If the Shoe Fits...

FlyLady tells me every morning to put my shoes on, even if I'm staying in the house. But I have been rebelling against it from the beginning. I see the email reminder and quickly delete it from my inbox without even reading it. Tell me to clean the toilet. Tell me to clean my sink. Remind me to fix dinner. But don't tell me to wear shoes. Who do you think you are? My mother?! I like not wearing shoes. When I wear shoes in the house it sounds like a T-rex is roaming around in here.

But lately, my legs and feet have been aching. Not only from being on my hard, wooden floors all day without shoes, but wearing shoes that are not at all comfortable when I do go out. I have a hard time finding shoes that are cute, comfortable, and most importantly cheap. I hate to spend money on shoes. I know women are supposed to love shoes. I'm supposed to have a closet full. But my husband currently has more shoes than I do. I hate purse shopping, too, but that's another blog. Anyway, I have a hard time finding shoes I like within my price range. So I end up running to the nearest Payless and buying something really cheap or whatever is on clearance at Target. Some women have a shoe fetish. I have a shoe-phobia.

Today Hubby offers to watch the kids so I can go shoe shopping. I know I need to. My legs are begging me to. So I go. I have strict instructions to go buy two nice pairs of shoes that feel good, no matter what they cost. First stop - department store. I walk in and see the clothing first. I need some new clothes for spring. I don't think Hubby would mind. He'd probably be glad that I actually shopped for myself instead of the kids. So I browse the racks. I always scan for clearance or sale signs first. Bingo. I see some cute shirts for $6.00 each. Nothing special. Just some pretty colored crew shirts, but cute. I pick out turquoise and pink. I like the lime green, but I tend to look dead in it. And I prefer to look alive whenever possible. So, I'd like some new capri pants. Maybe some of those cute denim ones with a big cuff at the bottom. Maybe a sassy belt, too. What luck! I find a pair with a black, silver studded belt. Oooooo. So biker chic. I opt for a size smaller than usual. I know I haven't lost that much weight, and it will all probably end in heartache, but I'm feeling adventurous. So I start looking for the fitting rooms, which appear to be hidden. I finally stumble upon them and start to go in when I notice two women talking and looking at me. Weird, I think. They're probably thinking how cute I am. Or maybe they are wanting to know where I got my adorable new haircut. Then one of them stops me. She is very young and very beautiful. She is about as big around as my thigh with long, curly, light brown hair and enormous blue eyes. What? She wants beauty secrets from me? She looks at me, completely deadpan, "Would you like to try those on?" Oh. She's an employee. "Uh, yeah," I say, having my bubble burst wide open. "You'll need one of these," she hands me one of those plastic tag thingies with the number 3 on it.

Fitting rooms intimidate me. But I press on, determined to produce forth some amazing fashion miracle that will make me look skinny and 10 years younger. First the pants. Drum roll, please. I get them up to my thighs. Hmmmmm. Maybe a smaller size was stupid. Undaunted, I wiggle them on over my hips and suck in a bit, but - Ta da! - get them on! Okay, my flabby tummy has gathers in it, looking like a flesh shirt tucked into the pants. Gross. Then I turn around and look (gasp!) at the backside. Who the heck designed these pockets???!!! Why do you make jeans for a fat girl and put pockets on the rear the size of a Post It??!!! Yeah, that's really flattering. Take a big butt and accentuate it by shrinking the pockets. And what's this above the pockets? A very intricate and lovely embroidered butterfly design graces the space between the waistband and the pockets drawing more attention to my derriere. Why not just attach a "Wide Load" sign with flashing lights? PLEASE LOOK AT MY BIG BUTT!!! But that's not even the thing that really grabs my attention. I know they have to put those white plastic things on there that keep people from shoplifting, but why would you put it on the seam that runs down my butt, thus making it appear that I passed a white, plastic anti-theft device? That's it. I'm done with these jeans. I tuck them between the two shirts so as to hide the size and sheer width of the waistband from pretty, wide-eyed salesgirl and get the heck out of Dodge. By the way, she dug the pants out of their shirt sandwich and eyeballed the size. I saw her as I was leaving.

