I find it utterly hilarious that there are two people on the face of this earth that think I cleaned something this week!
Aside from the occasional dish that I washed (in the dish soap I've used for going on 12 years) and laundry (using All Free and Clear like always), I'll I have accomplished is changing, feeding and holding Charming. (The fact that my family has eaten at all is due in no small part to my frequent visits to Your Other Kitchen.)
This child simply must learn to crawl before I go berserk.
Then again, maybe the mold has taken over and my hands are peeling due to osmosis. It certainly has been humid enough this week for osmosis to occur through the air...and for mold to grow....even if I choose to pretend it isn't.
Speaking of humidity, my childhood was spent in Southwestern Kansas. Where it doesn't rain. And there is no mold. And my hands peeled like crazy. As I have changed NOTHING (but diapers), and have cleaned NOTHING (but bottoms), I'm going to continue to assume this is stress and hope it passes long about week two of the big kids in school. Maybe week three. I do still have to teach.
However, I am going to slather on some benadryl cream and see if it helps! You never know.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
It's Official, I'm Stressed
Back in my junior high and high school days my finger tips and palms itched and peeled all the time. I was, of course, mortified that my hands were peely and I did my best to hide them. It was weird, you know? They weren't rashy. They just had a really deep "itch" (for lack of a better word) and the skin just flaked off. My mom told me that hers used to do that, and when she graduated from college they just quit. She always chalked it up to stress.
One day, some time in college, I realized my hands no longer peeled. Which is funny if you consider how obsessed I was with grades (and making sure they were as close to perfect as possible). I thought of myself as stressed, but I wasn't apparently.
On a related note, just this morning Hubs and I were remembering the "good times" in college. I mentioned that I missed the camaraderie. I really didn't have that many of my own friends. I had acquaintances that I called friends, but I couldn't find most of them today. They bar hopped on the weekends to search out men and I searched out my man and we ate Doritos and drank Pepsi in front of "Friends." I got very used to being the classroom friend or the study partner. Really I've never been much of anyone's friend beyond the event in which we shared since grade school. I think it's the way I'm wired. I'm content with a book most of the time and it's a real effort to put together an extracurricular gathering. (I took the spiritual gifting assessment and Hostess is NOT my gifting by any stretch (My MIL, on the other hand, could write the book)). I think maintaining friends is stressful to me. Especially in the formative years when friends are your everything.
However Hubs did have friends. Also classroom friends, but since he was in engineering his classroom hours extended to about 4AM rather frequently. I often brought him dinner and we ate together. Before long the whole class adopted me as the resident wife. I'd bring in a casserole and some paper plates and they would decimate it. His friends became my friends. And now that he works at an office, his friends are his friends and I miss the camaraderie. Because these men have wives and don't need me to cook. Nor would they eat what I cook because I use butter and sugar liberally.
Hmmmm, the point of that? I think interpersonal relationships stress me out and I didn't stress about them in college. I think that was my point.
Anyway.
The last couple of days my fingertips have been itching like crazy and I noticed last night that one was peeling. This morning they are all peeling and my palms are itching also. Since NOTHING chemical has changed in my life (indicating allergies or some other sensitivity) I'm crediting stress.
I didn't miss this. It was a vague memory that I would have been happy to keep that way. I hope that whatever is stressing me goes away.
Maybe it is lack of sleep? I don't know. So weird.
One day, some time in college, I realized my hands no longer peeled. Which is funny if you consider how obsessed I was with grades (and making sure they were as close to perfect as possible). I thought of myself as stressed, but I wasn't apparently.
On a related note, just this morning Hubs and I were remembering the "good times" in college. I mentioned that I missed the camaraderie. I really didn't have that many of my own friends. I had acquaintances that I called friends, but I couldn't find most of them today. They bar hopped on the weekends to search out men and I searched out my man and we ate Doritos and drank Pepsi in front of "Friends." I got very used to being the classroom friend or the study partner. Really I've never been much of anyone's friend beyond the event in which we shared since grade school. I think it's the way I'm wired. I'm content with a book most of the time and it's a real effort to put together an extracurricular gathering. (I took the spiritual gifting assessment and Hostess is NOT my gifting by any stretch (My MIL, on the other hand, could write the book)). I think maintaining friends is stressful to me. Especially in the formative years when friends are your everything.
However Hubs did have friends. Also classroom friends, but since he was in engineering his classroom hours extended to about 4AM rather frequently. I often brought him dinner and we ate together. Before long the whole class adopted me as the resident wife. I'd bring in a casserole and some paper plates and they would decimate it. His friends became my friends. And now that he works at an office, his friends are his friends and I miss the camaraderie. Because these men have wives and don't need me to cook. Nor would they eat what I cook because I use butter and sugar liberally.
Hmmmm, the point of that? I think interpersonal relationships stress me out and I didn't stress about them in college. I think that was my point.
Anyway.
The last couple of days my fingertips have been itching like crazy and I noticed last night that one was peeling. This morning they are all peeling and my palms are itching also. Since NOTHING chemical has changed in my life (indicating allergies or some other sensitivity) I'm crediting stress.
I didn't miss this. It was a vague memory that I would have been happy to keep that way. I hope that whatever is stressing me goes away.
Maybe it is lack of sleep? I don't know. So weird.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Bring the Rain
As it turns out, the issues I thought I had Sunday were small potatoes compared with what was coming. Thankfully God prepared me. How I wish, now, that all I had to worry about was the nursery system and the nursing mom's room and the catch 22 for the mother of the 5 month old.
Hubs and I lost a pant load of money this week. I'm tempted to type the number because it, quite possibly, would make most of you audibly gasp. I would make me audibly gasp if, say, I wasn't numb. I like to have that effect on people (shame!). However, sticking with the "we aren't giving anyone numbers" philosophy that we set forth (so that if this deal took place no one would treat us differently), I'll let you use your imagination.
Now you are probably thinking much larger than it really is. I think that might have back fired. Whatever.
Funny, I say we lost it, but the issue isn't that we lost it, it is that we never got it in the first place. It was looking really good. And we were really careful to not spend it before we got it. But as the week has worn on, reality is setting in. We'd mentally spent it.
Gone is the new carpet. I knew that Monday. And I consoled myself and Hubs that Charming has to be potty trained anyway. No big loss. We would survive. And gone are the new kitchen counters, but frankly, I'm used to the chipped yellow.
However.
Gone is the aquarium that I planned to buy for the science class I'm teaching this year.
Gone are the funds for the adoption I hoped to complete next spring.
Gone the foundation we'd hoped to set up to help others pay for adoption expenses, building orphanages, and funding missions trips.
Gone the camera I wanted to buy to feed video to the nursing mom's room.
Gone the 45th anniversary trip I hoped to buy for my parents.
Gone the shoe store gift certificate I planned to buy for the best babysitter EVER (who just got engaged and, as my mom once said, no woman should ever get married until she's bought all the shoes she wants, because men don't get it).
Gone the elaborate Christmas presents that I would finally get to buy for our extended families (after years of being the skimpy gifts under the tree). (Interestingly, I"m not disappointed for my kids who get way more than they ever need already--from said generous extended family members.)
Gone silly little things like the frozen custard double date I promised a friend when the deal went through and the more expensive trip to Houston's, my FIL's favorite restaurant, ON US, for once.
But, you know, it is the custard date and the aquarium that put me over the edge into a funk. Thirty dollars. It is the thirty dollar items that I miss the most right now. I'm back to not being able to do the thirty dollar things.
We eat well, and, as a friend told us this weekend, it isn't like we are living in a cardboard box by the river. We have it really good. But we have it really good because we don't do the thirty dollar things.
Ugh. I didn't mean to make this a poor poor pitiful me.
My point was that God prepared me. When the bad news started trickling in on Monday, I was okay. We have it good.
When Hubs and I were discussing Tuesday whether it was faith to keep expecting the deal to happen or to let it go without a fight, we didn't have an answer.
And yesterday morning I heard Mercy Me's "Bring the Rain" with new ears. It's been an encouraging song for me for several months (I think I posted about it a couple months ago) but this time a new line jumped out at me.
"...if that's what it takes to praise you, Jesus bring the rain."
That was my prayer yesterday. Not, "please God, please let the company sell." Not, "give me the courage to face this disappointment." Not "infect those jerks with boils." Just "if this is what it takes to praise you..."
That continues to be my prayer.
Interestingly, there has been a lot more prayer and praise this week also.
As one of the partners said, we are cash flow positive, these guys weren't the savior of our company. They certainly aren't the savior of us. And as much as I would have liked to "use the money for good" and hoped that we would, maybe we wouldn't have and God was saving us from ourselves. Maybe He'll use this to make even a bigger deal. And maybe we needed to know that our money wasn't needed to solve all the problems that we'd hoped to solve by throwing money at them.
Like He told me on Sunday: If you depend on man (US, for example) you get a man's solution. If you depend on prayer, you get God's solution. I'm sure His solution is much better anyway.
Meanwhile, we would welcome prayer. The disappointment is great. And if you wanted to throw in a few boils for the other guys...
Nah.
Hubs and I lost a pant load of money this week. I'm tempted to type the number because it, quite possibly, would make most of you audibly gasp. I would make me audibly gasp if, say, I wasn't numb. I like to have that effect on people (shame!). However, sticking with the "we aren't giving anyone numbers" philosophy that we set forth (so that if this deal took place no one would treat us differently), I'll let you use your imagination.
Now you are probably thinking much larger than it really is. I think that might have back fired. Whatever.
Funny, I say we lost it, but the issue isn't that we lost it, it is that we never got it in the first place. It was looking really good. And we were really careful to not spend it before we got it. But as the week has worn on, reality is setting in. We'd mentally spent it.
Gone is the new carpet. I knew that Monday. And I consoled myself and Hubs that Charming has to be potty trained anyway. No big loss. We would survive. And gone are the new kitchen counters, but frankly, I'm used to the chipped yellow.
However.
Gone is the aquarium that I planned to buy for the science class I'm teaching this year.
Gone are the funds for the adoption I hoped to complete next spring.
Gone the foundation we'd hoped to set up to help others pay for adoption expenses, building orphanages, and funding missions trips.
Gone the camera I wanted to buy to feed video to the nursing mom's room.
Gone the 45th anniversary trip I hoped to buy for my parents.
Gone the shoe store gift certificate I planned to buy for the best babysitter EVER (who just got engaged and, as my mom once said, no woman should ever get married until she's bought all the shoes she wants, because men don't get it).
Gone the elaborate Christmas presents that I would finally get to buy for our extended families (after years of being the skimpy gifts under the tree). (Interestingly, I"m not disappointed for my kids who get way more than they ever need already--from said generous extended family members.)
Gone silly little things like the frozen custard double date I promised a friend when the deal went through and the more expensive trip to Houston's, my FIL's favorite restaurant, ON US, for once.
But, you know, it is the custard date and the aquarium that put me over the edge into a funk. Thirty dollars. It is the thirty dollar items that I miss the most right now. I'm back to not being able to do the thirty dollar things.
We eat well, and, as a friend told us this weekend, it isn't like we are living in a cardboard box by the river. We have it really good. But we have it really good because we don't do the thirty dollar things.
Ugh. I didn't mean to make this a poor poor pitiful me.
My point was that God prepared me. When the bad news started trickling in on Monday, I was okay. We have it good.
When Hubs and I were discussing Tuesday whether it was faith to keep expecting the deal to happen or to let it go without a fight, we didn't have an answer.
And yesterday morning I heard Mercy Me's "Bring the Rain" with new ears. It's been an encouraging song for me for several months (I think I posted about it a couple months ago) but this time a new line jumped out at me.
"...if that's what it takes to praise you, Jesus bring the rain."
That was my prayer yesterday. Not, "please God, please let the company sell." Not, "give me the courage to face this disappointment." Not "infect those jerks with boils." Just "if this is what it takes to praise you..."
That continues to be my prayer.
Interestingly, there has been a lot more prayer and praise this week also.
As one of the partners said, we are cash flow positive, these guys weren't the savior of our company. They certainly aren't the savior of us. And as much as I would have liked to "use the money for good" and hoped that we would, maybe we wouldn't have and God was saving us from ourselves. Maybe He'll use this to make even a bigger deal. And maybe we needed to know that our money wasn't needed to solve all the problems that we'd hoped to solve by throwing money at them.
Like He told me on Sunday: If you depend on man (US, for example) you get a man's solution. If you depend on prayer, you get God's solution. I'm sure His solution is much better anyway.
Meanwhile, we would welcome prayer. The disappointment is great. And if you wanted to throw in a few boils for the other guys...
Nah.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Just When I've Climbed on my High Horse
I've never said Satan isn't smart. Except for that minor little compulsion to be better than God, I think he's a crafty creature. I'm certain he is the reason I hate Sundays.
No one annoys me like they do on Sundays. I'm never as tired as I am on Sundays. (HA! I just typo'd Sindays. For me they are!) I'm never as cranky as I am on Sundays. And I'm never as annoyed at "the church" as I am on Sundays.
Yesterday morning I was extrapolating to Hubs on the position I feel I've been shoved in to at church. As I ranted, I got more and more worked up. I just don't even want to go to church these days because of this situation. As he reminds me, I always feel this way when I have a nursing infant and we just push through the pain. I know it. He knows it. And he has even been married to me long enough to know that I'm just ranting and will eventually brush my teeth and get in the car to go.
Yesterday was no exception, except he and I decided it really was a legitimate problem that needed to be addressed. So, as I brushed my teeth, we were discussing what we needed to do and to whom we needed to talk.
I get to church and up pops Ma M. who says "If you depend upon men, you will get a man's solution. If you depend upon prayer, you will get God's solution."
Smackdown!
Before worship was over I was weeping. It has been quite a while when I've cried in church NOT over what I was aggravated about (be it sleep deprivation or inconsiderate family members) but just because I could feel God actually cared.
We sang "All in All" which is an oldie. But when we came to the "sung it a hundred times" lines of "when I fall down You pick me up, when I am dry You fill my cup" my tear ducts dumped. I am always falling (and had been berating myself for the previous 7 minutes about not praying about the situation that I was certain I needed to handle) and most certainly dry. One friend told me once that she saw me as a cup with those last three drops at the bottom and the straw making that sucky sound, but not getting anything.
My lands, that song wasn't talking about being thirsty (to me anyway) and getting a drink...I am the drink but am totally dry. I need Him to fill me up.
So, even though I am a wretched Sunday morning sinner, God touched me yesterday. I just thought I should share. Because even when we don't think it is possible, it happens anyway.
No one annoys me like they do on Sundays. I'm never as tired as I am on Sundays. (HA! I just typo'd Sindays. For me they are!) I'm never as cranky as I am on Sundays. And I'm never as annoyed at "the church" as I am on Sundays.
Yesterday morning I was extrapolating to Hubs on the position I feel I've been shoved in to at church. As I ranted, I got more and more worked up. I just don't even want to go to church these days because of this situation. As he reminds me, I always feel this way when I have a nursing infant and we just push through the pain. I know it. He knows it. And he has even been married to me long enough to know that I'm just ranting and will eventually brush my teeth and get in the car to go.
Yesterday was no exception, except he and I decided it really was a legitimate problem that needed to be addressed. So, as I brushed my teeth, we were discussing what we needed to do and to whom we needed to talk.
I get to church and up pops Ma M. who says "If you depend upon men, you will get a man's solution. If you depend upon prayer, you will get God's solution."
Smackdown!
Before worship was over I was weeping. It has been quite a while when I've cried in church NOT over what I was aggravated about (be it sleep deprivation or inconsiderate family members) but just because I could feel God actually cared.
We sang "All in All" which is an oldie. But when we came to the "sung it a hundred times" lines of "when I fall down You pick me up, when I am dry You fill my cup" my tear ducts dumped. I am always falling (and had been berating myself for the previous 7 minutes about not praying about the situation that I was certain I needed to handle) and most certainly dry. One friend told me once that she saw me as a cup with those last three drops at the bottom and the straw making that sucky sound, but not getting anything.
My lands, that song wasn't talking about being thirsty (to me anyway) and getting a drink...I am the drink but am totally dry. I need Him to fill me up.
So, even though I am a wretched Sunday morning sinner, God touched me yesterday. I just thought I should share. Because even when we don't think it is possible, it happens anyway.
Coincidence?
Call it coincidence, but Charming slept so much better last night that I think I will continue the rice cereal trick. I have always believed it to be hokey, but inevitably I try it with all my kids. This is the first time I've noticed any change in their sleeping habits.
He's got me so well trained, that I kept waking to make sure he was ok. I think he was even up to nurse twice, which shows you the sad state of affairs we were in.
