Saturday, January 31, 2009
We did not find one.
I made spaghetti.
Well, my MIL did the assembling while I juggled the fussy baby that fell asleep on the ridiculous drive.
I was thinking it and my MIL voiced it, "So, do you think we're in a recession?"
We couldn't even find a parking spot to park to go in and ask about a table in a couple places. And there were people shopping everywhere I ventured out today.
I'm sorry. If there's a recession, it isn't happening on Saturdays where I live.
I think we're choosing not to participate.
Friday, January 30, 2009
As a mom, I get this overwhelming urge for things that stay the way I put them. This is because as a mom, things never stay where or how I left them. I end up hoarding nail-clippers in my bathroom because if my teenage daughter gets her hands on them, I’ll never see them again. The t’ween son who’s on his fourth round of antibiotics should have stayed “better” at round two. The $140 I paid to have my bathrooms and kitchen professionally cleaned (for reasons of sanitation, not status, trust me) evaporated into thin air within 48 hours of the spiffy white van leaving my driveway. As moms, we’re supposed to be building lives, but nothing stays “built.”
I think this is why I knit. When I knit, it stays “knitted” until I take it out (which generally means I’ve made a whopping mistake). Even one stitch is a stitch that wasn’t there before and stays where it ought to. I think it’s why women—especially moms—are drawn to crafts. Even if our motherhood is never finished, our crafts stand of chance of making it to the finish line. Well, half of them. Okay, thirty percent, maybe.
The heroine of my latest novel, Janet in Bluegrass Courtship, builds birdhouses for much the same reason. The miniature completeness of them is her best weapon against a life that was torn up against her will. The human kind of remodeling can be as stressful as the structural kind. And any of us who have survived a major renovation project knows that tearing down a wall often shows you the ugly stuff behind it (both in houses and souls). I love that Janet builds tiny houses while the book’s hero, TV renovation show star Drew Dawson, demolishes big ones. The complete each other—only like most good romances, it takes them the entire book to figure that out. The woman in me understands the birdhouse-builder in her.
So if you’re a mom and your life is full of things that won’t stay put—or well, or clean, or stay at all—don’t dismiss your need to create. Wield it. Even ten minutes of knitting or scrapbooking or quilting is a daily dose of strength to fight the chaos. A toehold to keep us going one more day. Because if you ask me, the birdhouses are just as important as the big houses.
Allie Pleiter’s books can be found at www.alliepleiter.com while her knitting can be found at destiKNITions.blogspot.com. She’s still trying to find where her sanity can be found…
The celebrity host of TV’s Missionnovation, Drew Downing is comfortable with his fame. He’s become accustomed to the cheering, star-struck townfolk that usually welcome him as he renovates churches countrywide. Usually. Then he and his crew set up in tiny
From RTBookreviews Magazine:
“Four Stars--With some delightfully humorous moments, Pleiter delivers an appealing romance as well as a story filled with interesting characters”
Superbowl party on a budget???
Two words: Doritos, Pepsi.
Or if you wanna go really crazy: Aldi nacho cheese tortilla chips and cola.
That's a budget people.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
No matter how many times I pull the vacuum over on myself when I use the hand wand, I continue to get down on my knees and pull the vacuum by the wand, and get wanked over the head or in the back with the vacuum that is falling over on me.
When B's parents come to visit, instead of cleaning something obvious, like the counter beside my computer that always looks dumpy, or dusting the bookshelves, or wiping the food off the front of the refrigerator, I go and organize something like my laundry room that they'll never step foot in.
For all my talk about gross carpet, I think I kind of like having gross carpet. I hated never being able to eat in front of the TV when I was a kid because my parents always worried about the carpet. (Right now Mom or Dad is saying something like, "it wasn't the carpet; it was general cleanliness." but I know it was the carpet.)
For all my talk about weaning TT, I still just keep giving in.