So, on to the shoe department. The clock is ticking on my childless shopping trip. I'm feeling fat and hideous and the mirrors in the shoe department are close to the ground. Gotta love that. I try to steer clear of cute and head straight to functional. Naturalizer. I think my Grandma has a pair of those. I make my way to the athletic shoes. The prices make me cringe, but I try not to look at them and just find something that feels good. Sketchers makes a tennis shoe that looks like a mule. (that's a type of shoe with an open heel, not a literal mule, as in donkey) I like it. It even has some pink accents, which makes me like it more. I try it on and check it out in the shoe mirror. Way cute. But I feel like I'm letting FlyLady down somehow, because I wouldn't actually have to lace these up. Moving on. Easy Spirit. I'm pretty sure I've seen ads for these with a 60-ish lady walking on clouds. And I realize why I am struggling with the whole cute vs. comfort issue. I don't want to wear shoes that are comfortable because that makes me old. There. I said it. So, what am I going to do about it? I try on the Easy Spirit shoe. Oooohhh. That's nice. I take a few steps. Yeah, it feels gooooooooood. I guess there is something to be said for comfortable shoes. In a gesture that says, "Yes, I like Easy Spirit shoes. Yes, I have a saggy tummy. Yes, I embrace my mom-ness." I pick up the shoe box and start for the cash register. When I get in the car, I immediately put on my shoes, ready for my feet to feel good and like me again. And I have worn them all day.

He has his dad's gorgeous blue eyes. The kind that aren't clear, but have the look of crackled glass. The light hits them and you see many shades of blue along with a hint of green. His eyelashes are long and dark. I am secretly jealous of them. His smile is missing the two front teeth and is punctuated by a smattering of freckles on his very straight and masculine nose. Yes, I am his mom. But I know one day he is going to be a striking young man who will make some little girl's heart all a-flutter...the way he did mine when I first saw him 7 years ago today.

I remember finally having the nursery finished, just a few weeks before Brother was born. I was very pregnant with swollen ankles and an aching back. I sat all alone in the rocking chair that sat in the corner behind the door. All was quiet except for the soft creaking of the rocker on the wooden floor. I was about to become a mother, and I couldn't even fathom what that was going to be like. I sat yearning for the day I could rock him and imagined something I knew nothing about. Of course, in my mind, it was ideal. And the reality was a bit harsh. Those first few days after he was born are a sleep-deprived, depression-ridden blur. But once we got to know each other a little better, it was more beautiful and supernatural than any fantasy I could have day-dreamed. We spent many sweet hours in that rocker.

Today I see him standing tall on the threshold of mommy's boy and independence. Each day he edges a little closer to the man he will someday become. And though my heart is proud to see him taking shape, I want to grab hold of his little shirt collar and pull him back toward me. Little boy, please don't wander so far. Please, don't get out of my sight. Stay where I can see you. Stay right here.

God gave me a priceless treasure 7 years ago. A treasure that grows more precious and valuable to me with every passing second...every fleeting breath. Happy Birthday, Baby Boy. May you someday know the same unexpressable joy you have given us each and every day of your wonderful life.

E-I-E-I-O

I bought a gardening kit on clearance a while back and had the brilliant idea to germinate some seeds indoors with the kids. We planted corn, watermelon and pumpkin seeds in empty egg cartons and ran out of soil before we got our peas and tomatoes planted. Honestly, I wasn't expecting much. I figured the seeds might not even be any good since it was on clearance. We have forgotten to water them some days, and have even knocked them off their sunny home on the kitchen windowsill into the floor a couple of times. Lo and behold, we have discovered our seeds are actually producing plants!! I don't know why it excited me so, but it thrilled me to no end to see the little green shoots poking up from the dirt. I feel strangly empowered.

Now, where in the world am I going to put them? Guess I'd better hook up the horse to the plow.

When Queens Ride By

A friend of mine posted this on her blog and now I am putting it on mine. I read this story a while back, but read it again because I love it so much. Be prepared, it's a little lengthy, but a wonderful read. I hope it inspires someone else as much as it did me.

I love my husband. I adore him. I really like him a lot. If I weren't married to him, I would still like to hang out with him because he really makes me laugh. He can make me feel as if I am the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. He supports me 110% on anything I want to do and pushes me to be more than I believe I can be, because he believes I really am. He buys me perfume instead of appliances and always spends more on me than I would like. He endures Baby screaming for Mommy so I can go out with a friend...and doesn't try to make me feel guilty about it, but smiles and says, "I'm glad you had fun." He puts up with my tantrums and self-centerdness and waits patiently for me to get over myself.