He's got me so well trained, that I kept waking to make sure he was ok. I think he was even up to nurse twice, which shows you the sad state of affairs we were in.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Rejoice With Me!
Charming ate rice cereal tonight and wanted more. No gagging. No spewing. No crying. No dirty looks.
I have hope for my future.
I have hope for my future.
I'm a Grownup!
What I would have posted Thursday, had I not accidentally fallen asleep at 8:45, moments after my children gave it up:
I have succeeded in life. I can tell the Kirby guy NO (in no uncertain terms)BEFORE he crosses my threshold. I only had to say it four times. I only had to interrupt him four times to tell him no four times. I wasn't even apologetic. Thirty-three seconds an done.
Glory be, I think I have finally acted my age once.
I have succeeded in life. I can tell the Kirby guy NO (in no uncertain terms)BEFORE he crosses my threshold. I only had to say it four times. I only had to interrupt him four times to tell him no four times. I wasn't even apologetic. Thirty-three seconds an done.
Glory be, I think I have finally acted my age once.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Princess
Tonight at dinner, Frodo was being a brat with a capital B. I said, to no one in particular, "I fear we are raising up a brat."
Princess said, "Mom, you shouldn't call him that!"
To which Hubs replied, "If the shoe fits..."
To which Princess replied, "Dad! That's an idiom!"
We both looked at her and blinked. I got up and got the dictionary.
Huh, she's right.
Here's another one: she came inside yesterday after being outside about 23 seconds and said, "Mom, it's so peaceful outside. There are no mowers running, or kids, or cars, or locusts, or birds. You just see leaves blowing and butterflies flapping around. It's so quiet!"
Of course it was. It was 115 degrees out there (heat index...maybe 103 true?). Leave it to her to find the good in this nasty heat wave.
Gotta love that girl.
Princess said, "Mom, you shouldn't call him that!"
To which Hubs replied, "If the shoe fits..."
To which Princess replied, "Dad! That's an idiom!"
We both looked at her and blinked. I got up and got the dictionary.
Huh, she's right.
Here's another one: she came inside yesterday after being outside about 23 seconds and said, "Mom, it's so peaceful outside. There are no mowers running, or kids, or cars, or locusts, or birds. You just see leaves blowing and butterflies flapping around. It's so quiet!"
Of course it was. It was 115 degrees out there (heat index...maybe 103 true?). Leave it to her to find the good in this nasty heat wave.
Gotta love that girl.
A Quick History
I see I have some 'splanin' to do.
Hubs and I have been married for 11 years and change. We always intended to adopt. Probably a minority sibling group once "ours" were getting up there in their teens. Except "ours" didn't come as easily as we thought they might. (I HATE the term "ours" now, by the way.) Three years of infertility and two miscarriages later we decided to change our plan a bit and go ahead and get started adopting. Since the foster care system wouldn't give us the time of day, we decided to go private.
Three failed adoptions later, we got Eldest (who is fully African American). Three weeks after that I found out I was pregnant again. I'd been bleeding when I attended a "healing service" at a Joyce Meyer women's conference. Whatever you believe about evangelists or God, I stopped bleeding that night and carried Princess past term. She and Eldest are 9 months and 5 days apart in age. Currently both 6. We're between birthdays.
I'd just turned my adoption paperwork in to the agency again when I found out I was pregnant with Frodo. He is 23 months younger than Princess.
Eldest began to ask for a sibling that "matched." I was earnestly looking into adopting again when I found out I was pregnant with Charming. Due to some dreams I'd been having, I was certain HE was a SHE. When I found out HE was a HE, we promised Princess we'd try to get her a sister. Just as we've been promising Eldest we'd try to find him a "match." We never intended to isolate him in this Aryan family (that was tongue in cheek. Hubs once had a roommate who was Jewish and referred to Hubs as Aryan. We are NOT Nazi's.)
I'm convinced, not only that we should have another child of color in our family, but also that we should have a girl. I think she is supposed to be biological. That's a stinking lot of children in the 21st Century. I love them dearly, but man, the people think you are freaks when you do that.
So, there you have it. Basically seven years of life (or two years of blogging) condensed into one post.
Hubs and I have been married for 11 years and change. We always intended to adopt. Probably a minority sibling group once "ours" were getting up there in their teens. Except "ours" didn't come as easily as we thought they might. (I HATE the term "ours" now, by the way.) Three years of infertility and two miscarriages later we decided to change our plan a bit and go ahead and get started adopting. Since the foster care system wouldn't give us the time of day, we decided to go private.
Three failed adoptions later, we got Eldest (who is fully African American). Three weeks after that I found out I was pregnant again. I'd been bleeding when I attended a "healing service" at a Joyce Meyer women's conference. Whatever you believe about evangelists or God, I stopped bleeding that night and carried Princess past term. She and Eldest are 9 months and 5 days apart in age. Currently both 6. We're between birthdays.
I'd just turned my adoption paperwork in to the agency again when I found out I was pregnant with Frodo. He is 23 months younger than Princess.
Eldest began to ask for a sibling that "matched." I was earnestly looking into adopting again when I found out I was pregnant with Charming. Due to some dreams I'd been having, I was certain HE was a SHE. When I found out HE was a HE, we promised Princess we'd try to get her a sister. Just as we've been promising Eldest we'd try to find him a "match." We never intended to isolate him in this Aryan family (that was tongue in cheek. Hubs once had a roommate who was Jewish and referred to Hubs as Aryan. We are NOT Nazi's.)
I'm convinced, not only that we should have another child of color in our family, but also that we should have a girl. I think she is supposed to be biological. That's a stinking lot of children in the 21st Century. I love them dearly, but man, the people think you are freaks when you do that.
So, there you have it. Basically seven years of life (or two years of blogging) condensed into one post.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Hisss
I got another game today that I LOVE. I have to share when I find one that I actually enjoy playing with my children (As opposed to say, Chutes and Ladders, the bane of parents everywhere). If you get the chance, pick this one up. It's easy to play with a range of ages. You can play it in 15 minutes or less. It is easy to lose if you have compassion for your competitive children. It is easy to win if you don't. But there is enough chance that nothing is certain.
An Ungrateful Wretch
Last evening I sat at the pool and visited with an old acquaintance, also an adoptive mom, about her recent "giving up." She'd given up on her body years ago, really. And she has recently given up the hope that she might be able to adopt another baby. She will be the first to admit that it is because she and her husband are both picky and once they get down to the three qualities they agree on, there are precious few opportunities to adopt left. But I still feel sad for her.
She is the woman who pointed out that (and purchased my first copy of) Max Lucado's Just in Case You Ever Wonder is perfect for the adoptive family because it never says "when you grew in my tummy" or "the night you were born" it says instead "the first time I saw you," and "Your first night with me." Granted, the people in the book are all quite white, but you can't always have everything.
So last night I was checking in on Mary, who I thought would probably have info on her latest Ethiopian adventure. And she did. And I played catch-up when I should have been sleeping. And I got all nasty jealous of her. And this morning I was going to post the title "Who I Want to Be" and just link to her page with her very colorful, very cool family.
And this morning I felt wretched. Because I have four wonderful kids. And maybe when Eldest is 19, I'll have 10 wonderful kids. And M. probably won't. And I have other friends who would give their eye teeth to get pregnant. But when I try to explain how I want to adopt again and keep getting thwarted because I get pregnant (which if you aren't preventing, shouldn't be much of a surprise, but you know...) I sound like an ungrateful wretch.
I'm not. Not really. Well, I am, but who isn't? I absolutely adore my kids. All of them. Even the ones that are carbon copies. And I wouldn't trade any of them for another kid out there.
I guess I'm frustrated because I'm super selfish. And I'm beginning to see life after potty-training and carpooling and play dates. And if we adopt another "brown" baby, will Eldest really even pay him or her much mind. Will he always care that he doesn't look like anyone else? I know I can go through foster care and bring home an older child. And we may some day. But Hubs is pretty addicted to the tiny ones. And I lived enough years of foster care to know that they can bring an awful lot of pain into a home. That doesn't negate their need or their value, I'm just being gut honest. I'm terrified to bring in an older child who could rip the innocence from those God has already put under my care.
But even if we start the process now and get placed in say, a year, Eldest would be eight. Is that relationship going to be close enough to be what he wants, or does he really want someone he can play ball with? Same for Princess who insists she needs a sister. She loves Charming desperately, but she wants someone with whom she can play girlie things. If we start from teeny, she'll be out of girlie things by the time there is enough age to allow for real play. And she already said she wants someone older. She thinks we should just drive over to the local orphanage and find one. If only it were so easy in the States.
Ugh. I'm not making any sense.
I know what I want to say and I'm not saying any of it.
See, I'm torn between two worlds. The world of my heart that has a rainbow of color for children and the world that lives in THIS world. The one that thinks huge families are ridiculous and irresponsible. The world that makes nasty comments disguised with a laugh. I live in a world that knows there are people hurting because they can't get pregnant and my own world that wonders if I should prevent a future pregnancy so that I can adopt again when I promised myself that I would never prevent again until I was CERTAIN I was finished. And the world that knows the people around me think I should be finished. And my own brain telling me that it's okay to be finished. And the part of my heart that would be so sad to be finished. And the part of my soul waiting for God to tell me I'm finished. And the part of my self that knows we only have one seat left in the minivan and that no one wants to babysit anymore.
So am I selfish to want to adopt again? Should I just remotely adopt some more through World Vision? Why does God give some people the desire to adopt and not the time or resources? What is wrong with me?
Besides the fact that I'm an ungrateful wretch who should be pleased as punch to just give birth again should I be given the opportunity and quit thinking about what I don't get to do in the adoption arena...except for what it would do to Eldest. (Enjoy the ones you have, Jamie....)
That's it. I'm writing the book. The one you haven't heard about, but has been percolating. I'm going to do it. That way I can go through it chapter by chapter and quit trying to get all my thoughts out in a far-too-long blog post.
She is the woman who pointed out that (and purchased my first copy of) Max Lucado's Just in Case You Ever Wonder is perfect for the adoptive family because it never says "when you grew in my tummy" or "the night you were born" it says instead "the first time I saw you," and "Your first night with me." Granted, the people in the book are all quite white, but you can't always have everything.
So last night I was checking in on Mary, who I thought would probably have info on her latest Ethiopian adventure. And she did. And I played catch-up when I should have been sleeping. And I got all nasty jealous of her. And this morning I was going to post the title "Who I Want to Be" and just link to her page with her very colorful, very cool family.
And this morning I felt wretched. Because I have four wonderful kids. And maybe when Eldest is 19, I'll have 10 wonderful kids. And M. probably won't. And I have other friends who would give their eye teeth to get pregnant. But when I try to explain how I want to adopt again and keep getting thwarted because I get pregnant (which if you aren't preventing, shouldn't be much of a surprise, but you know...) I sound like an ungrateful wretch.
I'm not. Not really. Well, I am, but who isn't? I absolutely adore my kids. All of them. Even the ones that are carbon copies. And I wouldn't trade any of them for another kid out there.
I guess I'm frustrated because I'm super selfish. And I'm beginning to see life after potty-training and carpooling and play dates. And if we adopt another "brown" baby, will Eldest really even pay him or her much mind. Will he always care that he doesn't look like anyone else? I know I can go through foster care and bring home an older child. And we may some day. But Hubs is pretty addicted to the tiny ones. And I lived enough years of foster care to know that they can bring an awful lot of pain into a home. That doesn't negate their need or their value, I'm just being gut honest. I'm terrified to bring in an older child who could rip the innocence from those God has already put under my care.
But even if we start the process now and get placed in say, a year, Eldest would be eight. Is that relationship going to be close enough to be what he wants, or does he really want someone he can play ball with? Same for Princess who insists she needs a sister. She loves Charming desperately, but she wants someone with whom she can play girlie things. If we start from teeny, she'll be out of girlie things by the time there is enough age to allow for real play. And she already said she wants someone older. She thinks we should just drive over to the local orphanage and find one. If only it were so easy in the States.
Ugh. I'm not making any sense.
I know what I want to say and I'm not saying any of it.
See, I'm torn between two worlds. The world of my heart that has a rainbow of color for children and the world that lives in THIS world. The one that thinks huge families are ridiculous and irresponsible. The world that makes nasty comments disguised with a laugh. I live in a world that knows there are people hurting because they can't get pregnant and my own world that wonders if I should prevent a future pregnancy so that I can adopt again when I promised myself that I would never prevent again until I was CERTAIN I was finished. And the world that knows the people around me think I should be finished. And my own brain telling me that it's okay to be finished. And the part of my heart that would be so sad to be finished. And the part of my soul waiting for God to tell me I'm finished. And the part of my self that knows we only have one seat left in the minivan and that no one wants to babysit anymore.
So am I selfish to want to adopt again? Should I just remotely adopt some more through World Vision? Why does God give some people the desire to adopt and not the time or resources? What is wrong with me?
Besides the fact that I'm an ungrateful wretch who should be pleased as punch to just give birth again should I be given the opportunity and quit thinking about what I don't get to do in the adoption arena...except for what it would do to Eldest. (Enjoy the ones you have, Jamie....)
That's it. I'm writing the book. The one you haven't heard about, but has been percolating. I'm going to do it. That way I can go through it chapter by chapter and quit trying to get all my thoughts out in a far-too-long blog post.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Toothpaste
There is a big blue gob of halfway dried out, bubble gum scented (and I presume flavored) toothpaste stuck to the bottom of my right foot.
My day is now complete.
My day is now complete.
Messy Spirituality
Interesting. I got this in my email last night. It isn't interesting that I got the breakfast club, because I always do. It is interesting how much this spoke to me this morning considering where I am. If this guy doesn't have it all together, and he's written a book, maybe I have hope yet.
I hope this doesn't mess with copyright stuff. I don't think it will since they send it free to anyone who asks. And, by the way, if you want to sign up to get the free chapters from Zondervan, I left the info on the bottom.
MESSY SPIRITUALITY
by Michael Yaconelli (nonfiction)
Published by Zondervan
ISBN: 9780310277309
Copyright (c) 2002, 2007 by Michael Yaconelli ======================================
CHAPTER ONE
MESSY
THE WORKSHOP OF THE SPIRITUAL LIFE
My life is a mess.
After forty-five years of trying to follow Jesus, I keep losing him in the crowded busyness of my life. I know Jesus is there, some- where, but it's difficult to make him out in the haze of everyday life.
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a godly person.
Yet when I look at the yesterdays of my life, what I see, mostly, is a broken, irregular path littered with mistakes and failure. I have had temporary successes and isolated moments of closeness to God, but I long for the continuing presence of Jesus. Most of the moments of my life seem hopelessly tangled in a web of obligations and distractions.
I want to be a good person. I don't want to fail. I want to learn from my mistakes, rid myself of distractions, and run into the arms of Jesus. Most of the time, however, I feel like I am running away from Jesus into the arms of my own clutteredness.
I want desperately to know God better. I want to be consistent.
Right now the only consistency in my life is my inconsistency. Who I want to be and who I am are not very close together. I am not doing well at the living-a-consistent-life thing.
I don't want to be St. John of the Cross or Billy Graham. I just want to be remembered as a person who loved God, who served others more than he served himself, who was trying to grow in maturity and stability. I want to have more victories than defeats, yet here I am, almost sixty, and I fail on a regular basis.
If I were to die today, I would be nervous about what people would say at my funeral. I would be happy if they said things like "He was a nice guy" or "He was occasionally decent" or "Mike wasn't as bad as a lot of people." Unfortunately, eulogies are delivered by people who know the deceased. I know what the consensus would be: "Mike was a mess."
When I was younger, I believed my inconsistency was due to my youth.
I believed that age would teach me all I needed to know and that when I was older I would have learned the lessons of life and discovered the secrets of true spirituality.
I "am" older, a lot older, and the secrets are still secret from me.
I often dream that I am tagging along behind Jesus, longing for him to choose me as one of his disciples. Without warning, he turns around, looks straight into my eyes, and says, "Follow me!" My heart races, and I begin to run toward him when he interrupts with, "Oh, not you; the guy behind you. Sorry."
I have been trying to follow Christ most of my life, and the best I can do is a stumbling, bumbling, clumsy kind of following. I wake up most days with the humiliating awareness that I have no clue where Jesus is. Even though I am a minister, even though I think about Jesus every day, my following is...uh...meandering.
So I've decided to write a book about the spiritual life.
I know what you're thinking. Based on what I've just said about my walk with God, having me write about spirituality is like having Bozo the Clown explain the meaning of the universe, like playing Handel's "Messiah" on the kazoo. How can someone whose life is obviously "unspiritual" presume to talk about spirituality? How can someone unholy presume to talk about holiness? It makes no sense.