I weigh the same as I did when I was a junior in high school. I see photos of myself then and I looked great. I hate my body just as much now as I did then. I wonder what I was thinking then. I wonder what I'll think of myself 16 years from now.
I'm beginning to fear that I'm like the people in Wall-E that are so busy looking at the screen in front of their faces, they don't realize the life that they're missing.
I eat at ten o'clock at night. Not becasuse I'm hungry but because when I'm pregnant I'm hungry and it has become habit. A bad habit.
Their slogan is "Life's short. Have an affair."
It's eharmony.com for the married.
I kid you not.
I'd link to it, except I'd never, ever, want to promote such a thing and who knows if one of you might just be put over the edge by seeing it.
And if you would--SHAME!
Can you believe there is such a thing in this world? What are we coming to?
And no, we won't take their money, thankyouverymuch.
At least I better not hear of it.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Didn't buy any books. I know you're shocked. But as if I need the guilt.
They had a couple videos that intrigued me, so I picked them up. One was a "dancer's body" DVD and the other "10 minute miracles" or something.
Heck, if you could have a body like that in 10 minutes a day, wouldn't you want it?
I put in the dance DVD yesterday and about halfway through it I decided it was a waste of my time. It wasn't doing anything.
Never mind the rubber legs I had afterwards. I blamed it on a lack of Pepsi.
Oh, mercy, I hurt tonight.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I know this now, because I was theoretically going to only drink two Pepsi's a day for the month of January. And if you want to get technical about it, go by ounces, completely discount Coke, Dr Pepper, Sunkist, A&W Cream Soda, and average it out over 31 days, I suppose I succeeded.
But when I come to a day when I have four sick kids and I didn't sleep more than 28 minutes the preceding night (that's just a for-example. No pity, please, this was last Friday. I'm now recovering.), I wake with entitlement issues. (Wake, being metaphorical, of course, since I never really slept.)
I DESERVE Pepsi. Who cares if I've had two today. I DESERVE the treat. Sure, I could have coffee. I could have a Snickers. It isn't about caffeine OR sugar. It's about that delectable little thing called an addiction. It's PEPSI, man.
I've never understood people who feed their heartache (or exhaustion) in a batch of oh, cookie dough. (Love cookie dough. Might eat an entire batch. Just don't do it because I'm tired or upset. I do it because it is yummy.) Until this week. When I realized that I feed mine also. I just do it in liquid form.
Facing your own ugly truths is good for the soul.
Speaking of those silly little goals I had for January?
Even if you get technical with it I didn't succeed with any of them.
Oatmeal every day for a month? How about averaging it out over the month and we say once a week?
Twenty-five crunches a day? How about 100 crunches a month?
Don't talk to me about my Pepsi.
THIS is why I don't call them resolutions.
I have, however, done Wii We Cheer several times a week ALL MONTH LONG.
Not like it's The Firm or anything, but it's something.
Monday, January 26, 2009
I spend more time in doctor's offices in January than any other season.
I have kids dripping out of every orifice in their faces.
I have kids wake with dried blood cakes on their little cheeks (from thinned membranes in the nose...nothing worse, thank goodness).
I have kids wake all night.
I find out about antibiotic allergies.
I learn what hives look like.
I give lots of money to the medical community for telling me what I already know.
I regret NOT getting my nursing license and going on for the NP so that I can self diagnose.
I just want to scream.
Glorious sleep, where art thou? And when wilt thou return?
On Wednesday, I got a check from the organization. As I finished an article for them in December (due out in the late spring), I thought odd, I got the check before the contract. When I opened it, it was about half pay (well, about 1/4 pay for the one I recently wrote). But the line on the check referenced the article I sold in 2007.
On Thursday, I got a copy of the article which was on the cover of a bulletin insert (whoot!) without about half of the article chopped out (thus the half pay).
I'd heard that resale was the freelance writer's bread and butter, but I didn't know that sometimes articles resold themselves.