When I say I love him, it doesn't even begin to scratch the surface. I would never want to live this life without him. Even when my anger burns with the heat of a thousand suns, I still want him. Even when he hurts me. Even when he forgets to take out the trash and leaves his dirty socks inside out in the laundry basket. He is my soulmate. My one true love. My greatest gift.

My prayer is that every day for the rest of our lives, he will know this is true and that I will never give up trying to show him.

Identity

I have so much to do, and I can't do any of it. There are so many things running around in my head I feel I will burst if I don't get them down. I've been trying to avoid the computer all morning, pretend I don't notice it. And I've had more phone calls this morning than I've had all week, not to mention other various mini-catastrophes that seems to be continually interrupting my well-intentioned day. But I've finally given in. I've given myself over to it. I put on the Magic School Bus for the kids and here I am. Hey...it's an educational video, right?

I have a good friend who wrote a wonderful blog about finding herself. It is interesting that I read it this morning when I am in the midst of some of the same issues myself. I am thirty-two years old. I should have this down by now, shouldn't I?

Hubby made the announcement the other night that I would be returning to school this fall. Huh?! I've always wanted to go back to school. I loved school, and did really well, but that was way back when I had nothing else to do but school. How will I juggle homework and papers in between marriage, children, homeschool, church and housework and have any kind of a social life? Do I have the discipline to make it work? And what the heck do I want to be when I grow up anyway? I don't even know. The thought terrified and thrilled me at the same time. Can I have a life outside this house? Is that legal? Can I assimilate into society again? I mentioned the thought of going back to school to a friend...a working mom. "You're bored, aren't you?" were the first words out of her mouth. I was hurt. Me? Bored? Are you kidding?! Haven't you heard? I am Supermom! I have the greatest job in the world and I love it!!! I'm certainly not bored...am I?

I have a friend in my life that continues to cause me more stress in my life instead of comfort and support. We met in Lamaze class when we were both pregnant with our firstborn children. I was still working at the time, so we had two incomes, nice cars, nice clothes, etc. We starting hanging out after the babies were born and really hit it off. I didn't go back to work, though, thus making my income, and all the things I was able to have with it, much less. It was something I was happy to do. A sacrifice I wanted to make. But she seemed to keep chasing after that dream of the house, the cars and all the extras. And I've always felt she was somewhat disappointed to discover that I wasn't perhaps who I appeared to be when she first met me. I'm not the well dressed woman in a new car...always together and polished. She has laughed at the vehicles I've driven and wondered aloud when we would get something "newer". It's not a big deal to me. I wish it weren't to her. She came to see me yesterday with her baby girl and dropped off some girl baby clothes I had loaned her. After she left, I wanted to cry about what she had left for me. The clothes were in a small, plastic bag...not even half of what I gave to her. Some weren't even mine. Some outfits had been split up, leaving me with bloomers and no dresses to go with them. Some I knew she hadn't even looked at. What's the big deal? It's clothes, right? Yeah, I know. I felt silly at first. But it was more than that. These were clothes I cried over when I folded them up and put them away for the last time. These were things I knew I would never have the chance to put on one of my own babies again. These were beautiful, well cared for things that held a piece of who I was, and would never be again - a mom with a baby. I had given them to her as a precious gift, so close to my heart. And they weren't special to her. Not good enough.

A friend called me this morning to let me know our high school had an alumni website and gave me orders to "go and create a profile". "You can email anyone!" she announced excitedly. She gave me the lowdown on a couple of people we knew way back when and I pretended to be interested. She was sure I didn't know about the website since I hadn't posted anything on it. I didn't have the heart to tell her I knew about it, I just didn't care. High school was a fun and wonderful time in my life. It was a great experience. But I don't care to put on my tiara and pretend I am Homecoming Queen again. Well...okay...maybe I would like to do that, but that's not my point. I don't know that girl anymore. She was fun and sweet and all, but she and I don't relate today. What? Post my picture on the alumni website? Yeah, right. Let me try to find the scary "here's-what-I-look-like-when-I-first-roll-out-of-bed" picture and I'll get right on that. Who cares what I am like now? Why do I care who cares? Nobody cares. They want to see if there is anyone who is worse off than themselves so they can poke fun and get a rush of self assurance and feel validated. Or they want to brag about their lives so everyone will think they are great and get a rush of self assurance and feel validated. I don't need it. I've moved on.