Unless. Un"less!" Unless spirituality, as most of us understand it, is not spirituality at all.
Sadly, "spiritual" is most commonly used by Christians to describe people who pray all day long, read their Bibles constantly, never get angry or rattled, possess special powers, and have the inside track to God. "Spirituality," for most, has an "other"worldly ring to it, calling to mind eccentric "saints" who have forsaken the world, taken vows of poverty, and isolated themselves in cloisters.
Nothing wrong with the spirituality of monks. Monks certainly experience a "kind" of spirituality, a way of seeking and knowing God, "but what about the rest of us?" What about those of us who live in the city, have a wife or husband, three children, two cats, and a washing machine that has stopped working? What about those of us who are single, work sixty to seventy hours a week, have parents who wonder why we're not married, and have friends who make much more money than we do? What about those of us who are divorced, still trying to heal from the scars of rejection, trying to cope with the single-parenting of children who don't understand why this has happened to them?
Is there a spirituality for the rest of us who are not secluded in a monastery, who don't have it all together and probably never will?
(continued on Tuesday)
--------------------------------------
Would you please tell a friend about our Breakfast Club?
Sign up at: http://www.zondervan.com
I sure do appreciate it.--Suzanne Beecher
For more information about MESSY SPIRITUALITY go to:
http://www.zondervan.com/Books/Detail.asp?ISBN=0310277302
Distributed by: Zondervan, 5300 Patterson SE, Grand Rapids, MI 49530
I hope this doesn't mess with copyright stuff. I don't think it will since they send it free to anyone who asks. And, by the way, if you want to sign up to get the free chapters from Zondervan, I left the info on the bottom.
MESSY SPIRITUALITY
by Michael Yaconelli (nonfiction)
Published by Zondervan
ISBN: 9780310277309
Copyright (c) 2002, 2007 by Michael Yaconelli ======================================
CHAPTER ONE
MESSY
THE WORKSHOP OF THE SPIRITUAL LIFE
My life is a mess.
After forty-five years of trying to follow Jesus, I keep losing him in the crowded busyness of my life. I know Jesus is there, some- where, but it's difficult to make him out in the haze of everyday life.
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a godly person.
Yet when I look at the yesterdays of my life, what I see, mostly, is a broken, irregular path littered with mistakes and failure. I have had temporary successes and isolated moments of closeness to God, but I long for the continuing presence of Jesus. Most of the moments of my life seem hopelessly tangled in a web of obligations and distractions.
I want to be a good person. I don't want to fail. I want to learn from my mistakes, rid myself of distractions, and run into the arms of Jesus. Most of the time, however, I feel like I am running away from Jesus into the arms of my own clutteredness.
I want desperately to know God better. I want to be consistent.
Right now the only consistency in my life is my inconsistency. Who I want to be and who I am are not very close together. I am not doing well at the living-a-consistent-life thing.
I don't want to be St. John of the Cross or Billy Graham. I just want to be remembered as a person who loved God, who served others more than he served himself, who was trying to grow in maturity and stability. I want to have more victories than defeats, yet here I am, almost sixty, and I fail on a regular basis.
If I were to die today, I would be nervous about what people would say at my funeral. I would be happy if they said things like "He was a nice guy" or "He was occasionally decent" or "Mike wasn't as bad as a lot of people." Unfortunately, eulogies are delivered by people who know the deceased. I know what the consensus would be: "Mike was a mess."
When I was younger, I believed my inconsistency was due to my youth.
I believed that age would teach me all I needed to know and that when I was older I would have learned the lessons of life and discovered the secrets of true spirituality.
I "am" older, a lot older, and the secrets are still secret from me.
I often dream that I am tagging along behind Jesus, longing for him to choose me as one of his disciples. Without warning, he turns around, looks straight into my eyes, and says, "Follow me!" My heart races, and I begin to run toward him when he interrupts with, "Oh, not you; the guy behind you. Sorry."
I have been trying to follow Christ most of my life, and the best I can do is a stumbling, bumbling, clumsy kind of following. I wake up most days with the humiliating awareness that I have no clue where Jesus is. Even though I am a minister, even though I think about Jesus every day, my following is...uh...meandering.
So I've decided to write a book about the spiritual life.
I know what you're thinking. Based on what I've just said about my walk with God, having me write about spirituality is like having Bozo the Clown explain the meaning of the universe, like playing Handel's "Messiah" on the kazoo. How can someone whose life is obviously "unspiritual" presume to talk about spirituality? How can someone unholy presume to talk about holiness? It makes no sense.
Unless. Un"less!" Unless spirituality, as most of us understand it, is not spirituality at all.
Sadly, "spiritual" is most commonly used by Christians to describe people who pray all day long, read their Bibles constantly, never get angry or rattled, possess special powers, and have the inside track to God. "Spirituality," for most, has an "other"worldly ring to it, calling to mind eccentric "saints" who have forsaken the world, taken vows of poverty, and isolated themselves in cloisters.
Nothing wrong with the spirituality of monks. Monks certainly experience a "kind" of spirituality, a way of seeking and knowing God, "but what about the rest of us?" What about those of us who live in the city, have a wife or husband, three children, two cats, and a washing machine that has stopped working? What about those of us who are single, work sixty to seventy hours a week, have parents who wonder why we're not married, and have friends who make much more money than we do? What about those of us who are divorced, still trying to heal from the scars of rejection, trying to cope with the single-parenting of children who don't understand why this has happened to them?
Is there a spirituality for the rest of us who are not secluded in a monastery, who don't have it all together and probably never will?
(continued on Tuesday)
--------------------------------------
Would you please tell a friend about our Breakfast Club?
Sign up at: http://www.zondervan.com
I sure do appreciate it.--Suzanne Beecher
For more information about MESSY SPIRITUALITY go to:
http://www.zondervan.com/Books/Detail.asp?ISBN=0310277302
Distributed by: Zondervan, 5300 Patterson SE, Grand Rapids, MI 49530
So Much For That
It is 7:28 AM and I've already blown it. In an hour and 15 minutes time, I've been puked on, taken out the trash and recycling, found caterpillars (more than 10! Science class will be interesting the first week, anyway), watched a spider do its thing with a fly, googled and identified that the spider wasn't a brown recluse (a fear we have here), made muffins with the help of Frodo and...
snapped.
They just push and push. They push me. They push each other. And until someone around here learns to put others first, I think we will all suffer. Sibling rivalry stinks.
Mom, who do you love the most?
That's what it all boils down to. They want more siblings, but until they learn to be kind to the ones they have, I'm saying no. This is ridiculous.
snapped.
They just push and push. They push me. They push each other. And until someone around here learns to put others first, I think we will all suffer. Sibling rivalry stinks.
Mom, who do you love the most?
That's what it all boils down to. They want more siblings, but until they learn to be kind to the ones they have, I'm saying no. This is ridiculous.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Insanity
My sisters and I have a traveling award of which I am this week's recipient. It is "The Parent of the Week Award." And, yes, it is tongue in cheek.
As I have won hands down this week, I will probably try to be a good mommy this coming week and go to the pool and play Uno rather than blog. Not that I blogged last week when I did such a fabulous job of parenting, but I'm going to try anyway.
Speaking of parenting:
This morning I was snuggling Charming and thinking how insanely much I love him. He gets me up all night. He doesn't take naps. He refuses to take a bottle or eat anything other than what my body provides. And he really demands to be held all the time. I'm hoping this is teeth. But the point is we think people who harm their children are insane (and they are), but if you look at human nature, doesn't the fact that we love these creatures who take our lives and turn them inside out, upside down, chew us up, spit us out, stomp on our hearts, take away our sleep, and then get absolute forgiveness with a smile....make US the insane ones?
And with that, I will leave you with a little entertainment. I tried to get You Tube to post this to my blog, but they don't seem to have.
As I have won hands down this week, I will probably try to be a good mommy this coming week and go to the pool and play Uno rather than blog. Not that I blogged last week when I did such a fabulous job of parenting, but I'm going to try anyway.
Speaking of parenting:
This morning I was snuggling Charming and thinking how insanely much I love him. He gets me up all night. He doesn't take naps. He refuses to take a bottle or eat anything other than what my body provides. And he really demands to be held all the time. I'm hoping this is teeth. But the point is we think people who harm their children are insane (and they are), but if you look at human nature, doesn't the fact that we love these creatures who take our lives and turn them inside out, upside down, chew us up, spit us out, stomp on our hearts, take away our sleep, and then get absolute forgiveness with a smile....make US the insane ones?
And with that, I will leave you with a little entertainment. I tried to get You Tube to post this to my blog, but they don't seem to have.
Friday, August 10, 2007
A Normal Night. Why So Cranky?
My head tells me that I slept last night. No big kid invasion of the bed. Charming, though he didn't sleep through, only ate three times (over 12 hours so it isn't as bad as it sounds). And though I didn't want to go to bed last night because I hate being awakened and I feared that I would, I was still in bed by 10:30.
I know I slept last night, so why am I so exhausted today?
Hubs and I have always contended that you always feel worse the second day after an all nighter and I'm certainly not proving him wrong.
Maybe it's my kids fault. After all, their gratitude is in the negative numbers. I think Grandma broke them. They get used to the short order kitchen and think it is their right. As much as I love and appreciate the "week off," the next week is always a bear. Or maybe I'm just sleep deprived.
After all, they didn't seem broken on Monday.
I know I slept last night, so why am I so exhausted today?
Hubs and I have always contended that you always feel worse the second day after an all nighter and I'm certainly not proving him wrong.
Maybe it's my kids fault. After all, their gratitude is in the negative numbers. I think Grandma broke them. They get used to the short order kitchen and think it is their right. As much as I love and appreciate the "week off," the next week is always a bear. Or maybe I'm just sleep deprived.
After all, they didn't seem broken on Monday.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
What to do, What to do?
Charming just gave it up. And now my bed if full of feverish little boys who've taken over their perceived deserved spot. (How do they know I've left? It makes me wonder if they come in and check all night to see if they can fit in.) Okay, yeah tonight they were in there on the floor anyway, but still.
I was going to take off for the couch, but I think Charming is fussing again.
Say a little prayer for me, will you? It's hard to be a kind mommy when everyone got more sleep than you.
I was going to take off for the couch, but I think Charming is fussing again.
Say a little prayer for me, will you? It's hard to be a kind mommy when everyone got more sleep than you.
Good Morning to you, too.
It is 5AM and Charming is wide awake. As he has been since 4:15. Now that we've crossed over into the 5 o'clock hour and he only seems to be showing more and more awake personality, I've nearly decided to just make some coffee and call it day.
Why bother trying to get any more night out of yesterday when I never really got any in the first place? As I told Hubs, rather hysterically, at midnight, I don't know why I didn't go to bed at 7 when I was falling asleep on the couch. Silly me thought that if I went to bed that early I would have a restless night. I didn't realize it would be the only night I would have the privilege of having.
Shortly after 8 Frodo, who'd been asleep since 4:30 (fell asleep in the living room with a fever--it was a good bet he'd stay down) came to me. I asked if he needed a drink. No. What do you need buddy? "I just want to sit with you!" He shrieked.
Okay, Charming just rolled back to tummy. That is a first. At 5:09. And he'd grinning like he just did something big. I guess I'll continue to be nice.
Now, back to my regularly scheduled griping.
I don't know how else to describe Frodo's statement other than shriek. Hub's and I exchanged humored looks and I scooped him up and we "sat." Half an hour later when we had both dozed off, I tried to put him in his bed. Unacceptable. This little ball of fire must sleep on me with his heavy blanket in THIS HEAT.
Fifteen minutes later it was a moot point because Charming was awake and "hungry."
Nurse. Place sleeping baby in cradle. Brush teeth. Go to bed. Hear fussing baby. Repeat. Three times. Grow hysterical. Enter thunderstorm. Go help Hubs bring in stuff from backyard. Climb back in bed. Big thunder. Enter Eldest. Sleep (or cry from fear and fever) between Mom and Charming (two feet between bed and cradle). Two hours of thunder and rain and fear. Charming needs to eat. Step over Eldest who gets up and does something. Enter Frodo who wants to sleep in my bed. Enter Eldest who resituates himself. Try to wake Hubs to get at least one boy on his side of the bed. Fail. Frodo situates himself somewhere. Mom tries to situate now dozy Charming in his cradle. Fail. Charming has recognized that he is not the only one awake and perceives that that means it is morning. Begins "talking" in bed. Eldest rolls over and makes closet doors bang. Mom scoops up baby heads for recliner. Forty-five minutes later gives up fight and begins typing.
If I got an hour of sleep I'd be surprised.
This reminds me of the nights when I had fewer children and I was so depressed and desperate for some sleep and I'd think, "For this child I prayed...and now all I can pray is that he'll go to sleep." You always think in the infertile years you will appreciate the sleepless nights. While I tolerate them better than I might otherwise, I have absolutely no appreciation for them.
That was my pity party and I'm cordially disinviting myself now. I'm going to go make some coffee. After all sunrise is only an hour off.
Why bother trying to get any more night out of yesterday when I never really got any in the first place? As I told Hubs, rather hysterically, at midnight, I don't know why I didn't go to bed at 7 when I was falling asleep on the couch. Silly me thought that if I went to bed that early I would have a restless night. I didn't realize it would be the only night I would have the privilege of having.
Shortly after 8 Frodo, who'd been asleep since 4:30 (fell asleep in the living room with a fever--it was a good bet he'd stay down) came to me. I asked if he needed a drink. No. What do you need buddy? "I just want to sit with you!" He shrieked.
Okay, Charming just rolled back to tummy. That is a first. At 5:09. And he'd grinning like he just did something big. I guess I'll continue to be nice.
Now, back to my regularly scheduled griping.
I don't know how else to describe Frodo's statement other than shriek. Hub's and I exchanged humored looks and I scooped him up and we "sat." Half an hour later when we had both dozed off, I tried to put him in his bed. Unacceptable. This little ball of fire must sleep on me with his heavy blanket in THIS HEAT.
Fifteen minutes later it was a moot point because Charming was awake and "hungry."
Nurse. Place sleeping baby in cradle. Brush teeth. Go to bed. Hear fussing baby. Repeat. Three times. Grow hysterical. Enter thunderstorm. Go help Hubs bring in stuff from backyard. Climb back in bed. Big thunder. Enter Eldest. Sleep (or cry from fear and fever) between Mom and Charming (two feet between bed and cradle). Two hours of thunder and rain and fear. Charming needs to eat. Step over Eldest who gets up and does something. Enter Frodo who wants to sleep in my bed. Enter Eldest who resituates himself. Try to wake Hubs to get at least one boy on his side of the bed. Fail. Frodo situates himself somewhere. Mom tries to situate now dozy Charming in his cradle. Fail. Charming has recognized that he is not the only one awake and perceives that that means it is morning. Begins "talking" in bed. Eldest rolls over and makes closet doors bang. Mom scoops up baby heads for recliner. Forty-five minutes later gives up fight and begins typing.
If I got an hour of sleep I'd be surprised.
This reminds me of the nights when I had fewer children and I was so depressed and desperate for some sleep and I'd think, "For this child I prayed...and now all I can pray is that he'll go to sleep." You always think in the infertile years you will appreciate the sleepless nights. While I tolerate them better than I might otherwise, I have absolutely no appreciation for them.
That was my pity party and I'm cordially disinviting myself now. I'm going to go make some coffee. After all sunrise is only an hour off.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
HOT
We've had a heat index over a hundred degrees for most of the week. I'm totally drained. Nothing worth typing, to speak of, because we are just hunkering down and waiting for some wind to blow the hot away.
It is too hot to do anything.
My air conditioner has run nearly continuously for two days. And I set it pretty high.
All I want to do is sleep. Interesting that is the only thing Charming doesn't want to do.
My big kids either have some strange virus, or heat stroke. Fever for eight hours and no other symptoms. On the upside, they don't move much. On the downside, they keep fooling me into believing they aren't sick when they crash with fever again. Bizarre.
So, that said, now you know why I'm not blogging. Nothing worthwhile to say. And my fodder for entertainment are all passed out in front of a fan.
It is too hot to do anything.
My air conditioner has run nearly continuously for two days. And I set it pretty high.
All I want to do is sleep. Interesting that is the only thing Charming doesn't want to do.
My big kids either have some strange virus, or heat stroke. Fever for eight hours and no other symptoms. On the upside, they don't move much. On the downside, they keep fooling me into believing they aren't sick when they crash with fever again. Bizarre.