Emphasis on "sometimes."
Because most of the time money for words doesn't come that easily, I present to you the can't-do-without resource for Christian writers:
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'Cause articles rarely sell themselves.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Chase that with 16 ounces of energy drink (with caffeine and ginsing),
Lay down to nurse the baby and immediately fall asleep...
...for two hours.
Drink a mug of green tea,
chase it with a Pepsi,
Sit down to nurse the baby and immediately fall asleep.
Climb into bed at 9:15 (on a Saturday)
And immediately fall asleep.
Friday, January 23, 2009
This morning I experienced road rage. I really and truly wanted to flip off the lady that WOULDN'T LET ME OVER. Not only that, when I succumbed to staying in my stupid lane, she crosses behind me two lanes over so I had to resist the urge for SEVEN blocks rather than just on that first pass. AFTER I missed my turn because of her. I'm still a little steamed.
I have two kids coughing up a lung. One with laryngitis. One with "an infected inset bite" (insect bite????? Seriously? In January?). One with intermittent sundown fevers. And I feel totally fine. Go figure.
Oh, and fever boy is crying. Gotta go.
(I got that from a hip friend of mine.)
Thursday, January 22, 2009
See that? Up on top? He's written heaven, scratched it out, and wrote "home." (I think the point of the exercise is that heaven is better than your favorite place or idea of paradise.)
Yeah, I know. Makes you go "awwwwww," right? Imagine being the mother. So, I show this to Hubs and point out that it is home and doesn't that make him feel really, super great?
Eldest overhears this and hollers from the other room, "It's Grandma and Popin's house!"
(That is NOT what the label says, but whatever.)
I echo Hub's sentiment. "Don't mess with a good thing, Buddy. You had your mom right where you want her to be! Kiss your cookies goodbye."
First, let me just say that I DO respect the office of the president. I haven't exactly been quiet about my, um, preference for who would lead our country for the next four years, but I do believe that God puts every ruler into place for SOME REASON and now that we have the guy we have I intend to pray mightily for him.
And secondly, I am proud of how far our country has come. More about that in a bit.
But a couple of things have struck my funny bone and I think that I have a reader or two that will find them funny also.
First, the bumper sticker I saw while driving on FIVE different highways last Thursday IN TOWN to run two simple errands.
The End of Reason
Yes, the print was tiny and it could have said any number of things and I was going 65 and trying not to get in a wreck, but I think that is what it said. Considering I expected it to say "the start of world peace" or "change has begun" or "we won, nanner nanner" it made me laugh. And I'm still chuckling now, a week later.
On Tuesday many people were flying flags. Many people pulled their yard signs back out. And in one particularly jubilant neighborhood, there were balloons and streamers. Amidst this jubilant neighborhood with flags and signs and balloons was one lone house flying its flag (wait for it) at half mast.
So, Tuesday morning I was trying to be positive. I DO love how peacefully our country transfers power. And if I want to be happy when the guy I vote for wins, I have to at least be nice when the guy I didn't vote for wins. I have children to teach, after all. So, I was trying to express to Eldest that we were getting a new president and that it was a big day. He said, "I wanted McCain to win," and I agreed, "But, he didn't. And blah, blah, blah, respect the office, and blah, blah, blah, but it is still a big day that you will want to remember because this is our country's first brown president. It's a big deal." And HE said, "But I wanted to be the first brown president."
Well, yeah, when you put it that way.
I'm sure most of you have heard people wax philosophical about whether our new president could be the Antichrist. (Here's hoping he ISN'T.) And do I honestly think he is? No. But I do know people who are pretty convinced that he is. However, I do have to agree with my BIL when he says, "I wish they would quit calling Obama's new ride, 'The Beast.'"
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I have yet another child under the weather. How I hate this time of year. At least it waited until after Christmas.
So until I get my funny bone back....
Monday, January 19, 2009
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today!