So, if I'm not Supermom and I'm not the Homecoming Queen, who am I? I am so many things - wife, mother, teacher, friend, daughter, writer, poet, artist, and somewhere deep inside there is a rock star, dying to get out. And who I am today will be different tomorrow. My husband can attest to that. I think of the Proverbs 31 woman and wonder if she really existed. Can a person be all those things and do it all well? It seems impossible to me. The journey to find myself has proven to be one of hurt and healing. The discovery that brings me most joy is to find that I want more than anything to be a daughter of the King and make him smile with all the silly stuff I enjoy. I don't know that I'll ever figure the rest of it out.

Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm going to dig out my tiara and do some much needed housework.

Anger

Ever wanted to rip someone's arm off and beat their head with it?

I have been making changes in my diet (not counting the chocolate chunk brownies with ice cream I had over the weekend) and seeing some slight results along the waistline. But I know I could really see some changes if I could work in some exercise. I've been halfway looking for a treadmill or stationery bike, even though my husband keeps saying we don't have room for it. He's right. We don't. But we'd have more room if my butt were smaller. See the logic? A friend mentioned she was getting rid of her treadmill and I quickly put in my order for it. Told her I'd make arrangements to get it from her.

Hubby was leaving for work not 15 minutes ago and asked me to fix him a Diet Coke to take to work with him. I oblige and am putting the lid on the cup and taking it to him at the front door when I mention I'd like to get the treadmill in the next couple of days. That's when he informs me he told her husband we didn't want it when he had lunch with him last week. Which means they probably have already gotten rid of it. I stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. I kid you not. I seriously contemplated throwing the entire 32 oz. cup of Diet Coke across the room, dead center between his baby blues. Didn't even think about the fact that the kids and I had cleaned the living room floors this morning. Didn't stop to consider how it would make him late for work because he would have to change. Didn't even care if it would hurt him. I wanted to hurt him. Bad. He should thank his lucky stars he got out the door with that cup in his hand and not on his head. The grace of God was all that saved him. I shoved it at him and stomped off, ready to sling a thousand burning expletives at him. My good Baptist upbringing kept me from it. "Sorry!" he said, in a tone that didn't sound at all sorry, but actually kind of glad he got his way on the whole issue. I'm so angry I could cry. I'm most upset that he made the decision for me!! He didn't discuss it with me. He didn't try to find a compromise. He snuck around behind my back to get his way. Bad form, Hubby. Bad form.

Maybe I can go down to Sear's and buy a brand new one with tax refund money. Maybe I'll go find something he really loves and back over it with the car. Maybe I'll make brown beans and goulash for dinner every day this week. Maybe I'll "forget" to do his laundry. Better yet, maybe I'll put a red sock in with his undies and turn them all PINK!!!!!

Look out, my sweet. You have to sleep sometime. BWAAAHHAAAA!!!! (that's my crazy, maniacal laugh)

Rest

I did something completely out of character yesterday. I rested. I put the kids down for a nap after church, laid down with Baby and watched a movie on my bed while she snoozed next to me. Hubby was surprised. He walked into the bedroom and asked, "Are you tired?" "Not really," I said with a smile. "I'm just relaxing." "Good!" he answered, pleasantly taken aback.

What is it with me? I get so frustrated with Brother, who rises before the sun on most mornings, and usually needs more sleep than he gets. I can look at his face and see he is tired, but he doesn't take naps well. He will lay in bed for two hours and not fall asleep. But, truth be told, I am the same way. I can't sit still. Even when I watch TV, I feel the need to do something with my hands. Usually shove a brownie or chocolate chip cookie in my face. I can't actually take a nap and sleep unless I am deathly ill or haven't had any sleep the night before. I feel like I should always be doing something. Anytime I get the kids down and have time to myself, I certainly don't want to waste my time resting. Now I can do what I want!!

Perhaps it is the selfish side of me, or maybe "greedy" would be more fitting. I want to have everything I want and will fit it in no matter what the cost. Or maybe I have ADD. So, as weird as it sounds, I'm practicing my down time. I've adopted tea drinking...spiced chai with honey and milk. And I'm picking up some books I haven't had time to read. I'm learning to be still.

A Big Ole' THANKS!

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, and a million times over, Thank You!! Thanks to my new friend on the other end who helped me get links set up on my blog. It was painless! Really! I feel like my blog is finally complete.

Now...anyone out there know how to do a custom template to make it prettier?