So, that said, now you know why I'm not blogging. Nothing worthwhile to say. And my fodder for entertainment are all passed out in front of a fan.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Actual thought that passed through my head
So there I am, hanging a load of reds, when I place an outfit (probably too small) of Charming's in between shirts of Eldest's and Frodo's (I am compulsive in the manner I do laundry so it was intentional the way I was hanging the clothes) when I think,
"Goodness, the kids wore a lot of reds."
Hello! It was a load of reds. Not a load of "colors," or a load of "whites" or a load of "darks." My thought that "Goodness they wore a lot of reds" is the equivalent of thinking "goodness, they used a lot of towels" when I do the towel load. Of course there are a lot of towels, it's a load of towels! Who knows how many weeks is represented in that red load.
Now if I saw a lot of green in a color load, that would be noteworthy.
"Goodness, the kids wore a lot of reds."
Hello! It was a load of reds. Not a load of "colors," or a load of "whites" or a load of "darks." My thought that "Goodness they wore a lot of reds" is the equivalent of thinking "goodness, they used a lot of towels" when I do the towel load. Of course there are a lot of towels, it's a load of towels! Who knows how many weeks is represented in that red load.
Now if I saw a lot of green in a color load, that would be noteworthy.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Small Town Lure
The Siren call of the small town, henceforth referred to as "home," has grown in her wail.
I had a Vanilla latte yesterday that would almost make leaving Starbucks in my rear view mirror bearable. Not only was it good, it was cheaper, and the barista (how do you spell this, and if it is a guy is he a barrister?) gave me an extra shot of espresso for free. Now that's service.
And then I went out to eat at this little family Mexican place that had a fajita quesidilla to die for. Well, the cow had to die. I would give up the quesidillas here for it though.
And icing on the cake (and yet the reason I will stay here for now) is that I thought I'd eaten so much I'd probably gained back the weight I'd finally trimmed off because I felt like I was the size of a barn. But when I got home (here home, not there home) my scale read the same as when I left. Even though I licked the plate clean at La Cabana. It was just that I'd been standing too long in the aura of my ultra skinny sister-in-law.
I had a Vanilla latte yesterday that would almost make leaving Starbucks in my rear view mirror bearable. Not only was it good, it was cheaper, and the barista (how do you spell this, and if it is a guy is he a barrister?) gave me an extra shot of espresso for free. Now that's service.
And then I went out to eat at this little family Mexican place that had a fajita quesidilla to die for. Well, the cow had to die. I would give up the quesidillas here for it though.
And icing on the cake (and yet the reason I will stay here for now) is that I thought I'd eaten so much I'd probably gained back the weight I'd finally trimmed off because I felt like I was the size of a barn. But when I got home (here home, not there home) my scale read the same as when I left. Even though I licked the plate clean at La Cabana. It was just that I'd been standing too long in the aura of my ultra skinny sister-in-law.
Filling up on Words
Getting a little tired of eating my words.
I know that would be an indicator to someone that maybe I should quite talking/typing, but since I know I won't (no matter how hard I try), I will at least try to admit when I'm horribly wrong.
Prang watercolors are better.
I still don't know why we have to have the best when we don't paint but once a year, but I have been dutifully informed by the voice of experience that Prang are better. Better than Crayola. And Roseart don't even get to be on the map of watercolor goodness.
This weekend I even read a whole newspaper write up about the benefit of certain brand school supply requirements. Between the paper and the teacher who was in the room as I read and commented upon the article I learned that if everyone has the same supplies it equalizes the kids. And teachers don't want folders, they want red folders (apparently it has to do with "get out your red folder" versus "get out your science folder" though my kids "get out your homework folder" and since they only have one it can have superman on it and they still know what it is---which, I'm sure, is why we can buy any folder and not just red, blue and yellow). And spiral notebooks snag on papers and cause a 5 second delay over the much more expensive composition notebook. (What is $1.50 (times six subjects) for 5 seconds of a teacher's time? Oops, that was nasty sarcasm. Eating my words again. Tasty. And, by the way, in a roomful of 30 students I think this probably makes sense--mine are just in a room of, let's see, 5. Well, the room will hold eight, but there are five first graders. And, interestingly enough, I don't have to buy composition books--this year.)
Did you know Crayola crayons break less often than Roseart? I knew they colored better, but the breakage factor was news to me.
Fiskers scissors have proven to cut better?
Anyway, it is nice to know there is a reason--time tested over years according to the paper--that we must buy certain brands and I will quit fussing about it.
And if I do, well, I'm sure I'll need a snack.
I know that would be an indicator to someone that maybe I should quite talking/typing, but since I know I won't (no matter how hard I try), I will at least try to admit when I'm horribly wrong.
Prang watercolors are better.
I still don't know why we have to have the best when we don't paint but once a year, but I have been dutifully informed by the voice of experience that Prang are better. Better than Crayola. And Roseart don't even get to be on the map of watercolor goodness.
This weekend I even read a whole newspaper write up about the benefit of certain brand school supply requirements. Between the paper and the teacher who was in the room as I read and commented upon the article I learned that if everyone has the same supplies it equalizes the kids. And teachers don't want folders, they want red folders (apparently it has to do with "get out your red folder" versus "get out your science folder" though my kids "get out your homework folder" and since they only have one it can have superman on it and they still know what it is---which, I'm sure, is why we can buy any folder and not just red, blue and yellow). And spiral notebooks snag on papers and cause a 5 second delay over the much more expensive composition notebook. (What is $1.50 (times six subjects) for 5 seconds of a teacher's time? Oops, that was nasty sarcasm. Eating my words again. Tasty. And, by the way, in a roomful of 30 students I think this probably makes sense--mine are just in a room of, let's see, 5. Well, the room will hold eight, but there are five first graders. And, interestingly enough, I don't have to buy composition books--this year.)
Did you know Crayola crayons break less often than Roseart? I knew they colored better, but the breakage factor was news to me.
Fiskers scissors have proven to cut better?
Anyway, it is nice to know there is a reason--time tested over years according to the paper--that we must buy certain brands and I will quit fussing about it.
And if I do, well, I'm sure I'll need a snack.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
My Public Profession of Wrongness
Hubs tells me I misunderstood him.
Let it be known that he did not say this isn't what he wanted to do.
I, apparently, am wrong.
On the other hand, I am also right. He says that a successful company isn't a life long endeavor. I argue that it is for some people and he's been telling me that all these years about the guy that started McDonald's and how many companies failed before he was successful and if he had quit at the first or even 35th failure where would he be today (not killing off the next generation through obesity, perhaps?)? If he could use it all those years to make his point, I think I can use it now to make mine.
I think it is unfair for him to argue that this wasn't a life long endeavor when, call it luck, he was able to make it work for him in his very early 30s. Sounds a little ungrateful to me.
He sort of agrees.
I wanted to cure cancer. When I was in high school I thought I'd be a doctor. When I was in college I was going to be an immunologist. I started grad school and worked in a lab that may, eventually, make some discoveries that lead to the obliteration of cancer (may it be so). There is a life long aspiration that I've given up on. But there really aren't that many of that type of aspirations out there. Not biggies like building a rocket in your backyard and shooting yourself off into space (and am I the only one who was bothered by the fact that his "wood" bard didn't go up in flames when he took off, not once, but twice?).
Anyway, I guess I do still know my husband. I was a tad worried there for 24 hours.
Back to the reason he is right: he thinks we don't think big as a people anymore. No more space race. No more splitting atoms. No more "be able to fly." It seems to me it is because we've conquered it. But people thought we'd never fly either. Maybe time travel isn't all that off, we just don't see how to get there. I don't know.
So if that's what he means, I'll give him the "right" and try to get over the incredulity that his statement caused. After all, we have a whole lifetime ahead of us.
Let it be known that he did not say this isn't what he wanted to do.
I, apparently, am wrong.
On the other hand, I am also right. He says that a successful company isn't a life long endeavor. I argue that it is for some people and he's been telling me that all these years about the guy that started McDonald's and how many companies failed before he was successful and if he had quit at the first or even 35th failure where would he be today (not killing off the next generation through obesity, perhaps?)? If he could use it all those years to make his point, I think I can use it now to make mine.
I think it is unfair for him to argue that this wasn't a life long endeavor when, call it luck, he was able to make it work for him in his very early 30s. Sounds a little ungrateful to me.
He sort of agrees.
I wanted to cure cancer. When I was in high school I thought I'd be a doctor. When I was in college I was going to be an immunologist. I started grad school and worked in a lab that may, eventually, make some discoveries that lead to the obliteration of cancer (may it be so). There is a life long aspiration that I've given up on. But there really aren't that many of that type of aspirations out there. Not biggies like building a rocket in your backyard and shooting yourself off into space (and am I the only one who was bothered by the fact that his "wood" bard didn't go up in flames when he took off, not once, but twice?).
Anyway, I guess I do still know my husband. I was a tad worried there for 24 hours.
Back to the reason he is right: he thinks we don't think big as a people anymore. No more space race. No more splitting atoms. No more "be able to fly." It seems to me it is because we've conquered it. But people thought we'd never fly either. Maybe time travel isn't all that off, we just don't see how to get there. I don't know.
So if that's what he means, I'll give him the "right" and try to get over the incredulity that his statement caused. After all, we have a whole lifetime ahead of us.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Things That Annoyed the Heck Out of Me Yesterday
No Comment on whether I was easily annoyed yesterday.
1. The "minister" at the garage sale that knew all the cures for all of the social failures out there, but never once mentioned God in any form (Jesus, Christ, The Lord, God, Jehovah, Yahweh, Higher Power) or sin. Why, when we have the true answer, are we giving out humanist answers for the world's ills? And if we aren't going to invoke the name of God (whichever "God" she thinks she represents), why bring up that we are a minister, Huh?
2. Charming won't sleep.
3. No stores are selling summer clothes. Here in the Midwest we have a full two months of hot yet and probably the better part of three before we have to bury ourselves in coats. Do you know how much a baby will grow in three months? If they MUST put out winter "school clothes," can't they at least still sell summer clothes for the under one crowd?
4. Charming has given up sleeping for Lent. I can't convince him that Lent is over. And he isn't allowed to give up sleeping until Lent.
5. So I took myself to a couple of the children's consignment stores. One sold summer clothes up to size 6 mo. (which we've grown out of, hence my problem). And they sold summer 2T. I could find nothing in the store for 9 mo, winter or summer. There was a whole rack of winter 12 mo. I know they have to sell what people bring in, but come on! NO ONE brought in something summery in the 6-12 month range? Or did I get there a day late because I'm not the only one with this problem?
6. The other store, Once Upon a Child, I'm using their name in vain because they have done this to me for years, lures me in with their idea of "clearance" plastered all over the window. And considering that I have looked all over town for 9 mo summer clothes, I figure if someone is clearancing out something it might be summer things. They have all of four outfits in the size I need. Are they on sale? No. They, the used clothes, are priced for MORE than I would have to pay to get them new at Kohls. Which is where I'm heading in a few minutes.
No number here because I have to explain: I went everywhere BUT Kohl's yesterday because I always shop at Kohl's. With three fewer kids to drag along I thought I'd go try some of these other stores where people are always telling me they find such great stuff. Kohl's will have summer things, I'm sure of it. (Please, oh Please!) I like Onesies as much as the next person, but I do feel a little conspicuous taking my son to church in the equivalent of undies all the time. I mean Onesies the brand not onesies the snap crotch shirt. Those I'll take him to church in. However, thank goodness that Onesies are sold year around so that if I don't find something for Charming, he will have clothes.
7. Old Navy. Three walls of infant girl clothes. 1/4 wall infant boy clothes. What season was on that 1/4 wall? Winter. And on another note, their "onesies" are really high cut on the leg so the entire diaper shows. If you put pants on over them, the side hole sticks out over the waistband.
Love the clothes, hate the cut.
8. Dillards. Who puts their 5 month old in a $43 outfit? Really. Unless it is a wedding or baptism, buy the kid some play clothes that you wouldn't actually mind them pooping on.
9. And to my waiter last night who didn't think he'd get a good tip because we ordered an ice water and shared an entree: we do it to save calories, not money. We do it to save money too, because we won't eat all the food, why buy it? We usually double the tip so that you know we aren't cheap and so that you didn't get ripped off. You, my friend, deserved to pay us a tip. The squat you did get was to prove you wrong, though I hated to reinforce your crappy behavior.
10. Hubs informed me last night that starting and building his own successful company wasn't his dream.
excuse me.
WHAT?!
There we were, having just watched The Astronaut Farmer, and he wants to know what his life changing dream is.
HELLO!
And when I told him it was building this business, he told me that wasn't his dream, that was just making money.
Excuse me. I'm having a moment.
Exactly WHAT money was that making? I'm still bewildered. I have scrimped and saved and lived on a shoestring for EIGHT YEARS to help him "pursue his dream" and he totally robbed me of that last night. Because that isn't his dream.
I wrote an article that will be in a national magazine in a few months about supporting your spouse in the pursuit of a dream through hardship and I find out I haven't done it.
I'm bewildered. I'm even feeling a little sick. I'm not angry. I'm really not. I'm just absolutely floored. I wonder why we've been doing this for all these years. I feel robbed. Almost violated. Deceived. Burdened. Frustrated. You have got to be kidding me. I might just need to go vomit.
Who am I? I'm not sure I even know anymore. I thought I was a supportive wife, but apparently I'm a fool. Or maybe a leech. Because he thinks he's done this for me.
Blink.
I don't know what else to say.
Maybe I'll go build a rocket.
1. The "minister" at the garage sale that knew all the cures for all of the social failures out there, but never once mentioned God in any form (Jesus, Christ, The Lord, God, Jehovah, Yahweh, Higher Power) or sin. Why, when we have the true answer, are we giving out humanist answers for the world's ills? And if we aren't going to invoke the name of God (whichever "God" she thinks she represents), why bring up that we are a minister, Huh?
2. Charming won't sleep.
3. No stores are selling summer clothes. Here in the Midwest we have a full two months of hot yet and probably the better part of three before we have to bury ourselves in coats. Do you know how much a baby will grow in three months? If they MUST put out winter "school clothes," can't they at least still sell summer clothes for the under one crowd?
4. Charming has given up sleeping for Lent. I can't convince him that Lent is over. And he isn't allowed to give up sleeping until Lent.
5. So I took myself to a couple of the children's consignment stores. One sold summer clothes up to size 6 mo. (which we've grown out of, hence my problem). And they sold summer 2T. I could find nothing in the store for 9 mo, winter or summer. There was a whole rack of winter 12 mo. I know they have to sell what people bring in, but come on! NO ONE brought in something summery in the 6-12 month range? Or did I get there a day late because I'm not the only one with this problem?
6. The other store, Once Upon a Child, I'm using their name in vain because they have done this to me for years, lures me in with their idea of "clearance" plastered all over the window. And considering that I have looked all over town for 9 mo summer clothes, I figure if someone is clearancing out something it might be summer things. They have all of four outfits in the size I need. Are they on sale? No. They, the used clothes, are priced for MORE than I would have to pay to get them new at Kohls. Which is where I'm heading in a few minutes.
No number here because I have to explain: I went everywhere BUT Kohl's yesterday because I always shop at Kohl's. With three fewer kids to drag along I thought I'd go try some of these other stores where people are always telling me they find such great stuff. Kohl's will have summer things, I'm sure of it. (Please, oh Please!) I like Onesies as much as the next person, but I do feel a little conspicuous taking my son to church in the equivalent of undies all the time. I mean Onesies the brand not onesies the snap crotch shirt. Those I'll take him to church in. However, thank goodness that Onesies are sold year around so that if I don't find something for Charming, he will have clothes.
7. Old Navy. Three walls of infant girl clothes. 1/4 wall infant boy clothes. What season was on that 1/4 wall? Winter. And on another note, their "onesies" are really high cut on the leg so the entire diaper shows. If you put pants on over them, the side hole sticks out over the waistband.
Love the clothes, hate the cut.
8. Dillards. Who puts their 5 month old in a $43 outfit? Really. Unless it is a wedding or baptism, buy the kid some play clothes that you wouldn't actually mind them pooping on.
9. And to my waiter last night who didn't think he'd get a good tip because we ordered an ice water and shared an entree: we do it to save calories, not money. We do it to save money too, because we won't eat all the food, why buy it? We usually double the tip so that you know we aren't cheap and so that you didn't get ripped off. You, my friend, deserved to pay us a tip. The squat you did get was to prove you wrong, though I hated to reinforce your crappy behavior.
10. Hubs informed me last night that starting and building his own successful company wasn't his dream.
excuse me.
WHAT?!
There we were, having just watched The Astronaut Farmer, and he wants to know what his life changing dream is.
HELLO!
And when I told him it was building this business, he told me that wasn't his dream, that was just making money.
