere way that I willed the sneezing to go away so that he wouldn't worry anymore.

At the same time, I am able to acknowledge today that I did not have the greatest of childhoods. I find myself repeating some of the things my parents did that weren't really healthy. And I come down hard on myself too. Really hard. On the other hand, I find myself trying to overcompensate. I get downright obsessive about making sure he has the things that I didn't have as a child and sometimes he bucks at the pressure. And if you know Z1, he is someone that will not perform for you under pressure. And I'm learning slowly how to take it easy and give him his space. His interests and wants and wishes won't be the same as mine were as a child. I'm learning by force to listen, actually listen to my son. Even though he talks incessantly and sometimes I am really tempted to tune him out.

And I worry too. I worry that he's not as bright as his counterparts. That he'll struggle with reading like his dad. That he'll lag behind his counterparts. That if he ends up going to school, he'll hate it and hate learning. That if he is homeschooled, I'll screw up and he'll hate learning all the same. I then remind myself about his inherent worth and the damage that I am still trying to undo in myself from years of being compared to others. Years of competing and never measuring up in my parents' eyes. I try to relax and let him learn things at his own pace and this kind of reaffirms my desire to homeschool him because if I succeed at respecting him, who he is and what he is worth in this regard, he will be all the better for it. So he may not grasp a certain concept as well as other 4 year olds might but if I just take a minute and look, I am sure to come up with a list of things that other 4 year olds struggle with but Z1 does with ease. There really is no use in comparisons.

I hope to be able to give my son things my parents never gave me. Somehow, I must find ways to convey Igbo culture to him. I want him to master an instrument or an art or something . . . to know that accomplishment. I want him to always feel free to come to me with any and everything, big and small and know that while I may not always be happy, I will always be there. Even if I can't do anything, just to listen to him.

But beyond all that . . . I love that boy with everything in me. He is sweet. He is generous. He is thoughtful. He is kind and loving. He chose me to come through and I'm grateful. These four years have been some of the best of my life.

It's his 4th Birthday!

Z1 turned four today and I can hardly believe it. I should be writing a reflective essay soon but until then, Happy Birthday Z1!!!

It's also the birthday of Marcus Garvey. 'Nuff bredrin and sistren gave us 'nuff flack because we didn't name Z1 Marcus!!! But I&I remember old Marcus Garvey today and everyday.

Up ye mighty race!! You can do what you will!

I should have listened

To my body telling me to slow down. I was tired but kept pushing and now I've got a summer cold and feel awful. I'm loading up on Vitamin C and I hope this passes soon.

No Workout Today

Z2 woke up at 6:20AM. Usually his dad holds him until 7:00 but it was hot last night and the doors to the bedroom were open so he was able to get out without his father knowing. In he walks just as I'm about to get the DVD going. On the one hand, I'm bummed that I won't be able to squeeze a workout in today and I know I need to. But on the other hand, I'm relieved.

I'm tired. Really tired. I've been running around doing all kinds of activities with the kids daily while trying to keep the household running. The hubby is busy painting and doing other household work that really needs to get done when the weather is warm so he appreciates me taking the boys out to give him time and space to do what he need to. But I really need a break and there's none in sight. The hubby suggested I slow down the pace of activities but honestly, being in the house with the boys can be more stressful than being out with them. And I don't know . . . I'm just not one of those folks who enjoys sitting alone in the backyard--I'd rather be around other people even if we're not talking, at a busy playground or pool. Still, I'm kind of looking forward to the start of the school year--I feel like this frenetic, "gotta squeeze the most out of summer" energy will die down a little and I'll be able to relax. Or at least I hope so.

I'm still keeping my fingers crossed that I can do a little exercise this morning after the hubby gets up. I know exercise does so much for me mentally and physically although, unfortunately, the scale is still not moving!! I'm okay with that though because I realize that I really do need to change the way I eat. Yesterday was day one of that attempt: smaller meals more frequently with more emphasis on protein. I'll keep you posted on if it's making a difference.

The Secret Life of Bees

What a fantastic movie! I watched it a few weeks ago but never got a chance to blog about it. When it first came out, it was reviewed by Anxious Black Woman. I didn't want to read her review though until I actually got to watch it. I mean, if not for this movie, I would say the whole movie industry right now is completely useless but this movie proves that folks are still interested in quality stuff. I highly, highly recommend this movie. Even the hubby who had written it off as a chick flick thoroughly enjoyed it. I am not a movie person by any stretch of the imagination but this is one movie that I would actually buy. It is a powerful alternative to a lot of the garbage out there and provides uplifting and moving images of well-rounded, multi-dimensional, classy and intelligent Black women.