Puddle Jumping

It's been raining all day today. Kind of nice, really. We desperately needed it. And there are times I really enjoy being in my cozy, little house, watching it rain. I like hearing the soothing noise of raindrops gently tapping out a little lullaby. It makes me think of that song in "Bambi"..."drip, drip, drop, little April showers..." Wow. I relate a lot of things to Disney movies. Geez. I am such a mom. Anyway, I was painting a picture of a lovely, relaxing, rainy day, right? Now add a few kids with cabin fever and a stir crazy mom and that is more like it. We've been hanging out at home a lot this week since Baby has been sick and everyone was a bit restless today. Ordinarily I would banish Brother and Sister from the house and send them outside to burn off the energy. But today was rainy. At one point Sister asked to play with our golf umbrella, which is pretty big. But her and Brother ended up fighting over it. I dug toys out of the bottom of their toy boxes to try and generate interest in some things long forgotten, but that didn't last long either. Sister asked if she could take the umbrella outside and play with it. "No, honey," I say. "It's cold and wet." But she keeps asking. She doesn't let it go. So, I finally think, what the heck? It's water. It's not acid rain or hail. We put on her boots and jacket and send her out.

I watch her walking about the yard, umbrella propped up on one shoulder, twirling it like a parasol. She is singing an original song about flying, probably imagining she is a tortured heroine in an imaginary, romantic story. Her long, golden hair is turning wavy from the moisture and brushing her cherub cheeks like a fine, delicate picture frame. I smile. Thirty years ago, that was me. Off in my own world, writing songs in my head and performing them for imaginary audiences abroad. I love to watch her pretend.

When Brother sees what's going on, he asks to join her. So we put on his shoes, give him an umbrella and he races out the door, wanting to get in on the fun before mom realizes what a bad idea this is and calls all splashing and merrymaking to a halt. Baby cries as the storm door slams it's refusal to let her out. She watches sadly from the inside. The little boy across the street is peeking out his grandmother's storm door, too, wondering why he can't play in the rain. Oh, yeah. I am a cooooooooool mom.

Brother and Sister have a ball walking through the puddles, something they have never done before. Well, at least never under the watchful eye of mom. They stand under the eaves of the house and let the big drops dripping off the roof bang onto the tops of their umbrellas. They find the pail left out of the sandbox and watch it collect a little water. They find patches of mud to squish with their shoes. I hear them giggling outside the window while I make dinner in the kitchen. And I am happy for them. I am reminded again of how little things make childhood so much sweeter. How quickly time passes and soon you find yourself stepping over puddles instead of jumping in and enjoying it for what it is. Oh, my sweet babies. May you always jump in a puddle now and then and laugh at getting your feet wet.

Hormones

Someone sent me this in an email today. I was holding my sides in pain, I laughed so hard. Thought I'd share:

The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his very life into his own hands! This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, or significant other!!

DANGEROUS: What's for dinner?
SAFER: Can I help you with dinner?
SAFEST: Where would you like to go for dinner?
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: Are you wearing that?
SAFER: Gee, you look good in brown.
SAFEST: WOW! Look at you!
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: What are you so worked up about?
SAFER: What did I do wrong?
SAFEST: Here's fifty dollars.
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: Should you be eating that?
SAFER: You know, there are a lot of apples left.
SAFEST: Can I get you a glass of wine with that?
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: What did you do all day?
SAFER: I hope you didn't overdo it today.
SAFEST: I've always loved you in that robe!
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some more chocolate.

Here's what is so amazing about Hubby coming home. Baby immediately stops crying and runs to him, arms open wide. Brother and Sister exclaim, "Daddy!". And I can breathe again. His homecoming is sunshine to our day. We all smile more. And everything is right again.

So, I didn't get a foot massage. He's still my knight in shining armor.

I am tired. So tired. Baby has a sinus infection and started antibiotics yesterday, but last night was killer. It was like having a newborn again...her waking up crying every hour. Even my two cups of very strong coffee couldn't get me around this morning. I had plans. Really fun plans for Saint Patrick's day with the kids. And I can't open my eyes. Every little thing they do pushes my buttons and I feel my snappy, rotten attitude creeping up on me. Flylady would be so disappointed to see our great little routine going kaput this morning. I start to pray, because I don't know what else to do. I just need help to get through this day with everyone in one piece.
Hubby calls and asks if I had a rough night. "Yes," I say. I was really hoping for something like this from him, "Ooooohhhh, you poor baby! I am so sorry you didn't sleep well. As soon as I get home I'll take the kids and let you rest. Don't worry about that laundry, either. I'll get to that right after your foot massage. And what about a movie? Can I stop and get you one? What can I do for you? How can I help, Sweet Light of my Life, Most Exalted Among Women, Angel of Mine?" Instead he asks about Baby. "So, she's exhausted, huh?" "Uh, yeah," I say, not even trying to hide the irritation in my voice. "What about you?" he finally asks. "Me? Oh, I'm great. I slept right through it!" Yes, it was a big helping of sarcasm, served alongside a dollap of hurt, with a big, steaming side of anger. Well, I don't know why, but instead of rushing home to ravish me with kisses and tell me how great I am, he chose to end the call. And then called later to say he would probably stay and work tonight, too. Hmmmm. What's his problem?