Excuse me. I'm having a moment.
Exactly WHAT money was that making? I'm still bewildered. I have scrimped and saved and lived on a shoestring for EIGHT YEARS to help him "pursue his dream" and he totally robbed me of that last night. Because that isn't his dream.
I wrote an article that will be in a national magazine in a few months about supporting your spouse in the pursuit of a dream through hardship and I find out I haven't done it.
I'm bewildered. I'm even feeling a little sick. I'm not angry. I'm really not. I'm just absolutely floored. I wonder why we've been doing this for all these years. I feel robbed. Almost violated. Deceived. Burdened. Frustrated. You have got to be kidding me. I might just need to go vomit.
Who am I? I'm not sure I even know anymore. I thought I was a supportive wife, but apparently I'm a fool. Or maybe a leech. Because he thinks he's done this for me.
Blink.
I don't know what else to say.
Maybe I'll go build a rocket.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Caterpillar Update
I have spent the morning watching caterpillar number five weave himself into his chrysalis. It is positively fascinating. All the others did it at night. I wish Princess was here to watch with me.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
How Often It Works
My children have been "raising" caterpillars this summer. As opposed to last summer when we'd find the caterpillar, dump some green stuff in the bucket and let everything inside die, this summer the kids caught five, and I did a little research.
I discovered that we had "Buckeye" caterpillars which, incidentally, eat snapdragons (imagine that! since they found them on, you guessed it, the snapdragons.). We have faithfully plucked the life right out of my snapdragon bed and kept these caterpillars alive. They've grown and several have gone into their chrysalis.
When the first chrysalis showed up, Princess was so excited she picked it off the jar and brought it to me. I thought she'd killed it for sure. She dropped it, squeezed it, carried it around and finally dumped it back in the bottom om the jar so that, as her mom told her, IF the butterfly came out, we'd know it happened.
Since that first chrysalis made its appearance, three more caterpillars fattened up and went into hiding.
Contrary to my expectations, the first chrysalis opened to reveal a butterfly (abuse and all). And then the second. And today, the third.
We have one more chrysalis and one more fat caterpillar that I expect to go into hiding any day now. We've released three beautiful butterflies.
This morning I was again amazed at how well God's earth works. Caterpillars hatch, eat, go into chrysalis, pop out and fly off. Over and over again. As long as they have something to eat and air to breathe that is.
So many times we get all wrapped up in ugly side of life when something goes wrong. We get to where we expect life to fail us. And we've failed to notice how often things go right.
I discovered that we had "Buckeye" caterpillars which, incidentally, eat snapdragons (imagine that! since they found them on, you guessed it, the snapdragons.). We have faithfully plucked the life right out of my snapdragon bed and kept these caterpillars alive. They've grown and several have gone into their chrysalis.
When the first chrysalis showed up, Princess was so excited she picked it off the jar and brought it to me. I thought she'd killed it for sure. She dropped it, squeezed it, carried it around and finally dumped it back in the bottom om the jar so that, as her mom told her, IF the butterfly came out, we'd know it happened.
Since that first chrysalis made its appearance, three more caterpillars fattened up and went into hiding.
Contrary to my expectations, the first chrysalis opened to reveal a butterfly (abuse and all). And then the second. And today, the third.
We have one more chrysalis and one more fat caterpillar that I expect to go into hiding any day now. We've released three beautiful butterflies.
This morning I was again amazed at how well God's earth works. Caterpillars hatch, eat, go into chrysalis, pop out and fly off. Over and over again. As long as they have something to eat and air to breathe that is.
So many times we get all wrapped up in ugly side of life when something goes wrong. We get to where we expect life to fail us. And we've failed to notice how often things go right.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Miss Fix It
Yey me! After months of nagging Hubs to put in a new door knob because ours is broken, we only have one key and I was forever leaving the house unlocked....I drove myself to Home Depot, picked out a new doorknob and dead bolt and installed them.
Just.
Like.
That.
Tomorrow I'm tackling the half stripped bookshelf that has been sitting in my garage for a year.
Just.
Like.
That.
Tomorrow I'm tackling the half stripped bookshelf that has been sitting in my garage for a year.
Reality Check
Although my big kids are away for the week (read: relax and sleep), Charming decided to give up sleeping. Late to bed, up all night, ready for the day at SIX. A.M. Yeah, to say I was annoyed is an understatement. And then I got this tip from Joyce:
There is an Infertility Film Festival. Who knew? And I popped over to watch a couple videos. This is my favorite so far. And, be aware, they aren't all Christian, so prepare yourself for some language, etc.
Anyway, it gave me a healthy dose of reality. How far I've come in seven years. You know, the last days of July seven years ago our third adoption was falling through. I had several positive pregnancy tests and no one to show for it. I hadn't had a positive test in eight months (because I quit taking them, probably). And I was certain the agency we were working with would never call us again after the fiasco we'd just gone through.
As Liz would say, my Joy in the Morning was on it's way. Or as I would say, my Joy after the Mourning was on it's way. But I didn't know that.
All that to say, that Charming's smile is being quite a lot better received than it was two hours ago.
What a long way we've come.
Oh, and if you pop over to the festival, bring a box of tissues.
There is an Infertility Film Festival. Who knew? And I popped over to watch a couple videos. This is my favorite so far. And, be aware, they aren't all Christian, so prepare yourself for some language, etc.
Anyway, it gave me a healthy dose of reality. How far I've come in seven years. You know, the last days of July seven years ago our third adoption was falling through. I had several positive pregnancy tests and no one to show for it. I hadn't had a positive test in eight months (because I quit taking them, probably). And I was certain the agency we were working with would never call us again after the fiasco we'd just gone through.
As Liz would say, my Joy in the Morning was on it's way. Or as I would say, my Joy after the Mourning was on it's way. But I didn't know that.
All that to say, that Charming's smile is being quite a lot better received than it was two hours ago.
What a long way we've come.
Oh, and if you pop over to the festival, bring a box of tissues.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
it is a Psalm 15 kinda day--in that I wish I were....
I am sad.
Or in the words of a great children's author, "A might melancholy. A bit blue." It could be that my three larger babies are at Grandma's for a week. It could be that, as Hubs tells me, I've become unsocial. I don't know what it is, exactly.
It could be that I've been in a situation that brings out the self-loathing in me again. Too much social life on my weekend calendar. Too much talking in my social life.
I'm still self-flagellating over the outfit ordeal. Which is so far in the past that one must wonder what it is that keeps bringing it to mind.
I should be self congratulating. I had an opportunity to say exactly what I wanted to say, and didn't say it. Holding my tongue is NOT my forte. And I did. The words would have sounded nice. If I typed them, you would wonder what it was that was so wrong with the statement. But my meaning wouldn't have been nice and I would have known it. And I didn't say it.
No, but I didn't keep my peace either. I didn't give off positive vibes. Or a favorable impression. I have got to learn to control myself. It doesn't matter that I'm irritated. And it doesn't matter that I didn't say anything particularly negative to or about the person on the receiving end. I still shrouded myself in negativity.
Have you ever heard of the motivational speaker, Ed Foreman? If you ever get a chance you should sit in on one of his seminars. In his "How to have a gooooooood day every day" (or something like that) he makes a statement, "I'd never met anyone so enthusiastically negative in my whole life!" Today I feel like that person.
I don't know if that is why I'm sad. I just don't know. but I'll leave you with that alliterative author and her great book anyway:
Or in the words of a great children's author, "A might melancholy. A bit blue." It could be that my three larger babies are at Grandma's for a week. It could be that, as Hubs tells me, I've become unsocial. I don't know what it is, exactly.
It could be that I've been in a situation that brings out the self-loathing in me again. Too much social life on my weekend calendar. Too much talking in my social life.
I'm still self-flagellating over the outfit ordeal. Which is so far in the past that one must wonder what it is that keeps bringing it to mind.
I should be self congratulating. I had an opportunity to say exactly what I wanted to say, and didn't say it. Holding my tongue is NOT my forte. And I did. The words would have sounded nice. If I typed them, you would wonder what it was that was so wrong with the statement. But my meaning wouldn't have been nice and I would have known it. And I didn't say it.
No, but I didn't keep my peace either. I didn't give off positive vibes. Or a favorable impression. I have got to learn to control myself. It doesn't matter that I'm irritated. And it doesn't matter that I didn't say anything particularly negative to or about the person on the receiving end. I still shrouded myself in negativity.
Have you ever heard of the motivational speaker, Ed Foreman? If you ever get a chance you should sit in on one of his seminars. In his "How to have a gooooooood day every day" (or something like that) he makes a statement, "I'd never met anyone so enthusiastically negative in my whole life!" Today I feel like that person.
I don't know if that is why I'm sad. I just don't know. but I'll leave you with that alliterative author and her great book anyway:
Friday, July 27, 2007
Bringing Me To Tears
I cried for Eldest's birth mother today. Nearly seven years later and I still shed tears for her. The story goes like this:
When we got the call that we could potentially parent Eldest, we'd had three situations fall through for us already. You could say we were cautiously optimistic. In Arkansas, where he was born, the law states that the birth mothers can sign before the baby is born. She has ten days after the baby is born to change her mind and get him back, but the clock doesn't start ticking until she has signed and she can't sign under the influence of anything (including pain meds for the delivery). Sooooo, she can sign before she goes into labor and the clock starts ticking immediately at birth. And we actually had to wait 12 because her 10th day was on a weekend so they gave her the weekend plus Monday.
By the way, this, to me, is a huge pro-life kind of a law. If she can sign consents before the BABY is born, the BABY is in fact a BABY. Go figure. Here she could still have aborted him and called him "tissue." Off topic. Climbing down off my soapbox.
Well, she did sign. But we were still a hair gun shy. We didn't buy a single thing. Not even diapers. We went into her room and met her and she made us believe it would probably happen, but we still didn't really think we'd come home with a baby. Not really. Not enough to run out shopping while we waited for them to be dismissed.
Yes. We were new parents. We should have been excited. And we were. But not so much that we went out and bought a "coming home from the hospital" outfit. I didn't want anything that I'd memorialize should she change her mind.
Hindsight. Probably a bit overboard.
So when she called to tell the attorney that she and he were being released, she asked if we had an outfit for him to leave the hospital. I hadn't thought that far. I scrambled through the clothes we'd borrowed and found something that I thought would fit this teeny guy. It was a red sleeper with Mickey Mouse on it. Obviously worn.
She sent him home to us in that outfit. And with him came the most adorable little white sailor suit. Someone had obviously picked it out for him. I can only hope it was one of her friends. But today when I saw the sailor suit I cried for her. To love him so much and let him go and to have to send him away to people who didn't even buy him something new to come home from the hospital in...
So hating myself right now. Why didn't we just take the plunge and buy an outfit on hope? We had a special one on court day which was the day I had earmarked as a "big day," but the other was a big, momentous day, too.
So today, seven years later, I'm shedding guilty tears. I hope she knows what a big day that day was for us. Regardless of appearances.
When we got the call that we could potentially parent Eldest, we'd had three situations fall through for us already. You could say we were cautiously optimistic. In Arkansas, where he was born, the law states that the birth mothers can sign before the baby is born. She has ten days after the baby is born to change her mind and get him back, but the clock doesn't start ticking until she has signed and she can't sign under the influence of anything (including pain meds for the delivery). Sooooo, she can sign before she goes into labor and the clock starts ticking immediately at birth. And we actually had to wait 12 because her 10th day was on a weekend so they gave her the weekend plus Monday.
By the way, this, to me, is a huge pro-life kind of a law. If she can sign consents before the BABY is born, the BABY is in fact a BABY. Go figure. Here she could still have aborted him and called him "tissue." Off topic. Climbing down off my soapbox.
Well, she did sign. But we were still a hair gun shy. We didn't buy a single thing. Not even diapers. We went into her room and met her and she made us believe it would probably happen, but we still didn't really think we'd come home with a baby. Not really. Not enough to run out shopping while we waited for them to be dismissed.
Yes. We were new parents. We should have been excited. And we were. But not so much that we went out and bought a "coming home from the hospital" outfit. I didn't want anything that I'd memorialize should she change her mind.
Hindsight. Probably a bit overboard.
So when she called to tell the attorney that she and he were being released, she asked if we had an outfit for him to leave the hospital. I hadn't thought that far. I scrambled through the clothes we'd borrowed and found something that I thought would fit this teeny guy. It was a red sleeper with Mickey Mouse on it. Obviously worn.
She sent him home to us in that outfit. And with him came the most adorable little white sailor suit. Someone had obviously picked it out for him. I can only hope it was one of her friends. But today when I saw the sailor suit I cried for her. To love him so much and let him go and to have to send him away to people who didn't even buy him something new to come home from the hospital in...
So hating myself right now. Why didn't we just take the plunge and buy an outfit on hope? We had a special one on court day which was the day I had earmarked as a "big day," but the other was a big, momentous day, too.
So today, seven years later, I'm shedding guilty tears. I hope she knows what a big day that day was for us. Regardless of appearances.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
I've Become One of Them
I've done diaper studies for years. A diaper company provides you with a set of diapers, you tell them what you think. They pay you. Free diapers. Money. Need I say more?
I've done these studies through the same group for years.
I've gone to the same orientation meeting for years.
(The questions have gotten quite a bit more detailed over the years, but basically it's the same thing.)
For years I've obeyed the rules. Show up 15 minutes early for the 30 minute session. Fill out paperwork during the 15, lady talks for 30.
I've wised up. If you go to the last session of the day, she abbreviates the talk. She's said the same thing 15 times already and knows that the vast majority of the moms in the room are, in fact, smarter than a post and could figure out what to do even if she didn't tell them. (You know, they should ask when they call if you've ever been and save the "real"orientation for the new people who aren't sure they are smarter than a post until they get home and realize a chimp could figure the questionnaire out. Let the rest of us just pop in and pick up our stuff. IMHO.)
So, like I said, I've wised up. Because inevitably a woman or three come staggering in late and the teacher lady waits for them to sign in and starts over. I'm there 45 minutes, the late staggerer is there 10 max. Today, I intended to get there just on time and figured I could fill out my paperwork while she was pausing for the staggerers. I hit traffic. I became a staggerer.
There is a reason people are staggerers. It is NICE to be the staggerer. I shaved 35 minutes off my time and I didn't have to be annoyed at the staggerers and inwardly fume that SURELY if I could make it one time she could.
She probably could, but chose to wonder why bother?
I so get it now.
I didn't mean to, but I'm not so sure I'm gonna stress about it anymore.
I know. That makes me one of those inconsiderate people. But the truth is, after the study is over I'll promise myself it isn't worth it because I always do. Until the next time. And by then, I'm sure I'll have forgotten that I would intentionally be rude. Therefore I won't be. So I'm going to justify this rude like desire on the basis of I'll never follow through.
Except--For as a man thinketh....
I've done these studies through the same group for years.
I've gone to the same orientation meeting for years.
(The questions have gotten quite a bit more detailed over the years, but basically it's the same thing.)
For years I've obeyed the rules. Show up 15 minutes early for the 30 minute session. Fill out paperwork during the 15, lady talks for 30.
I've wised up. If you go to the last session of the day, she abbreviates the talk. She's said the same thing 15 times already and knows that the vast majority of the moms in the room are, in fact, smarter than a post and could figure out what to do even if she didn't tell them. (You know, they should ask when they call if you've ever been and save the "real"orientation for the new people who aren't sure they are smarter than a post until they get home and realize a chimp could figure the questionnaire out. Let the rest of us just pop in and pick up our stuff. IMHO.)
So, like I said, I've wised up. Because inevitably a woman or three come staggering in late and the teacher lady waits for them to sign in and starts over. I'm there 45 minutes, the late staggerer is there 10 max. Today, I intended to get there just on time and figured I could fill out my paperwork while she was pausing for the staggerers. I hit traffic. I became a staggerer.
There is a reason people are staggerers. It is NICE to be the staggerer. I shaved 35 minutes off my time and I didn't have to be annoyed at the staggerers and inwardly fume that SURELY if I could make it one time she could.
She probably could, but chose to wonder why bother?
I so get it now.
I didn't mean to, but I'm not so sure I'm gonna stress about it anymore.
I know. That makes me one of those inconsiderate people. But the truth is, after the study is over I'll promise myself it isn't worth it because I always do. Until the next time. And by then, I'm sure I'll have forgotten that I would intentionally be rude. Therefore I won't be. So I'm going to justify this rude like desire on the basis of I'll never follow through.
Except--For as a man thinketh....
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
From Nope
Okay, with sales, you'll do better than Amazon on markers. I'd have edited the last post, but I'm having blogger issues again.
Is it me, or is it them?