Movies these days . . .

I feel like most of the movies produced these days are a waste of time. Like music, very few individuals are interested in putting out quality films: works of art that reflect their heart and soul and demonstrate time, energy and commitment. It's like one huge rush to put out any old garbage and collect lots of money in return. And what does it say about our society that this works time and time again?

Well, yesterday evening the hubby and I watched a movie. Now, I'm not a movie person to begin with but the hubby is a die hard movie fanatic. It was a choice between Not Easily Broken starring Morris Chestnut or Obsessed starring Idris Elba and Beyonce Knowles. We chose Obsessed because I can't take the Christian-themed movies.

Wow. What a disaster of a movie. It was so trite that I had to prevent myself from constantly rolling my eyes. This movie made no sense! If you don't know the plot, let me see if I can break it down for you succinctly. Handsome, successful Black man happily married to beautiful Black woman. One day, this man runs into a White woman who is a temp at his office. From the very beginning, there are hints of "something" going down. But alas, Black man keeps it very professional although he can't help but noticing White woman's "hotness". White woman is crazy as hell and reads all kinds of signals that aren't there. Forces herself on Black man multiple times and is rejected each and every time. White woman goes beserk and even tries to drug Black man into having her. It doesn't work. She tries to kill herself but fails. Black man, all the while, has inexplicably kept mum about White woman's antics telling no one except his immature coworker making himself look incredibly guilty. Wife finds out about the whole "situation" in the emergency room where they are trying to revive crazy White chick. Black woman kicks Black man out of the house, outraged at his betrayal. Eventually Black woman takes Black man back only to find that White woman is really deranged and not out of the picture. White woman "kidnaps" Black couple's son (but not really--she just leaves him in the car--okay, I have to take a break from this narrative to rant . . . I don't know about ya'll but there is just no way in hell some strange White woman would go into my son's bedroom, rouse him from sleep and hold him and caress him and walk out of the house with him without him screaming bloody murder . . . I mean, he'd be hysterical . . . the babysitter would just know something wasn't right . . . but alas, this is the movies and you shouldn't think too hard . . . back to the story). Black woman gets "gangsta" (momentarily) and decides to beat the bitch down. Girlfight ensues. At the last moment when White woman is about to drop to her death, Black woman has compassion and tries to save her (who knows why) but alas, White woman is more "gangsta" and tries to pull Black woman down with her. Struggle ensues. White women eventually falls but is still alive. Until the chandelier drops on top of her. Black woman grimaces and says, "Oh, God." Oh, please.

I kept thinking there would be some kind of twist to this movie, some kind of complexity. Like we would find out that Idris Elba's character really was doing this White woman and that we, like everyone else in the movie, had been fooled into believing he was innocent. That somehow it would come out that he was indeed leading this crazy White chick on. Nope.

I was not sure if the movie producers meant to convey something with the whole Black man/White woman thing. And, man, Beyonce's acting was beyond horrible. I mean . . . wow. I was just floored by the mediocrity. It really was like watching a full-length music video--all her expressions and body movements. Even the way she walked throughout the movie--borrowed from music videos. Was Sanaa Lathan not available? What about Gabrielle Union? These actresses could have perhaps saved this movie. But I get it . . . it was a weak plot and they needed a big name to get folks to see it. Again, money, money, money. Forget about art and telling a good story.

Anyway, I'm not mad. The hubby and I spent a pleasant evening together and got a few good laughs in.

My Heart Stopped

We've been going to the pool once a week this summer. Z2 absolutely loves water and has a ball every time. It took Z1 a little time to warm up to the water (swimming classes at the YMCA were a complete and utter bust) but now he loves the pool. He immerses himself in the water with unabated enthusiasm.