"have a dream that one day...little black boys and little black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today!"
There's nothing quite like a weekend with young, hip couples to make you feel old, fat and ugly.
HOWEVER, they are awfully nice young, hip couples, and we had a great time, so I GUESS I'll try to get over it (and go on an exercise binge).
See? Here we are, celebrating Hub's brother's 30th birthday (Happy Birthday, E!) in an SUV Limo, driving around after an Oklahoma City Thunder (did you even know they had a team?) game. That, there in my hand, is Raspberry Sparkltini bubbly. It was nummy, which probably means the alcohol content was minuscule. That, and I could walk when we got out. (there's your sign). I know my in-laws were a little concerned about alcohol consumption by their very adult children and I'm happy to report that no one got inebriated on my watch. It WAS my duty as the oldest member of the group to make sure everyone went potty at all the stops and that no one got drunk.
When did I get old enough to parent 11 adults? (Kidding! I hope.)
So, after 24 hours with young, hip, skinny, beauty, I returned to the home of the big, beautiful, well lit bathrooms. Here, I took a bath in the whirlpool tub. When I stood to get out I was faced with not one, not two, but three images of my middle age spread. (Remind me to never, EVER, put mirrirs that can tri-fold across from my bathtub.)
And let me just take this opportunity to express my feelings that it should be illegal to stay with ones in-laws three months running while you are suffering from PMS. I could take years to remove the B*&^% stigma that has most assuredly been placed upon myself. The point of mentioning that, though, is the bloating (or that's what I'm telling myself) that also happens with this dread affliction. Nice, huge, well-lit mirrors, in tri-fold across from the bathtub (plus) PMS (equals) fat complex.
The good news is that here, on January 19th, I'm inspired once again to DO SOMETHING about this roll on my gut. Because, even here, in crap bathroom H-E-double hockey sticks, the image lingers on.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I probably shouldn't have posted ANYTHING I posted today.
But in the interest of Keeping It Real, I'm going to leave them. All of them. Because I never claimed to not be a sinner.
I will tell you this much. When the nasty ole biddy told me off, I said, through clenched teeth that may have resembled a sweet smile and in a sing-song voice replied not, "I'll eviscerate you in fiction!" but "That's where we're headed."
The longer version of the story is that my 22 month old baby isn't weaned and probably should be. As I'm headed out of town this weekend and sharing a hotel room with women I don't know well who are younger than myself, I desperately need a new bra. The only one that I have that fits is toast and it is embarrassing. I have two choices. Shop with one kid. Shop with four kids. I chose one. Unfortunately that one still thinks bra shopping (rather the trying on of bras) looks like a midafternoon snack. Sounded good to him. I decided what I wanted to buy and then sat down in my private dressing room (next to dog sock lady who was making comments and he wasn't even having a fit yet) and privately began to nurse my baby. When the clock said it was time to go pick up the other kids, I told the Tiny Tyrant that it was time to go pick up the kids. He thought he would like to keep eating, please.
I scooped up my stuff, dumped it on the rack where you return unwanted items (even thought I wanted a couple), put on my coat, ditched the cart and headed for the door. Charming has been screaming for 4 seconds at this point. Nasty woman accosts me with her cattiness. I reply. Continue out the door (where another sweet older lady tells me "I"m sorry to tell you it gets worse before it gets better." I didn't argue with her as I've had to do hold downs on four year olds in grocery store aisles before.).
And somewhere in that 15 second departure from the dressing room to the door or possibly in the 15 seconds of screaming from the door to the van, Tiny Tyrant lost his bear slipper. Which I love. I don't know if the Tiny Tyrant cares at all. And I went back to the store and it isn't in lost and found. Nor in the parking lot.
And I didn't buy my bra on the return trip either.
I've totally lost all desire to spend money there.
And she wsan't even an employee. (The employees were sympathetic. Or grateful that I was leaving. Something other than RUDE.)