I think it must be me.
Is it me, or is it them?
I think it must be me.
Here's an Idea
I've been fussing with my friends about school supplies. Sure, you can get ten cent notebooks at Wal-Mart, but when the teacher insists upon a certain brand of paints and markers it can get expensive fast. For example: Prang Paints. One, they are $3.50. Two, the kids used them, maybe, twice. But this summer they've used them enough that I have to buy new. Very Frustrating. Why the expensive brand if you won't use them anyway? However, on a whim today I checked Amazon. Lo and behold, they beat Wal-Mart prices. I'm going to check Crayola washable markers now, but I thought I'd share.
And for those of you who live nearby, if you haven't bought yet and want to combine an order to avoid shipping, let me know. Because once you pay shipping, well, it defeats the purpose.
And for those of you who live nearby, if you haven't bought yet and want to combine an order to avoid shipping, let me know. Because once you pay shipping, well, it defeats the purpose.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
By request
Julie asked, and in case someone else wants:
Pasta Alfredo
8 oz pasta (if you want to be like the hut, use a tri-shaped pasta mix)
1 1/2 cups whipping cream
1 1/2 cups milk (I used 1%)
3 tablespoons butter--the real stuff
3 tablespoons flour
2 cups (8 ounces) grated Parmesan and Romano cheese--I used it out of a can, but I'm sure fresh would be even better.
1/2 t salt
1/2 t pepper
1/2 lb browned sausage
Cook pasta according to package; drain
While the pasta is cooking, combine cream and milk and bring to room temp or warmer. I microwaved it. But be careful, the micro can really do a job on milk. Or the milk will to the micro. I know this from experience.
Melt butter. Whisk in flour. Add milk mixture all at once (if you add it cold, your flour will lump). Keep whisking it until it comes to a boil. Lower heat and continue to whisk for five minutes until it thickens. Add Parmesan/Romano, salt and pepper. Whisk until smooth.
Now, I dumped the pasta into a big bowl, dumped the sausage over it and the sauce over that, stirred it up and served it. If you want it more old school Hut like, stir the sausage into the sauce, pour over pasta in individual baking pans (like creme brulee dishes), top with Mozzarella and broil until the Moz is melty and bubbly and browning.
And these amounts are the corrected amounts. I began with a Pampered Chef recipe that called for way too much pasta. It was a bit too dry for our tastes. We like things extra saucy. That and it made way too much. We'll could all eat it for three meals and still have some left, I think. This ought to better serve a "normal" family. Well, maybe not with teens. I don't know about that. You might want to double the sauce and use a pound of pasta.
Pasta Alfredo
8 oz pasta (if you want to be like the hut, use a tri-shaped pasta mix)
1 1/2 cups whipping cream
1 1/2 cups milk (I used 1%)
3 tablespoons butter--the real stuff
3 tablespoons flour
2 cups (8 ounces) grated Parmesan and Romano cheese--I used it out of a can, but I'm sure fresh would be even better.
1/2 t salt
1/2 t pepper
1/2 lb browned sausage
Cook pasta according to package; drain
While the pasta is cooking, combine cream and milk and bring to room temp or warmer. I microwaved it. But be careful, the micro can really do a job on milk. Or the milk will to the micro. I know this from experience.
Melt butter. Whisk in flour. Add milk mixture all at once (if you add it cold, your flour will lump). Keep whisking it until it comes to a boil. Lower heat and continue to whisk for five minutes until it thickens. Add Parmesan/Romano, salt and pepper. Whisk until smooth.
Now, I dumped the pasta into a big bowl, dumped the sausage over it and the sauce over that, stirred it up and served it. If you want it more old school Hut like, stir the sausage into the sauce, pour over pasta in individual baking pans (like creme brulee dishes), top with Mozzarella and broil until the Moz is melty and bubbly and browning.
And these amounts are the corrected amounts. I began with a Pampered Chef recipe that called for way too much pasta. It was a bit too dry for our tastes. We like things extra saucy. That and it made way too much. We'll could all eat it for three meals and still have some left, I think. This ought to better serve a "normal" family. Well, maybe not with teens. I don't know about that. You might want to double the sauce and use a pound of pasta.
Pepto Bath
So? Better than the pepto bismol bath of the soul? I'm liking the horsehead nebula. Looks pretty chaotic. Suits me.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Congrats Me!
I've figured out Pizza Hut's OLD fettuccine recipe (circa 1993). With a little less pasta and a little more sauce, I will have it perfected.
Neener-neener Hut, you can change your recipe, but you won't convert me.
Neener-neener Hut, you can change your recipe, but you won't convert me.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Barnard 33
What I got from here: The dark nebula that forms the Horsehead itself is known as Barnard 33 (B 33).
Yeah, I had to pick a lovely nebula with a name like Barnard. See? What did I tell you?
Hello, I'm from the Horsehead Nebulae
Do any of you wonder if you really operate on a whole other wavelength from the vast majority of people with whom you come into contact? You know, Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus, and though you'd secretly thought your mother had adopted you from Jupiter, you woke one day to discover you are from a whole different galaxy?
That's what I've felt like this weekend.
Like, I'll be in a group, and they are talking about a subject. And everyone there seems to be on the same plain, right? Except me. I can't wrap my brain around what they are talking about because I have this whole other nagging issue about what I THOUGHT we were talking about, but I'm the only one.
Worse (as if it could worse than operating on a different plain than your whole social network), here's an example:
I am obsessed with a house that is for sale. Right next door to said house is a gorgeous home. Plenty big for my family. Looks like a neat layout. THIRTY-THOUSAND dollars less than the one I'm obsessed with. See, I could be obsessed with a home with nice siding, move in ready, yellow (I live yellow homes), well-landscaped, CHEAPER, and very stereotypical I-have-arrived-in-this-county home that 99% of the people I know would love to have. Well, I think so. Anyway...
No, I must be obsessed with the repo next door. There is a massive hole in the dining room ceiling. The siding on this house is Nas-ty. You just drive by this house and it looks like a wart on the nose of the neighborhood princess. I want the silly house. And it costs $30,000 more! And I have no idea why. But I keep asking Hubs if we can go see it. As if we could afford it, anyway.
(We can't even afford the one next door! Shoot, we can't afford the one we are currently in!)
Here's one more:
So Hubs might sell his company. I say might because the counter offer that was supposed to come in, didn't. And I'm supposed to be praying that this will happen. And last night I confessed to Hubs that I can't pray it. I'm scared of the money. I only know broke. I have a whole identity in broke. I love clearance racks. I get a rush out of buying three pair of jeans, two skirts, a pair of shoes and a hair thingy for $24.53. Not only that, what if I can't change to accommodate having money and Hubs leaves me for a woman who likes the lavish lifestyle? What if the money changes me and I just want more and more sparkley things? What if our children get even more materialistic than they already are?
What if, what if, what if???????
See? I'm a freak. I'm from the Horsehead Nebulae. I'm only pretending to be Venutian.
That's what I've felt like this weekend.
Like, I'll be in a group, and they are talking about a subject. And everyone there seems to be on the same plain, right? Except me. I can't wrap my brain around what they are talking about because I have this whole other nagging issue about what I THOUGHT we were talking about, but I'm the only one.
Worse (as if it could worse than operating on a different plain than your whole social network), here's an example:
I am obsessed with a house that is for sale. Right next door to said house is a gorgeous home. Plenty big for my family. Looks like a neat layout. THIRTY-THOUSAND dollars less than the one I'm obsessed with. See, I could be obsessed with a home with nice siding, move in ready, yellow (I live yellow homes), well-landscaped, CHEAPER, and very stereotypical I-have-arrived-in-this-county home that 99% of the people I know would love to have. Well, I think so. Anyway...
No, I must be obsessed with the repo next door. There is a massive hole in the dining room ceiling. The siding on this house is Nas-ty. You just drive by this house and it looks like a wart on the nose of the neighborhood princess. I want the silly house. And it costs $30,000 more! And I have no idea why. But I keep asking Hubs if we can go see it. As if we could afford it, anyway.
(We can't even afford the one next door! Shoot, we can't afford the one we are currently in!)
Here's one more:
So Hubs might sell his company. I say might because the counter offer that was supposed to come in, didn't. And I'm supposed to be praying that this will happen. And last night I confessed to Hubs that I can't pray it. I'm scared of the money. I only know broke. I have a whole identity in broke. I love clearance racks. I get a rush out of buying three pair of jeans, two skirts, a pair of shoes and a hair thingy for $24.53. Not only that, what if I can't change to accommodate having money and Hubs leaves me for a woman who likes the lavish lifestyle? What if the money changes me and I just want more and more sparkley things? What if our children get even more materialistic than they already are?
What if, what if, what if???????
See? I'm a freak. I'm from the Horsehead Nebulae. I'm only pretending to be Venutian.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Linky Love
Mandy posted this too many days ago to admit, but I'm behind, even on my favorites.
I have to admit we are in the midst of something right now that makes this so apropos.
I have to admit we are in the midst of something right now that makes this so apropos.
A Couple Bits of Randomosity
Charming seems to be on the mend. He, however, coughed and sneezed into my face one too many times. By the sheer amount of eye goo, I have determined that his lung thing has invaded my eyes. Better than staying up all night coughing, but still.
And friends and I traded calls all day as we discovered the clearance racks. A friend called to send me to Old Navy for cheap jeans for Princess (I found some for Eldest also).
On one of my outings I picked up milk. I decided it is a sad day when a gallon of milk costs more than a pair of jeans.
And friends and I traded calls all day as we discovered the clearance racks. A friend called to send me to Old Navy for cheap jeans for Princess (I found some for Eldest also).
On one of my outings I picked up milk. I decided it is a sad day when a gallon of milk costs more than a pair of jeans.
It's Done
Well, I gave in and had the Pepsi.
And then another.
And then two coffees later, (plus some more Pepsi) and Princess' room is pronounced clean.
Even that crevice between her bed skirt and the wall.
That ought to last about four hours.
And then another.
And then two coffees later, (plus some more Pepsi) and Princess' room is pronounced clean.
Even that crevice between her bed skirt and the wall.
That ought to last about four hours.
Friday, July 20, 2007
One Thing
I promised myself that today I would take care of two problems.
Princess' bedroom.
The living room.
I would obsess about nothing else today. Tackle those two and have a successful day.
I just went up there and couldn't do it.
The thing about kids' rooms is that you can make them clean them, but until you, the mom, go in there and take care of all the rinky-dink junky-junk around the perimeter, the room really just doesn't look clean. Oh, how I abhor that job. Because I see trash. I treat it as such. But the kids? They notice I've entered their rooms and they come supervise. And every piece of crap(visualize a strike through) treasure I lay my hands upon is at once declared priceless.
If it is so durn priceless, why has it been stored here in this crevice between the bed skirt and the wall for these last three months?
I can do this. I can.
If only I have a Pepsi first.
Princess' bedroom.
The living room.
I would obsess about nothing else today. Tackle those two and have a successful day.
I just went up there and couldn't do it.
The thing about kids' rooms is that you can make them clean them, but until you, the mom, go in there and take care of all the rinky-dink junky-junk around the perimeter, the room really just doesn't look clean. Oh, how I abhor that job. Because I see trash. I treat it as such. But the kids? They notice I've entered their rooms and they come supervise. And every piece of crap(visualize a strike through) treasure I lay my hands upon is at once declared priceless.
If it is so durn priceless, why has it been stored here in this crevice between the bed skirt and the wall for these last three months?
I can do this. I can.
If only I have a Pepsi first.
My Name is Jamie
And I'm a Pepsi-holic.
I opened the fridge this morning, going for the milk, when I spotted it. An open two liter. Suddenly that was all I wanted. All I could think about. That eight cups of coffee I'd just brewed? Not interested. The standard breakfast fare of a string cheese stick? No thanks. Not unless I could have a Pepsi with it.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a problem.
I do OK as long as Hubs doesn't crack open a two liter and store it in the fridge. Room temperature Pepsi has no hold over me. A sealed two liter I can resist. Especially if it is in the garage. A can, even in the fridge? I can usually hold off until my 3 o'clock break. That open two liter first thing in the morning?
I can think of nothing else.
I opened the fridge this morning, going for the milk, when I spotted it. An open two liter. Suddenly that was all I wanted. All I could think about. That eight cups of coffee I'd just brewed? Not interested. The standard breakfast fare of a string cheese stick? No thanks. Not unless I could have a Pepsi with it.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a problem.
I do OK as long as Hubs doesn't crack open a two liter and store it in the fridge. Room temperature Pepsi has no hold over me. A sealed two liter I can resist. Especially if it is in the garage. A can, even in the fridge? I can usually hold off until my 3 o'clock break. That open two liter first thing in the morning?
I can think of nothing else.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Rest In Peace
Way back in September of 2002, Hubs and I took our second and final voyage upon the SS Norway. Nine months later there was an explosion in the boiler room while she was in port. Last I heard, she was rotting away in that ship graveyard somewhere in Asia (Thailand?).
I have mourned the loss of that ship. She was old. My friend called her "shabby chic." It wasn't a cruise ship for rich people; it was a cruise ship for real people. (I think lots of cruise ships would say that about themselves, but I'm not sure I agree.) She wasn't flashy. There were a couple small pools. A couple hot tubs. Several "lounges." Our favorite was this jazz bar with a dance floor that was nearly always empty. You could sit in there and visit and relax and the music was wonderful. No climbing walls. No water slides. But lots of deck chairs.
The staterooms were teeny. Really teeny. I've seen maps of other ships and their smallest rooms were twice the size of our closet. And we never had one with a porthole. So they were black as night whenever you wanted to sleep. But it didn't matter because you could just go find a lounge or a deck chair and read or visit and relax.
What I loved most about this ship was that our last cruise on her was $250 per person for seven days in the Caribbean. You can't match it. (Not for a cruise, anyway.) On our last trip we got to take our very good friends and that made it that much more fun.
Sigh.
One of the lesser known benefits of this cruise (and I suppose many) is if you went to 10 "work out" sessions, you got a free t-shirt. As we are cheap and didn't want to buy the $20 t-shirts, all four of us did it. (One of the work out sessions was a putting contest. Another one was "sports trivia.")
This morning, Eldest pointed out that my shirt had a hole in the armpit. Boy, did it. A hole the size of a large fist. It will have to be put out of commission.
My Norway is crumbling and I can't stop it.
Rest in peace old girl. Rest in peace. Here's to many fond memories.
I have mourned the loss of that ship. She was old. My friend called her "shabby chic." It wasn't a cruise ship for rich people; it was a cruise ship for real people. (I think lots of cruise ships would say that about themselves, but I'm not sure I agree.) She wasn't flashy. There were a couple small pools. A couple hot tubs. Several "lounges." Our favorite was this jazz bar with a dance floor that was nearly always empty. You could sit in there and visit and relax and the music was wonderful. No climbing walls. No water slides. But lots of deck chairs.
The staterooms were teeny. Really teeny. I've seen maps of other ships and their smallest rooms were twice the size of our closet. And we never had one with a porthole. So they were black as night whenever you wanted to sleep. But it didn't matter because you could just go find a lounge or a deck chair and read or visit and relax.
What I loved most about this ship was that our last cruise on her was $250 per person for seven days in the Caribbean. You can't match it. (Not for a cruise, anyway.) On our last trip we got to take our very good friends and that made it that much more fun.
Sigh.
One of the lesser known benefits of this cruise (and I suppose many) is if you went to 10 "work out" sessions, you got a free t-shirt. As we are cheap and didn't want to buy the $20 t-shirts, all four of us did it. (One of the work out sessions was a putting contest. Another one was "sports trivia.")
This morning, Eldest pointed out that my shirt had a hole in the armpit. Boy, did it. A hole the size of a large fist. It will have to be put out of commission.
My Norway is crumbling and I can't stop it.
Rest in peace old girl. Rest in peace. Here's to many fond memories.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
In Answer...
No, no and double no, Nurse Boy. I do not keep that show on the air. However...
I am not known for having good taste in television. As my addiction to Survivor 2 (Outback) can attest. (take THAT Nurse Boy!) Is there anything GOOD on TV? (Aside from Heroes which I didn't discover until the third to last episode and isn't playing this summer. And is still gory.)
I don't have cable.
The baby's been sick, won't sleep and won't let me read.
Desperate times require desperate measures.
I watched some NOVA thing on PBS about glowing microbes. I watched a bit of that Candid Camera thing I think they call Just for Laughs (okay and the dude peeing into a theme park river was too funny!). And eventually the options were Who's the Boss or Shaq.
I wanted some motivation to NOT eat the ice cream, but it ended up back firing.
I enjoyed every bite, by the way.