Yesterday we were at the pool and after about 2 1/2 hours, we were ready to go. I wanted to go visit my sister in her new first apartment down in the city and it was threatening to rain. So I was focused on getting Z2 diapered and dressed quickly. When I turned around, Z1 was gone. I mean, it felt like I looked away for 5 seconds. My friends who were with me didn't see him leave either. I looked this way and that. No sign of him. I walked over to the pool where he usually plays. Not there. Looked at the wading pool. Nope. Maybe he had to use the bathroom? I ran to the ladies' room hollering his name. Not there. Men's room, perhaps? Not there. I started seeing images in my head of someone walking off with my baby. Started seeing images of him floating face down in the water. My heart just stopped

My friend notifies the park rangers and just as I'm about to lose it, here comes Z1 trotting over like it.is.all.good. I asked him where he was and he says so nonchalantly that he was "in the water". No clue what I've been going through. He must have been close to the three feet side because he was not at the 1 foot end. I hold him and talk sternly about how he must tell me when he's going somewhere and stay away from the deep end. Really, all I wanted to do was throttle him. But he's so young and I can tell he can't really grasp the enormity of what he just did.

I was shaken but so relieved to find him. And happy also that he wasn't really lost. I remember being lost as a child and the sheer terror of it.

Summer fun.

Book Review: The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga

I have been in such extreme reading mode to the complete and utter neglect of my knitting and crochet. This may be the year I complete the fewest projects since I started knitting and crocheting. It is what it is. I just really have not been in the mood to work with my hands.

In any case, I just completed The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga. This book was a most interesting read--different from anything I've read in a long time. Balram Hawai, the protagonist, tells the story in the form of a letter to a Chinese Premier who will be visiting India soon. Why he chooses to write to this official? We don't know but we do understand that he has a deep admiration for China and the Chinese. I did enjoy the book although at times the author's incising critique of society and politics in India felt heavy handed. It was violent at times and really, if you're looking for a book full of tenderness and quaint stories about India, this is not the one. The author relates in graphic detail extreme poverty, rampant political corruption, as well as the often stifling and violent class structures and struggles and yet manages to infuse his tale with a kind of dry humor. Halwai comes from very humble beginnings, the son of a rickshaw puller who dies pitifully of curable tuberculosis. He manages to secure himself as one of two drivers to a very wealthy family. Soon, he drives the older/main driver out by revealing that he is Muslim (which points to the fact that there religious discrimination in India is very much alive). Halwai relishes is position as the main driver. It's a good job and his family back home knows it. He shirks his responsibility to his family by refusing to send money home--and we realize that he has really cut himself off/liberated himself from them, effectively separating himself from his roots (aka "the Darkness"). The turning point in this novel is when his master's wife kills a young child during a drunken joyride and his master tries to pin the crime on him. Something in him changes and you start to feel a fire burning in him. It's turns out to be quite deadly. I found it interesting that Halwai never really feels regret or takes responsibility for killing his master. As the reader, you find yourself feeling victorious along with Halwai that he is able to get away with it. He finds a way to break out of the chicken coop and you can't help but say, "Hooray! One for the underdog!" It's tempered though, by darkness because you know that the retribution the murdered master's family will take is to torture and murder Halwai's family. You wonder at the kind of soul that could accept that if it meant his own personal freedom. Still, during his fugitive run, Halwai takes along with him the young nephew or cousin who his family has sent to live with him realizing that the authorities would think the young boy was an accomplice to the murder and incarcerate him. Since "awful things" happen to boys in jail, Halwai takes the risk of coming back for the young boy. He's just such a complex and difficult to understand character! On the one hand, he's noble and caring. On the other, cold and conniving. Who is the true Balram Halwai? Good or evil? Both.

It stood out to me when he referenced yoga and Gandhi because as Westerners, we can be so oblivious to other places that often when we think of countries like India, that is what it all boils down to for us: Yoga and Gandhi.

I borrowed The White Tiger from the library a few weeks ago and took a while to get into it. When I went to renew it, it was on hold for someone else. I put it on hold again and it came in very quickly. I finished it last night. I wish I had more time and focus to give a more detailed review but I really enjoyed the book. I also finished My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Piccoult last week. I will review that soon, hopefully.

Books are my sanity.

I hope it's just hormones

For the last few days, I've been feeling so intensely that I want another child. The hubby, though, is quite happy with what we've got and doesn't feel any need at all to add another to the bunch. I don't know . . . I feel like our family is square right now (not that a square isn't a great shape) but maybe one would make it more round.