Maybe Kohl's should offer some tact for sale.
Oh, you noticed that, did ya?
Did you notice that I had abandoned my cart and was heading towards the door with my baby?
Yeah, I think you did notice. I think you just wanted to give yourself the satisfaction of telling that young, frazzled, mother just what you thought of her parenting tactics. And you know what? You are a rude, nasty, woman with a propensity for DOG SOCKS (yes, I do know it was you making your "anonymous" comments under the dressing room door), and a deep seated need for JESUS, and one more thing, if you put half the effort into practicing a smile when your precious peace is being disrupted, you might notice that I'm not really enjoying the fit either. Thus the reason that I abandoned my cart even though I desperately need a bra that fits.
So I'm sorry that 15 seconds of your day was taken up with my screaming baby. I hope you rot in loneliness the other 23 hours, 59 minutes and 45 seconds of your day.
You certainly can't have any friends with that nastiness you call yourself.
It's a good thing I left my butcher knife safely at home. Unfortunately, I know how to eviscerate with keyboards, also.
And on a related topic: I wsa in such a hurry to get my brat out of the store that we lost one of his LL Bean Bear slippers. I hope IN the store and someone turns it in to customer service and not in the parking lot where it will be driven over beyond recognition. Not that I can go back and find out for a minimum of two hours. Because I have all these kids that are unwelcome in public places.
I'm so tired of cleaning up (bleep).
I'm so tired to taking people's (bleep).
I'm so tired of all this (bleep).
I'm (bleep) at everyone.
And I'm living with a tyrant.
A tiny tyrant.
Charming, I now dub thee, Tiny Tyrant.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
If you see me and you are dying to know, ask. It is a really interesting story. Not your typical, "my kids had no accidents today!" post.
I have, however, exchanged some very pleasant messages with a friend I haven't seen in 14.5 years. I suppose there are SOME redeeming qualities to public "friendship."
My children's unhealthy addiction to Wii is good news for my home cleanliness. They don't get to play unless the entire ground floor is picked up. They know and just start cleaning before they even ask. It is a beautiful thing.
Re: Wii playing: I am addicted to We Cheer. It is official. I MUST beat it. Otherwise I'll be certain that all six years of cheerleading I did in the 80s and 90s were for naught.
Concerning unhealthy addictions: Since cutting way back on my Pepsi intake, coffee with creamer that has cooled in the slightest tastes like sour milk. As coffee without creamer is unpalatable, I am consuming great quantities of tea. Instant tea. Which is what I was raised on. And though it makes me feel redneck, I do, actually, prefer it.
Charming has a bladder of iron. Even when he doesn't use the potty most of the day, I'm still only cleaning up accidents once, maybe twice. Though it does make it hard to get on a schedule. Do I or don't I put him in pull-ups when we go out? If we were to stay home he'd be dry the whole time, but in public?
I had to explain to my children today that even grown-up can have their feelings hurt by other people. They don't much understand why mommies sometimes cry and yell for no apparent reason.
I read a book today that was staggeringly beautiful and a ridiculous downer all at the same time. Needless to say, I won't be promoting it on my blog. But I would LOVE to talk about it with someone. However, I can't even ask someone else to read it because the content was less than moral. I hate that.
My husband has planned a getaway for us that is also business so that it barely costs us anything. I've been dreaming of this type of thing since before Charming was born. I hope I'm not disappointed.
Charming is still residually ill. I don't know if he's "recovering" and weak, or still sick. Time will tell. Meanwhile he still wants to nurse all the time. He keeps winning the pitiful vote since I'm not sure.
I cleaned off my "ledge" for company this weekend. Hubs said, "The worst thing about the ledge being clean is that it is a sea of yellow."
Too true, babe. Too true.