I am not known for having good taste in television. As my addiction to Survivor 2 (Outback) can attest. (take THAT Nurse Boy!) Is there anything GOOD on TV? (Aside from Heroes which I didn't discover until the third to last episode and isn't playing this summer. And is still gory.)
I don't have cable.
The baby's been sick, won't sleep and won't let me read.
Desperate times require desperate measures.
I watched some NOVA thing on PBS about glowing microbes. I watched a bit of that Candid Camera thing I think they call Just for Laughs (okay and the dude peeing into a theme park river was too funny!). And eventually the options were Who's the Boss or Shaq.
I wanted some motivation to NOT eat the ice cream, but it ended up back firing.
I enjoyed every bite, by the way.
I'm so stoked!
(DUDE!) Or is "stoked" a drug reference? I'm so ignorant of those things. I say words for years and then I find out what I really means after it is already part of my habit vocabulary. Don't get me started on the British F-word that starts with B. I'm telling you, I can't stop. I try, but I'm failing.
None of that was my point. As if I have one.
As I've said before, I review for Armchair Interviews. Yesterday, when the list came around, Cindy Woodsmall's new book When the Morning Comes was on it. I read When the Heart Cries last year and it just tore me up. When I talked to Cindy at the ACFW conference she told me how long it would be until the sequel came out and I wanted to crawl into a hole and blubber for a while. And though I offered to be a "first reader" (look for plot holes and give my very valuable opinion (snort!)) she didn't take me up on it. (Can't imagine why...my lack of publishing credits, you suppose?)
Anyway, I have too many books in my log so I was slow to even check the Armchair list, but when I did I BEGGED and Andrea gave it to me!
If Cindy does even half as well as she did in Heart, I'm in for a great read. Woo-hoo!
None of that was my point. As if I have one.
As I've said before, I review for Armchair Interviews. Yesterday, when the list came around, Cindy Woodsmall's new book When the Morning Comes was on it. I read When the Heart Cries last year and it just tore me up. When I talked to Cindy at the ACFW conference she told me how long it would be until the sequel came out and I wanted to crawl into a hole and blubber for a while. And though I offered to be a "first reader" (look for plot holes and give my very valuable opinion (snort!)) she didn't take me up on it. (Can't imagine why...my lack of publishing credits, you suppose?)
Anyway, I have too many books in my log so I was slow to even check the Armchair list, but when I did I BEGGED and Andrea gave it to me!
If Cindy does even half as well as she did in Heart, I'm in for a great read. Woo-hoo!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Ultimate Oxymoron
Polishing off a tub of Blue Bell Cherry Vanilla while watching Shaq's Big Challenge.
Yes. I. Did.
Yes. I. Did.
If you are in to books....
Here's a fun survey. It is interesting to see what thought process the pub houses go through to get the cover right. And you might win a free book out of the deal. I did a survey like this last year for the book The Heir. I think they ended us with the cover I liked best. (Yeah, me and 600 other people....)
YES!
Apparently it takes more calories to jiggle a hysterical baby all night than it does to sleep. I've lost three pounds and not given up ice cream! In fact, my sugar consumption has increased dramatically in the last four days. And last night I had a Creme Brule that was so full of fat, I could feel the lard coating the inside of my mouth.
Still no sleep in sight...
There is a silver lining to all things, isn't there?
Still no sleep in sight...
There is a silver lining to all things, isn't there?
Monday, July 16, 2007
Today?
Basically a repeat of yesterday.
Except I've gone 24 more hours without sleep.
Still have high hopes for tomorrow.
Except I've gone 24 more hours without sleep.
Still have high hopes for tomorrow.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Bad Mom Day
I wish bad mom days could be covered as easily with a ponytail as bad hair days. I suppose you can cover them with kisses and I-Love-Yous, but the damage has still been done and the hurt could possibly remain.
Charming isn't well. I won't go as far as calling him "sick" because, for one, I've read too many books lately with mortally ill children and, for two, because I think he is on the mend. However, that doesn't negate the fact that he's been up most of two days and I'm including the nights with that. Forty-eight hours of fussy baby who must be held, bites when I try to nurse and won't sleep.
Makes Mama a little crazy.
It is on days like these that I expect my "big" kids to take care of themselves. If, on the off chance, Charming lets me put him down for ten seconds, I might, perchance, want to cook something.
OK, seriously, I don't WANT to cook something. I NEED to cook something or we will forage all weekend for food and Hubs gets grumpy and I feel wretched (crackers and cheese might be a healthy snack, but isn't healthy over six meals).
But, as usual, if I begin to cook something, Charming again needs me. Hubs thinks that there is nothing he can do for the baby (not that I do either, but I AM the mom...).
Picture, if you can: Crying baby, bread dough very over-risen, cabinets covered in cooking apparatai, me juggling baby and Frodo asking every 12.4 seconds for strawberries.
I CAN'T DO IT ALL, PEOPLE!
So when say Eldest or Princess come in the room and ask a very reasonable request, what does Mom do?
BLAGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! (remember Animal from the Muppet Show? Or maybe the Tasmanian Devil?)
Yeah, I spent the day wishing my kids would ACT THEIR AGE! And then I remembered that they are. They area acting like children. Young children. Which anyone with half a mind would recognize them being.
I could argue that with as little sleep as I've had that I only have half a mind left, but excuses don't cut it when there are people with feelings involved.
The nice thing is, they all still love me. Kissed me goodnight. And are very willing recipients when I do have time to give them. But, I'm reminded, the clock's ticking. They are growing up and leaving me and I will just want them to be little again.
Tomorrow, first thing, I'm going to....
And the nighttime resolutions begin. Tomorrow's another day.
Charming isn't well. I won't go as far as calling him "sick" because, for one, I've read too many books lately with mortally ill children and, for two, because I think he is on the mend. However, that doesn't negate the fact that he's been up most of two days and I'm including the nights with that. Forty-eight hours of fussy baby who must be held, bites when I try to nurse and won't sleep.
Makes Mama a little crazy.
It is on days like these that I expect my "big" kids to take care of themselves. If, on the off chance, Charming lets me put him down for ten seconds, I might, perchance, want to cook something.
OK, seriously, I don't WANT to cook something. I NEED to cook something or we will forage all weekend for food and Hubs gets grumpy and I feel wretched (crackers and cheese might be a healthy snack, but isn't healthy over six meals).
But, as usual, if I begin to cook something, Charming again needs me. Hubs thinks that there is nothing he can do for the baby (not that I do either, but I AM the mom...).
Picture, if you can: Crying baby, bread dough very over-risen, cabinets covered in cooking apparatai, me juggling baby and Frodo asking every 12.4 seconds for strawberries.
I CAN'T DO IT ALL, PEOPLE!
So when say Eldest or Princess come in the room and ask a very reasonable request, what does Mom do?
BLAGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! (remember Animal from the Muppet Show? Or maybe the Tasmanian Devil?)
Yeah, I spent the day wishing my kids would ACT THEIR AGE! And then I remembered that they are. They area acting like children. Young children. Which anyone with half a mind would recognize them being.
I could argue that with as little sleep as I've had that I only have half a mind left, but excuses don't cut it when there are people with feelings involved.
The nice thing is, they all still love me. Kissed me goodnight. And are very willing recipients when I do have time to give them. But, I'm reminded, the clock's ticking. They are growing up and leaving me and I will just want them to be little again.
Tomorrow, first thing, I'm going to....
And the nighttime resolutions begin. Tomorrow's another day.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Memeology
From my pal, Mandy.
Kansas City Chiefs? Is it 70 degrees? At the stadium. Below 30? At home. Above 90? At home. I think. Unless I'm on the shady side of the stadium.
Kansas Basketball? Home.
I think I'm spoiled to have a lot of great mentors. I don't know if they know they are my mentors...and some writers are my mentor because they've written stuff that I just want to eat with a spoon over and over until I figure out how to live those different aspects of my life.
I guess I'm going to weenie out on this answer. Because some people that I've wanted to learn more from? Probably not as great as they sound in their books or on their tapes. Would I like Dave Ramsey following me around telling me how to save money? Yes. All the time? Not if there is an ice cream parlor around. Would I like Dr Laura reminding me how to care for my husband? Yes. All the time? I think I would hate her. Would I like the flylady telling me how to keep my house neat? yes. Except on the days I don't WANT to wear lace up shoes. Which is most of them. John Rosemond or Kevin Leman telling me how to parent? Until they said something that I wholeheartedly didn't agree with.
I guess I'm just a hair too stubborn. My pastor's wife is a pretty good mentor to me though.
What set your spouse apart and made you choose him or her?
Truthfully? He would fight with me. All we ever really did was disagree in our early years. You should have seen the sparks fly when we ran against each other for Stu-Co president! I loved that he held to his beliefs. And sometimes he would say things, just to set me off and see if I would hold to my beliefs. This following a guy who was so passive he let me win all the time. Sometimes I didn't want to win! Show me some FIRE! Some passion! (And eventually the fire and passion took over with Hubs ;D)What type of music should someone play for you if his goal is to drive you insane?
Techo-crap. My Brother-In-Law gave Eldest a CD of his "music" that makes me want to claw my eardrums out when it has been played for the fifty-sixth time in a row. 'I am the operator with the pocket calculator....be-de-de-bop-de-dop-dop-ba-dop....I am the operator with the pocket calculator...(wash, rinse, repeat) AaaaaaaaaaaaaaaIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!
Would you rather watch sports at the stadium, or at home in the recliner? (Or never, unless your only other option is to have your toenails pulled out one by one?)
Let us see, shall we? Am I watching the Kansas City Royals in Crown Club seating? At the stadium. Suite seats? At the stadium. Hy-Vee seats with a view of the Crown club? At the stadium. Baseball simply must be seen in person. But I'd rather just sit in Crown. Have I mentioned that?Kansas City Chiefs? Is it 70 degrees? At the stadium. Below 30? At home. Above 90? At home. I think. Unless I'm on the shady side of the stadium.
Kansas Basketball? Home.
Anyone else? Home, unless they are playing the Chiefs.
If you could choose any person to mentor you, living or dead, famous or not, who would that be and why?
Interesting concept. There are people whom I respect in different areas but wouldn't necessarily in others. I mean we could go straight to the correct answer and say "Jesus" which, of course, is the perfect mentor and you could argue that He is still available if you just listen. I'd like someone who could mentor me on listening better.I think I'm spoiled to have a lot of great mentors. I don't know if they know they are my mentors...and some writers are my mentor because they've written stuff that I just want to eat with a spoon over and over until I figure out how to live those different aspects of my life.
I guess I'm going to weenie out on this answer. Because some people that I've wanted to learn more from? Probably not as great as they sound in their books or on their tapes. Would I like Dave Ramsey following me around telling me how to save money? Yes. All the time? Not if there is an ice cream parlor around. Would I like Dr Laura reminding me how to care for my husband? Yes. All the time? I think I would hate her. Would I like the flylady telling me how to keep my house neat? yes. Except on the days I don't WANT to wear lace up shoes. Which is most of them. John Rosemond or Kevin Leman telling me how to parent? Until they said something that I wholeheartedly didn't agree with.
I guess I'm just a hair too stubborn. My pastor's wife is a pretty good mentor to me though.
M & M’s: plain, peanut, almond, crispy, or peanut butter?
peanut. hands down.Unceremoniously Dumped
I realized this week that I have been let go from my columnists position.
I knew it was only a year commitment, but I thought that since there were several of us sharing the post, we'd go through the whole round (of 17). Since I am approximately 15 on the 17 scale, my number didn't come back up for the fourth round in the year's time.
This week they started the new year's columnists.
I was trying to figure out what to write for my "last column" and I realized I don't even get to do it. There was no email thanking me for my year, my contributions, for nothing (you know, "thanks for nada lady"). Nothing that said, "by the way, I know you are due, but you've been replaced."
I knew it was only for a year, but I guess I expected more than just the quiet ushering out. The silence of nothing.
I feel deflated.
Sniff.
I knew it was only a year commitment, but I thought that since there were several of us sharing the post, we'd go through the whole round (of 17). Since I am approximately 15 on the 17 scale, my number didn't come back up for the fourth round in the year's time.
This week they started the new year's columnists.
I was trying to figure out what to write for my "last column" and I realized I don't even get to do it. There was no email thanking me for my year, my contributions, for nothing (you know, "thanks for nada lady"). Nothing that said, "by the way, I know you are due, but you've been replaced."
I knew it was only for a year, but I guess I expected more than just the quiet ushering out. The silence of nothing.
I feel deflated.
Sniff.
The Entrepreneur's Life
This morning, as Hubs tied on his shoes, Frodo looked at him and said, "I don't wike church."
(note: he does. He doesn't like having to wear something other than his Dash PJs and we make him wear real clothes to church.)
And Hubs and I said, basically at the same time, "We aren't going to church today, Buddy."
And Frodo answered, "Then why are you dressed like that, Daddy?"
See, Hubs was wearing Dockers and a polo. Not name brand, mind you, a cheap version. I think he may have even shaved this morning. He has a meeting with a customer.
Does that tell you anything about what he usually wears to work?
By the way, we did, in fact, turn down the "lots of zeros" offer to buy our company. Yikes. I think we are certifiable. (I blame the partners.)
(note: he does. He doesn't like having to wear something other than his Dash PJs and we make him wear real clothes to church.)
And Hubs and I said, basically at the same time, "We aren't going to church today, Buddy."
And Frodo answered, "Then why are you dressed like that, Daddy?"
See, Hubs was wearing Dockers and a polo. Not name brand, mind you, a cheap version. I think he may have even shaved this morning. He has a meeting with a customer.
Does that tell you anything about what he usually wears to work?
By the way, we did, in fact, turn down the "lots of zeros" offer to buy our company. Yikes. I think we are certifiable. (I blame the partners.)
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Arthur and the Invisibles
Because Princess and Eldest are in Day Camp this week I took Frodo to the Summer Movie Series this morning. We went to see Arthur and the Invisibles.
It had potential to be good. Though why I get my hopes up on children's movies these days, I don't know.
I just wanted to warn the parents out there who care there was a WHOLE LOTTA O.M.G.
Now you might say OMG INBD! But I don't. I don't even like to hear my kids say Oh. My. Gosh. I say it. I try not to, but it does come out. We try to focus in on saying goodness or heavens or some such which I know is all a derivative. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Whatever. Think what you like. I don't want a debate over what is okay and what is not.
I'm just warning you that it is said a LOT in this movie. The first time I heard it, I was a little surprised (it is animated, for heaven's sake), but thought that maybe I mis-heard. Well, if I did, I mis-heard it a bunch more times and frankly, I don't like it. And I won't be allowing my kids to get this one from the library.
There is Shrek with his gas problem and calling Donkey "A$$," but this is the Lord's name in vain and is a whole other thing in my books.
It had potential to be good. Though why I get my hopes up on children's movies these days, I don't know.
I just wanted to warn the parents out there who care there was a WHOLE LOTTA O.M.G.
Now you might say OMG INBD! But I don't. I don't even like to hear my kids say Oh. My. Gosh. I say it. I try not to, but it does come out. We try to focus in on saying goodness or heavens or some such which I know is all a derivative. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Whatever. Think what you like. I don't want a debate over what is okay and what is not.
I'm just warning you that it is said a LOT in this movie. The first time I heard it, I was a little surprised (it is animated, for heaven's sake), but thought that maybe I mis-heard. Well, if I did, I mis-heard it a bunch more times and frankly, I don't like it. And I won't be allowing my kids to get this one from the library.
There is Shrek with his gas problem and calling Donkey "A$$," but this is the Lord's name in vain and is a whole other thing in my books.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
It's My Problem, Not His
My home is my domain. And I'm very picky about the way things are run around here. (My Mother in law is snickering now.) Especially when I'm here all the time with all the kids. There is just a way to do it and that's all there is to it. And I give out orders all day like I'm a Lieutenant.
Hairbrushes belong in three, maybe four places. And specific hairbrushes belong in specific places. Move my hairbrushes and I have issues. Really cranky.
Toothbrushes are similar. Certain people keep their toothbrushes in certain bathrooms. Period. I make an exception for Hwho sometimes rises early or goes to bed late. He gets a spare for the downstairs bathroom because he brushes his teeth so loud and for so long that it makes my toes itch (read: wakes me up and makes me irritable).
Dirty dishes go in only one side of the double sink. The disposal side. If there is a dish in the other side, it jolly well not have any food on it. Only one person cleans out the sink, ever, and by golly, I don't want to have to scoop the junk out of the other side.
You take the last shower you push the auto shower cleaner button. How hard is that?