Speaking practically, however, I know it really wouldn't be a good move. Unless I could get a really good car seat configuration going on (which, if you research an '05 Subaru Outback seems damn near impossible), we'd need a bigger car. We'd need a bigger house unless we all just want to cram in here. All of this requires more money which would mean I'd need to find employment that brings in significant income (and in this economy would that even be possible?). But then that would mean I couldn't be a stay-at-home mom. What an interesting situation! With two kids, lots of budgeting and thriftiness, I can continue to stay-at-home. With three kids, no amount of budgeting and thriftiness would offset the added expense so I'd have to go to work. What's more desirable in the long run? Another child or staying at home with the ones I have?

Also, I have my hands pretty full and no real help from anyone besides the hubby. I'm doing a juggling act with the two I have. Is it really wise to be looking to add one more?

And I know in my heart that I really want a girl. If it ends up being a boy, how will I feel? It's just not fair to the new baby boy.

Anyway, I hope it's just the hormones making me feel this way and await the end of this moon cycle kind of, sort of hoping I don't see Aunt Flo this month.

After many years of not doing it . . .

I'm about to start . . . wearing makeup again. Nothing major. I was never a big makeup person. But I'm going to start wearing a light concealer again, getting my eyebrows done (threaded and not waxed since I don't have much eyebrow to begin with) and an eyebrow pencil. I used to wear M.A.C. cosmetics before--no breakouts and lasts all day long so at some point this week, I hope to get over to Macy's to refigure what works for my face again. I'm excited in one way but nervous in another way. Will I actually have the time to do makeup? Half the time, I barely get a chance to look in the mirror before I step out the door. But I'm going to make an effort. And also make an effort to change my earrings and put on some jewelry.

I'm also due for a new set of eyeglasses and I'm searching for frames that are beautiful and stylish and most important, that work for my face. I'd really love to go back to contact lenses but since I have a pretty severe astigmatism, I need toric lenses and they are really expensive. I've thought about laser eye surgery but I definitely want to go to a reputable doctor which means $$. I still need to see if my insurance company will cover "medically necessary" corrective eye surgery. I mean, it's worth a try. I really can't see more that 3 inches in front of me without glasses. Very dangerous.

Anyway, these are some things I'm working on just to put a little "umph" back into the way I look. Been playing plane jane for a little too long. It's getting tired. And I'm ready to feel flyy again.

Basil and Peach Cobbler

No relationship between the two. Just randomness.

Fresh basil from the garden. Delicious. These were chopped and sprinkled on top of freshly made vegan pizza.

Would you believe up until yesterday I had never had peach cobbler? One of the many problems with being a very picky eater--there's lots of foods I haven't tried! Anyway, I gave making a peach cobbler a shot and while it's not the prettiest cobbler ever, it was slamming. We had it with vanilla soy ice cream. Yum. I used the recipe from my mom's ancient (and falling apart) Betty Crocker cookbook (find the recipe here) with a few modifications (such as adding cinnamon and nutmeg and using vegan margarine instead of shortening and soy milk instead of dairy milk).

You're Making a Statement!!

So recently I read a post by Seattle Slim over at Happy Nappy Head (an interesting blog by the way) entitled "Solange's Bold 'Statement' Whether She Likes it or Not" and it really made me think. Solange and I are currently rocking the same basic hairstyle: a lowboy. The thing is though that for me personally, this style is definitely not about making a statement. If you've read this blog long enough, you know that. It came about almost as a necessity as I am not willing to wear a wig or weave or anything like that. I prefer to wear my hair naturally. Locks don't work for me or haven't. And anything longer than this length requires more time to maintain that I currently have. So this style is mainly worn because it is practical. It's not that I just love to rock a lowboy but thankfully, it works with my face and the hubby is okay with it. And it's certainly not because I'm trying to say something.

This whole topic is especially interesting for me because at one point, I did use my hair and my look to make a statement. I wanted folks to see me and know certain things about me right off the bat. My look was indeed a political and social statement and I was not afraid of pins, buttons, iron-on badges and bumper stickers. I didn't want to have 7 congo natty dreadlocks just for the heck of it. They were meant to say something loud and clear. But things have changed so dramatically for me. Whereas back then I was one of those folks always trying to figure out what someone was trying to say by their look, these days, I'm more inclined to let live. If you have something you want to communicate to me, please do. I'm not into reading signs and wonders--especially since I've misread them so often in the past. (Ever met the "conscious" dread type brother who turns out to be far less conscious than your average do-rag/fitted cap wearing brother?)