Friday, January 09, 2009
Thursday, January 08, 2009
I know I was going to allow myself two a day for January and decrease from there, but I had part of one on Tuesday that didn't taste very good (probably been in my garage too long or something). I thought that might be a good place to leave off altogether. Who craves something that tasted bad the last time they had one?
I also had a nap Tuesday and Wednesday holding/nursing the sleeping baby.
No nap today. No Pepsi either.
So, I'm going back. Weaning off gradually. Today I had the generic equivalent of two Excedrine Migraine with a Mountain Dew, which I guess still isn't a Pepsi, but defeats the purpose.
Here's to tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Well, yesterday afternoon of potty training wasn't nearly as grand as the morning. All Charming was interested in doing was nurse, NURSE, NURSE. Considering I would love to wean the child as soon as potty training is underway, you can imagine that I was thrilled. Clingy and nursing was not how I pictured the afternoon going.
The good news was that his nap was dry. Particularly good because he had on cotton pants and was sleeping ON me while he nursed. You can imagine my frustration when he wouldn't potty when he woke.
"Chur," he demanded.
He went to bed really early though. Should have been my first clue.
Yes, he puked all over his bed.
And on my shoulders. Both of them.
And the lamby. The source of comfort when one is ill.
Why must children always puke in the dark?
Dry night. Potty in the morning. Acting normal. Then, whamo!, midmorning, "Chur," he demanded. I insisted he sit on the potty first. He did. He walked away from the dry potty. Poo'd all over the floor. Drove his dump truck through it and around the loop of the house.
Cleaned the boy. Cleaned the mess. Nursed all afternoon. Yes, approximately four hours. While sleeping. In cotton pants. ON me.
Stayed dry. (glory)
When we went to pick up the kids from school, he puked all over himself.
My advice. Don't potty train while child is puking. Or maybe do. He stays dry great lengths of time. Maybe because all his fluids are coming out the top half.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
I apologize in advance.
Any of you that have been through it will sort of understand. It is all I will think about for several weeks. How long has it been? How much have I cleaned out of the carpets? Should I give up?
I would love to not blog about it, but if I don't, I might go black. There is only a micron of space left in my brain to think about anything else. Hopefully that micron will often trickle its way onto the blog. But for now, here goes:
Potty training, day 1:
I was going to wait until January 6 to begin. Take January 5 as a vacation day, per se, and hit the ground running. But as all good kids do, Charming made a liar of me. He had a dry diaper after 2.5 hours. So I asked him if he wanted to go potty and get an m&m. He said "yeah." I got the potty out of the garage. I took off his diaper and sat him on it. He ricocheted off the potty like it was giving him an electric shock. The potty was approximately -14 degrees.
I offered to take him upstairs to the big potty. He refused and tried to warm up the throne. Ricocheted off it again.
Trust me, this is going somewhere.
Finally sat on the throne and went.
Yes, he did.
Unless you count all the other first tries of the last 6 months.
Got an m&m. Liked it so much he sat down and squeezed out a little more. Got another.
Diapered. Put to bed.
Got up this AM with a dry diaper.
Yes, he did.
Pottied. Got an m&m. Wanted his new Cars pants that I promised if he would poo.
Yes, I'm a weenie and did let him have them. Forty-five minutes later, he wanted to go again. Dribbled a bit in his pants. Recognized it and stopped. Sat on the throne and went. Again.
And I think (HOPE!) that is the only play by play I will give this potty training session. I'm just so darned excited that we don't seem to have the release problem I've had with other kids. And he seems to want to succeed. Yes, I'm only 12 hours in. But usually by 12 hours in I've cleaned up thirteen messes and had zero successes.
So, I'm praising God this morning. And thanking Charming.
As for my January "goals?"
I plead the fifth.
Friday, January 02, 2009
If it kills me.
And today I got my first email newsletter from Huggies Pull-Ups about potty training. "Could it be time?"
Which I think is funny since so many people don't start until after two.
I'll take that as confirmation.
I might have to go buy my carpet wet vac first.