The recycling bag is right next to the trash can. You finish the soda, the can goes in recycling. Move over three inches, it isn't that hard.
Dirty clothes go in a pile at the end of the hallway, equidistant from all bathrooms and bedrooms. It is far easier to throw them there as you take them off, than it is for me to go around the house, scooping them and gathering them to go wash them, fold them and put them away with a baby in my arms. I'm not asking a lot. You don't have to color sort them, put them in a hamper, or take them downstairs, just hit the corner of the hall as you go by.
I really don't ask much.
But I realized last night, just after I snapped Hub's head off, that it is his domain also. I mean, I certainly wouldn't have a place to call my domain if it weren't for him, so maybe I could cut him some slack.
Here's the story: He sticks his head in the bathroom and asks if we have another toothbrush somewhere. Yes, I answer. Kids' bathroom. Top shelf. Pack of ten. Of course, I remind him, he could also go downstairs and get his toothbrush that he took down that morning, will leave down there, never retrieve, and eventually have a stockpile that he will never use because once he gets a new one upstairs, ,he will take it down, use it once and get a new one. And I already told you I keep one down there for him, but he never remembers that part.
I didn't mention that he stole my hairbrush yesterday morning in a similar fashion. Which actually, I did mention. (But not to you, until now.)
I think he stomped downstairs and got his toothbrush, but I'm not sure. I didn't ask.
The man makes all the money in this house. You'd think I could cut him some slack. And I can, most of the time. But I never really realized how particular I am about just a few things.
MY hairbrush belongs at MY sink. The second runner up belongs in the kitchen (where I always do Princess' hair). Third version belongs in kids bathroom. Fourth belongs in the basement bathroom.
This weekend I saw Hubs scoop up my kitchen hairbrush and take it upstairs, telling Princess that she needs to leave hairbrushes where they belong. I kid you not.
Hubs prefers MY hairbrush. It was mine before we got married, so it is legitimately mine. I don't mind that he uses it, I MIND that he takes it downstairs and leaves it there and then, the next time he wants it, exasperatedly blames our daughter for stealing it. I use the one in the kitchen and eventually make it downstairs where I find the hairbrush stockpile. It is usually right next to the toothbrush stockpile. The toothbrushes that, when I ask him, he says he doesn't know are his because we had company once two months ago.
I'm not kidding.
All that to say, the man could not possibly know these rules because I've probably never told him (though I did last night in a less than Christian manner). But because I've been firing off commands at the kids all day, I think I've taken to firing them off at him also.
Gotta work on that.
I tell you this, not to make my husband sound like a fool, but because THIS week I'm the crabby one and he's just skirting around me.
Five more weeks until we are at the high end of the rollercoaster, right?
Hairbrushes belong in three, maybe four places. And specific hairbrushes belong in specific places. Move my hairbrushes and I have issues. Really cranky.
Toothbrushes are similar. Certain people keep their toothbrushes in certain bathrooms. Period. I make an exception for Hwho sometimes rises early or goes to bed late. He gets a spare for the downstairs bathroom because he brushes his teeth so loud and for so long that it makes my toes itch (read: wakes me up and makes me irritable).
Dirty dishes go in only one side of the double sink. The disposal side. If there is a dish in the other side, it jolly well not have any food on it. Only one person cleans out the sink, ever, and by golly, I don't want to have to scoop the junk out of the other side.
You take the last shower you push the auto shower cleaner button. How hard is that?
The recycling bag is right next to the trash can. You finish the soda, the can goes in recycling. Move over three inches, it isn't that hard.
Dirty clothes go in a pile at the end of the hallway, equidistant from all bathrooms and bedrooms. It is far easier to throw them there as you take them off, than it is for me to go around the house, scooping them and gathering them to go wash them, fold them and put them away with a baby in my arms. I'm not asking a lot. You don't have to color sort them, put them in a hamper, or take them downstairs, just hit the corner of the hall as you go by.
I really don't ask much.
But I realized last night, just after I snapped Hub's head off, that it is his domain also. I mean, I certainly wouldn't have a place to call my domain if it weren't for him, so maybe I could cut him some slack.
Here's the story: He sticks his head in the bathroom and asks if we have another toothbrush somewhere. Yes, I answer. Kids' bathroom. Top shelf. Pack of ten. Of course, I remind him, he could also go downstairs and get his toothbrush that he took down that morning, will leave down there, never retrieve, and eventually have a stockpile that he will never use because once he gets a new one upstairs, ,he will take it down, use it once and get a new one. And I already told you I keep one down there for him, but he never remembers that part.
I didn't mention that he stole my hairbrush yesterday morning in a similar fashion. Which actually, I did mention. (But not to you, until now.)
I think he stomped downstairs and got his toothbrush, but I'm not sure. I didn't ask.
The man makes all the money in this house. You'd think I could cut him some slack. And I can, most of the time. But I never really realized how particular I am about just a few things.
MY hairbrush belongs at MY sink. The second runner up belongs in the kitchen (where I always do Princess' hair). Third version belongs in kids bathroom. Fourth belongs in the basement bathroom.
This weekend I saw Hubs scoop up my kitchen hairbrush and take it upstairs, telling Princess that she needs to leave hairbrushes where they belong. I kid you not.
Hubs prefers MY hairbrush. It was mine before we got married, so it is legitimately mine. I don't mind that he uses it, I MIND that he takes it downstairs and leaves it there and then, the next time he wants it, exasperatedly blames our daughter for stealing it. I use the one in the kitchen and eventually make it downstairs where I find the hairbrush stockpile. It is usually right next to the toothbrush stockpile. The toothbrushes that, when I ask him, he says he doesn't know are his because we had company once two months ago.
I'm not kidding.
All that to say, the man could not possibly know these rules because I've probably never told him (though I did last night in a less than Christian manner). But because I've been firing off commands at the kids all day, I think I've taken to firing them off at him also.
Gotta work on that.
I tell you this, not to make my husband sound like a fool, but because THIS week I'm the crabby one and he's just skirting around me.
Five more weeks until we are at the high end of the rollercoaster, right?
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Guest Blogger Allie Pleiter!
I am the mother of teenagers. Well, one of them’s eleven, but that’s double digits--so it counts--and the other is a fifteen year old girl--so that’s double the drama--so I consider myself the mother of teenagers. What has fifteen years in the parenting trenches taught me? I decided to think hard about that. Especially in the light of all the time I spend writing and thinking about love and grace and faith. Here’s my take:
This, they tell me, is part of what’s wrong with our instant world today. We don’t have time to think it through. Ticked off? You can fire off an email before you’ve had a chance to think things through. Your victim will get it on his Blackberry in the middle of dinner when his wife just said something to make him mad. Your kids can IM the friend who just “dissed” them before they can get the real facts. You can decide your life is in jeopardy—based on the 15 Google hits from who knows what sources--when perhaps all you really need is some extra care.
The space of time when everyone got to simmer down, wise up, cool off, or chill out is GONE.But we need that time. That time is the seed of wisdom. The space between situation and reaction is where all the growth, all the grace, and all the drama happens. Having said all that, the writer in me understands that place as my playground. The impulsive, passionate kiss packs as much power as the slow embrace we’ve waited 50 pages for. And really, if we all acted with wisdom, where’d be the conflict? The fun? The drama? The stories?
Saturday, July 07, 2007
A really wierd day
It has been one of those days that make no kind of sense.
An acquaintance went to be with Jesus while I was attending a wedding. Starting a life and ending one, in many ways. And it made me want to hug my kids a little tighter.
And I got really excited because I got a check in the mail today. Since Hubs hasn't been paid in eight weeks, that $295.50 seemed like an especially good deal. Except we also got an offer today for our company that would make all temporary pain go away, it has lots of zeros (not all of them ours, we have several partners), and I don't think we'll take it.
Strange. Very strange.
An acquaintance went to be with Jesus while I was attending a wedding. Starting a life and ending one, in many ways. And it made me want to hug my kids a little tighter.
And I got really excited because I got a check in the mail today. Since Hubs hasn't been paid in eight weeks, that $295.50 seemed like an especially good deal. Except we also got an offer today for our company that would make all temporary pain go away, it has lots of zeros (not all of them ours, we have several partners), and I don't think we'll take it.
Strange. Very strange.
Friday, July 06, 2007
The Highs and Lows
Hubs doesn't like me this week.
I shouldn't say that. I imagine he probably likes me, but I'm irritating the heck out of him. We all are. He's got a lot on his mind. I have a lot on mine. And Charming is in that stage when he wants to be held all the stinking time so I can't get anything done. Not the least of which is the housework, laundry, cooking, etc. (he is out of "nice" socks. Not out of clean socks, just his favorite ones). None of the kids are sleeping well, thus neither are we. (Hmmmm, maybe I should turn down the air conditioner?)
Was it only six weeks ago that I had nothing but nice things to say about my husband? Things were going so smoothly there for a while that I wondered what was wrong with us. We'd hit our stride.
And you know what? I think we really have.
Because I know this is just one of those lows that every marriage has. And I know that in six weeks we'll probably be back at a high.
When we are at a high, I don't think we try as hard to "make it work" and a slump inevitably follows. But even the slumps don't seem so bad. He's irritable and cranky and I'm not really taking it personally. I ask if there is something I've done or should have done. He answers "not really" and I wait it out. Do the best I can. I don't slam things around and assume that he's not telling me something. He's probably really just crabby. Sometimes I am and I expect him to know that it isn't him, even if it is him, because it is only him because I'm crabby and not because he is himself.
Clear?
So we'll ride this one out. Again. And we'll be in a better place when we are done. That is if I do what I can do to pull us out of this slump.
(Insert plug for Dr Laura's Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands here)
I think we've spent a lot of our time and energy this month worrying about other people's marriages and coasting on ours. We need a date. Preferably with a beach, but I'd settle for a coffee. I miss my best friend. I'll try to remember to let you know when he's back.
Of course that is the thing about things being good, you don't really notice.
I shouldn't say that. I imagine he probably likes me, but I'm irritating the heck out of him. We all are. He's got a lot on his mind. I have a lot on mine. And Charming is in that stage when he wants to be held all the stinking time so I can't get anything done. Not the least of which is the housework, laundry, cooking, etc. (he is out of "nice" socks. Not out of clean socks, just his favorite ones). None of the kids are sleeping well, thus neither are we. (Hmmmm, maybe I should turn down the air conditioner?)
Was it only six weeks ago that I had nothing but nice things to say about my husband? Things were going so smoothly there for a while that I wondered what was wrong with us. We'd hit our stride.
And you know what? I think we really have.
Because I know this is just one of those lows that every marriage has. And I know that in six weeks we'll probably be back at a high.
When we are at a high, I don't think we try as hard to "make it work" and a slump inevitably follows. But even the slumps don't seem so bad. He's irritable and cranky and I'm not really taking it personally. I ask if there is something I've done or should have done. He answers "not really" and I wait it out. Do the best I can. I don't slam things around and assume that he's not telling me something. He's probably really just crabby. Sometimes I am and I expect him to know that it isn't him, even if it is him, because it is only him because I'm crabby and not because he is himself.
Clear?
So we'll ride this one out. Again. And we'll be in a better place when we are done. That is if I do what I can do to pull us out of this slump.
(Insert plug for Dr Laura's Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands here)
I think we've spent a lot of our time and energy this month worrying about other people's marriages and coasting on ours. We need a date. Preferably with a beach, but I'd settle for a coffee. I miss my best friend. I'll try to remember to let you know when he's back.
Of course that is the thing about things being good, you don't really notice.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Interesting thought
again compliments Ms Billerbeck but since it is a quote....
"You must learn day by day, year by year, to broaden your horizon. The more thinks you love, the more you are interested in, the more you enjoy, the more you are indignant about, the more you have left when anything happens." ~Ethel Barrymore
"You must learn day by day, year by year, to broaden your horizon. The more thinks you love, the more you are interested in, the more you enjoy, the more you are indignant about, the more you have left when anything happens." ~Ethel Barrymore
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Happy Fourth!
There is a big boom every five seconds and a constant smell of sulfur every time I go outside. And it is kind of gray from the smoke. And it isn't even 8 pm when the real celebrating starts.
Did I mention that fireworks are illegal where I live? The police must be busy tonight.
I'm sick to my stomach and can't even eat the hamburgers and homemade ice cream I made for the family. I tell ya. My liberties are being crimped.
But, I live in a wonderful, patriotic city where we followed more than a mile of flags on both sides of the road. It is lovely and makes me teary.
Be thankful for what we have folks.
Let Freedom Ring!
Did I mention that fireworks are illegal where I live? The police must be busy tonight.
I'm sick to my stomach and can't even eat the hamburgers and homemade ice cream I made for the family. I tell ya. My liberties are being crimped.
But, I live in a wonderful, patriotic city where we followed more than a mile of flags on both sides of the road. It is lovely and makes me teary.
Be thankful for what we have folks.
Let Freedom Ring!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
You'd Think He'd Know Me By Now
So, I'd ripped a recipe page out of a magazine and left it on my kitchen counter. Apparently, Hubs came along and scooped it up (presumably to find out what he'd be forced to eat next week). He came upstairs concerned.
"So that recipe on the counter.....?"
"The bananas foster?" (his favorite dessert in all the world, but I've never made it and until last week had never seen a recipe)
"Oh, good," He smirked. "I picked it up and thought, 'Penne with Cauliflower? What is Jamie thinking?' Then I saw the sauteed Bananas over Ice Cream with Oatmeal-Rum Cookies. I hoped..."
Uh, hello? When have I ever cooked cauliflower as a main dish?
I have been talking about calories too much lately.
"So that recipe on the counter.....?"
"The bananas foster?" (his favorite dessert in all the world, but I've never made it and until last week had never seen a recipe)
"Oh, good," He smirked. "I picked it up and thought, 'Penne with Cauliflower? What is Jamie thinking?' Then I saw the sauteed Bananas over Ice Cream with Oatmeal-Rum Cookies. I hoped..."
Uh, hello? When have I ever cooked cauliflower as a main dish?
I have been talking about calories too much lately.
Father Time
Do any of you (ladies) remember the day you realized you had your mother's hands?
My mother's hands have always been lovely. Long fingers. Long, flawless nails that she actually cuts (heaven forbid!) because they are in the way. And veins that stand up.
I don't remember it happening. I didn't have my mother's hands, and now I do.
My mother's hands have always been lovely. Long fingers. Long, flawless nails that she actually cuts (heaven forbid!) because they are in the way. And veins that stand up.
I don't remember it happening. I didn't have my mother's hands, and now I do.
Monday, July 02, 2007
An Ode to my Entryway
Compliments: Kristin Billerbeck, Split Ends, page15:
"We have that linoleum from decades gone by that doesn't wear but instead gets uglier as the designs appear to get bigger and darker over the years...Spotless and yet still disgusting--now that takes talent."
"We have that linoleum from decades gone by that doesn't wear but instead gets uglier as the designs appear to get bigger and darker over the years...Spotless and yet still disgusting--now that takes talent."
The Things We Talk About
This morning at play group I brought up calories, I don't know, three, four, six times?
I didn't know I thought about calories that much. Calories. Not fat. Not carbs. Calories. I didn't know I thought about any of those things that much. Seriously.
(I must be at that post-partum time when I think I will be stuck with this body forever. I can't exercise, so I must have to change my intake. Which is scary because I love intaking.)
I know I've read a couple books recently, for review, that talked about health and fitness, plus I watched Shaq's Big Challenge last week, so I have thought about those things more than normal. But to turn every conversation into that...how boring can you get? Who wants to talk about the sinfulness of food? Food is to be enjoyed, in my opinion.
When I get a frappuccino, man, I don't want to think about how many calories are in it. I don't get one very often because of it, but dude, when I have it, I have it. Full fat, full cal, venti, pure delight.
Calories? Seriously.
Next week I'll probably bring up the greenhouse effect a hundred times. Bleh.
I didn't know I thought about calories that much. Calories. Not fat. Not carbs. Calories. I didn't know I thought about any of those things that much. Seriously.
(I must be at that post-partum time when I think I will be stuck with this body forever. I can't exercise, so I must have to change my intake. Which is scary because I love intaking.)
I know I've read a couple books recently, for review, that talked about health and fitness, plus I watched Shaq's Big Challenge last week, so I have thought about those things more than normal. But to turn every conversation into that...how boring can you get? Who wants to talk about the sinfulness of food? Food is to be enjoyed, in my opinion.
When I get a frappuccino, man, I don't want to think about how many calories are in it. I don't get one very often because of it, but dude, when I have it, I have it. Full fat, full cal, venti, pure delight.
Calories? Seriously.
Next week I'll probably bring up the greenhouse effect a hundred times. Bleh.
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