Perhaps I should go to bed early tonight.

I happened to notice this clinging to my kitchen wall today. It is a piece of Rice Chex. But not just any ordinary cereal tibit. It was dried...more like petrified. And glued securely in place. Don't know how long it's been there, but I injured myself trying to scrape it off with a butterknife. My hand slipped and I cut my knuckle on one of it's sharp corners. Drew blood and everything. Then I tried putting a wet cloth on it to soak it off. I tried spraying it with a multi-purpose cleaner. It is still there.

Supermom Strikes Again!

I have this great recipe for popsicles using Kool Aid and Jell-O. You can use any flavor of each. I wasn't thinking of what color orange and lime make when I made these. They came out an interesting brown-green-yellow color...like diarrhea. MMMMMM. Poop-sicles.

Off With Her Hair!

My hair is very thick and wavy. For years I kept it very short because it was easier to maintain. But Hubby likes long hair, so I've spent some time growing it out. And though I do like it longer, it takes a magic wand to turn it from this... Into this...
And I just don't take the time to do it very often. Most days I end up just pulling it up anyway. So today, it is off with the hair. I'm a little sad, but until I can afford a live in hair and makeup person, I have to be about simplicity. I'd rather have something shorter that I can keep up with instead of wearing my Haggard Housewife 'do all the time.

Here's what I'm going for.

Now to figure out a way to cut off my hips and thighs to match.

You Can Fly, You Can Fly, You Can Fly!

For about four years now, I've been drowning. Since the birth of my second child, I've not been able to keep a handle on domestic endeavors. Who am I kidding? It's never been a strong point of mine. In other words, I'm a slob. I try. I really do. I want to be Suzy Homemaker and have it all together, but either it's not in my nature or I've developed a lifetime of bad habits. Probably both.

About three years ago I made a new friend. Right away I knew we were kindred spirits. Her house was not perfect and I was immediately at ease with her. Not long after I met her she told me about FlyLady and about the 27 Fling Boogie. "Fling Boogie?" I said. "Sounds like something my toddler does after picking their nose." She explained to me FlyLady's system for keeping your house clean and clutter-free and suggested I check out the website. Even though I didn't think flinging boogies sounded like a clean thing to do, I did check it out, but opted to not sign up for the daily e-reminders. After a while I forgot about the website and went back to pulling my hair out over everything I had to do and my inability to get it done and keep it that way. After all, what's life without your daily dose of stress and drama?

A couple of weeks ago another friend sent me an email saying she had just found the greatest thing ever and told me to check out this FlyLady website. Wow. There's that name again. So, in a moment of desperation I revisited FlyLady and her kooky way of naming things. Turns out, the lady is a genius. I went ahead and signed up for the daily reminders and I have to say, it has changed my life. See, I have a mindset that sees clutter and chaos and says, "I don't have time to do all this. It will have to wait." And since I never have large chunks of time to work on projects, it never gets done. But FlyLady helps me with the baby steps. Spend 15 minutes a day working on a hot spot. Eventually, it will get done. She reminds me to think about what we're having for dinner first thing in the morning, so I don't have to run to the store in a panic at 5 p.m. because I forgot to thaw something out. She reminds me to get my kitchen sink empty and clean in the evening so I don't have to wake up, see a full sink of dirty dishes and feel overwhelmed right off the bat. She tells me it's better to wash, dry, fold and put away two loads of laundry a day instead of trying to do all 20 loads in one day, which is, of course, impossible. She reminds me to go to bed before it gets to late. This may sound like common sense to some of you, but my mind doesn't think about things this way. But now I am understanding her logic. My house has been neater, more organized, less stressful and happier since I have put her ideas in motion. I look forward to getting up in the morning and getting to the list she has for me. My kids are right there, too...flying along with me. It's helping us all form better habits. And I can take my kids out to play without hearing a nagging voice about everything there is to do because I actually accomplish things on a daily basis. I really feel like Supermom.