Now I'm not naive: I know that it's human nature to look at people, things and situations and make assessments/judgments. When we see an overweight person, we may think, "Oh, he's lazy or can't control what's going into her mouth". When we see a mom with lots of children, we may think, "She's such a drain on the system (if she's Black)/environment (if she's White)?" It's not always wrong to judge but we should go a step further and reach into ourselves to pull out compassion and humility to realize we don't know it all. At all. We should get off our high horses sometimes and just let people be. That overweight person might be on a certain life-saving medicine that packs on pounds. That mom of many might have planned carefully for (and have enough to provide for) all her children--maybe she even planned more carefully than you did. And that woman rocking the lowboy might be doing it because she just really can't deal with too much hair in the summer or simply because she likes how it makes her look. It's just so oppressive when how you look will make people immediately jump to conclusions. Although I know that is the way of the world--especially in the United States where everything and anything is all about image.

People who see me can and probably do make a lot of assumptions about this style and why I'm wearing it but honestly, that is their business and not mine. It's just not fair to insist that someone is making a statement with their hair whether they like it or not. It's based on unfounded assumptions and seeks to keep people tied down with labels and locked up in neat boxes. And for Black women, it seems, our hair is always speaking loud volumes for us. When will we just be able to be?

Look how they do/did Michelle Obama: What is she trying to say by ((gasp)) showing her arms? Uh . . . maybe that she likes dresses that show her arms?? Maybe it's just that simple. Solange is a celebrity too and obviously that opens you up to a lot more criticism than the average joe. She's still human. For a celebrity, an image can make or break you. I look at India.Arie (who by the way was rocking a lowboy last time I saw her) and I get so angry sometimes. Her music is brilliant yet it's almost like it would kill the radio stations to play her work. And you just *know* it's because of who they think she is and what she's trying to say even when she says she's not (e.g. "I am not my hair").

Most of us buck at unfair characterizations. We hate it when people tell us what we're thinking or what we're feeling. Yet every day people go around looking at other folks and deciding they know all about them based on what they see.

Hair, in particular, is such a politicized thing for Black people and I don't foresee that changing soon. Yet I'm looking forward to the day when Black women are free to do what they want with their hair without being forced to take a position.

Well, now that I think about it, maybe Solange, India Arie, and I are making a statement whether we like it or not. It is "I don't care that you think I'm making a statement--I'm living my life!"

Image "Exclamation Mark" courtesy of Leo Reynolds on Flickr.com

FO: Seraphina Shawl

Remember when I mentioned I had something to show but I couldn't yet because it was a gift? Well, the gift has been given! It was for my sister-in-law who visited a week ago. It was a joy to make because I think (or hope at least) that it will be put to good use. Also, it was a wonderful project because the crochet movement was fluid and the pattern was easy to memorize. Oh, and the yarn was great! I got the yarn super inexpensively at the Smiley's Yarn store sale--220 yards of super soft wo

ol yarn for $2.00. That price can't be beat! [The hubby was able to get all kinds of natural fiber yarns for below half price (I got him into the wonderfulness of wools, cottons, silks, etc . . . )]. So, the project was great all around. Here's it is on Ravelry.

Funny story: You know that having kids kills off brain cells. It has to. I had this shawl packaged and ready to go weeks before my sister-in-law arrived. Would you believe I forgot to give it to her before she left? Do you know when I remembered? Two days after she was back home!! I had to mail it. Doh!!! And it's so true . . . crochet uses more yarn than knitting. It cost me almost $8 to send this. I've sent similar knit items as far away as California for about $5. But I still love my crochet especially for projects like this.

Any . . . without further ado, my Seraphina Shawl!

On another note, have you ever realized suddenly that someone doesn't particularly care for you? You know, it took you a little while and then it just all of a sudden struck you? And then you're kind of embarrassed because it now seems so obvious? Why didn't you pick that up sooner? And then you start wondering why they don't particularly like you. What did you do? What did you say? And then you realize that you don't really care in the first place. Life goes on.

On another note still, if ANYONE can give me a straight-forward tutorial (no technological gibberish) on adding pictures to Blogger with a Mac, I would be eternally grateful. Right now, it's just incredibly frustrating and stupid. Thanks!