Drowning? Here's a lifeline. Check out FlyLady and get on the list. You won't believe the results. Boogie-Flinging and all.

Help Wanted

Can someone please help me get links on my blog?! I've tried doing it on my own, but I just can't figure it out.

The Largest Dinosaur

Wow! This is fascinating. I don't know why this didn't interest me as a child. I was too busy playing Barbies, I guess.

JACKPOT!

My husband says I have bad Tupperware karma. Many, many years ago Hubby pastored a small church with some very sweet, little ladies. We had no children at the time and they doted on us as if we were there own. One of them, Athalene, made us some cupcakes to take home and sent them with us in a very large, round, probably expensive, Tupperware container. We moved and I never managed to return it. I meant to, really, I did. I have since used it often. Even wrote my name on it so as to get it back when I loan it out. Hubby still needles me about stealing it from poor, dear Athalene and says it serves me right to have lost Tupperware to other people. Bad Tupperware karma.

Today I hit the Mother Load. I have seen Tupperware at garage sales before, but they have wanted more than I wanted to pay. Today I got everything you see pictured here at a garage sale for $7.50. All but one piece was brand new, still wrapped in the plastic packaging. This lady had a table full of new Tupperware for .25 and .50 cents a piece!!!! I tried not to be greedy, but it was hard.

So, Sweetie Pie, who has bad karma now? I do believe the Blessed Tupperware Fairies are smiling on me today, Baby!! HOLY CRAP! WHAT A BARGAIN!! (insert happy dance here) I think I just wet my pants from all the excitement.

The Last Time

Brother wanted me to pick him up and put him in the grocery cart at the store. He is not quite 7 and weighs around 60 pounds. I couldn't do it. He was sad...and so was I. When did this happen? When did my chubby little guy become such a tall and dashing young man? When was the last time I held him? Was he three? Was he four? If I had know it would have been the last time, I would have savoured it. I would have earmarked the page in my mental scrapbook so I could go back to it whenever I wanted. I would have snuggled him close and whispered in his ear much I adore him and how much better life has been since he came. I would have put on some music and danced around the room with him. I would have put him on my back and given him a piggyback ride through the back yard. I would have marked it on my calendar. I would have taken a picture. If I had known I would never be able to hold him again, I would have squeezed him tight and made it last so I could remember it today.

Oh, no...

I just discovered that Baby is bigger today.

That's it. No more feeding her.

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Perfect

I woke up in my clothes again this morning. My husband says I'm leading the life of a drunk. That could be true, except I don't get the fun and satisfaction of being liquored up first. It's the first sign that my day isn't getting off to a great start.

After stumbling out of bed, I get my coffee started and sit down to check email. It is early, so I'm catching Hubby just before he leaves for work and thinking I can have some quiet time before the whole house is up. Soon after, Brother comes in and starts talking to me, chattering away like he's just had chocolate and esspresso shot into his veins. I look at him through half-closed eyes, still trying to adjust to the light, put my finger to my lips and whisper, "Ssssssssshhhhhhhhh. Please be quiet for a few minutes." I'm just beginning to enjoy a little quiet when Sister joins the party, rubbing her eyes. So much for quiet. The coffee maker sings sweetly to me from the kitchen, signaling rescue for my sluggish, slothful state. I substituted Splenda for sugar about two weeks ago and have finally gotten used to the taste. I drink it in, eyes closed, lips smiling...just like a hokey Maxwell House commercial. Aaaaaahhh. We have a love affair, my coffee and I. It's a good thing Hubby is so...well, never mind. I get a shower, put on fresh clothes, and even (hold on to your hats) makeup. Not a full, fancy face. But enough to make me feel a bit prettier. And my pants didn't cut off oxygen flow to my brain, as they did last week. Could it be that cutting out the sugar is working? Seriously...have I lost weight? Wow. So far, so good.

I break out the new schedule I've been working on and go over it with the kids while they eat breakfast. I'm also working on a list of rules and a reward system for good behavior. Their little ears perk up at the word "reward". Especially Brother's. Sister is not easily bribed, but Brother can be won over every time. It's still a little rough, but the only way to tweak it is to try it out, so we jump in with both feet. I'm expecting a lot of negative feedback. I'm ready to push, pull, scream, yell, cry...whatever it takes to get the ball rolling and get us into some new, better habits. I am pleasantly surprised to see my kids kick it into high gear, happily...dare I say, gleefully?...mentally checking things off and coming back to me for the next job. Not one - no, not even one - complaint or whine. This is what we got done by 9:00 a.m.

• clothes on, teeth brushed, faces washed
• Beds made (changed sheets on one)
• Bathroom cleaned
• Living Room vacuumed
• 2 loads of laundry folded and put away
• dishwasher unloaded
• cat fed and watered
• started dinner in the crock pot

We started school promptly at 9:00. Though my new schedule is to work Sister into some school work, she was playing happily with her Disney Princess puppet theatre, so I let her continue. Brother was trying to stall, but he wasn't complaining, and I managed to get him focused and started. It was difficult. His heart wasn't in it. It looked like another challenging day ahead. I knew it was too good to last. Ten spelling words that should take us about ten minutes looked like it could stretch into thirty. The first two were slow going. But then something magical happened. The wheels started to move and he was speeding through the list like greased lightning! Then we learned a new phonetical sound. This always takes a while. But no, not today. His little mind snapped it up and took off running, reading off the words as if he'd been doing it all his life. I could hardly believe what I was seeing! We whizzed through all our lessons in about an hour. It was a dream day in the land of homeschool.

I went back to the computer to check the status of our tax refund, which is huge this year. We e-filed a few weeks ago and got the state refund quickly. But the federal return was delayed. They made a mistake somewhere and put a hold on it. I called last week and they said it would take 4 - 6 weeks to do the paperwork to release the hold. Depressing. So, today I wanted to follow up, just to make sure the ball was rolling. I got the number off the computer and called. The man said it was scheduled to be direct deposited today. Huh? I hung up and checked our account online. Lo and behold, we were much, much richer! I was stunned. It only took a week!

I have to tell you, today has been as near perfect as any day could be. I'm not sure how many wonderful things one day can hold. I'm a little worried. If things keep going this great, what will I blog about?

I AM SUPERMOM!!! HEAR ME ROAR!!!

More Carrots, Peas!

I've been on a campaign to get my kids to eat more fruit and vegetables. Baby, of course, will eat anything. But Brother and Sister have become more and more picky and it's driving me bonkers. So I started introducing one "new" fruit or vegetable every so often and making it mandatory to eat. Not "new" as in "new to the planet" or "new hybrid varieties", but new to my kids who have formerly shunned them. About a month ago it was peas. I discovered I could get them to eat peas if I mix a little corn with them. Now they eat them without batting an eye. Sister, who doesn't like much fruit, is now eating apple slices. Today I introduced the carrot. Earth-shattering, I know. Sister saw me eating baby carrots with veggie dip and asked if she could try it. I almost choked, but tried to act nonchallant in my answer, "Sure." She dipped the carrot and tried it, her little chipmunk cheeks crunching away. I fully expected a snub. But to my surprise, she kept munching. "Do you like it?" I asked. "Mmmm-mmm," she mumbled, busy swirling her carrot in the creamy white stuff on her plate, as if she'd been doing it all her life. Then Brother asked for some. Brother, who claims carrots will kill him, asked for some. I'm not making it up. I gave him one baby carrot and some dip and watched with bated breath. Could it be? My boy eating...gasp...a carrot?! "Mmmmmmmm!" he exclaimed. "That's good!" Then they both asked for more!!! They each ate two baby carrots! Granted, they were dipped in fattening garlic and herb dip, but at this point, I don't care if they are dipped in marshmallow cream and Hershey bars. It is a vegetable passing their lips and making it's way to their little tummies!!!

I'm still reeling from the excitement.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Well, here I am again. It's 4:16 a.m. and I'm wide awake. I have been for hours. Brother woke me at 1:30 saying there was a spider in his bed, so I got up and we did a search, which turned up nothing. After that, my brain was turned on and I can't turn it off. Which is amazing, because it seems I have to use jumper cables to get it going most days. So, I guess if getting up at 6 yesterday was early rising, this would be considered Extreme Early Rising.

Hubby is going to be home all day for the first time in a really long time. Between school and work, he is gone all the time. We've had to resort to communicating in email. He leaves before we get up and gets home after the kids are in bed. I usually crash not long after he gets in, if not before. Herein lies the problem. I know he is going to want a day to relax and recharge, and God knows, he certainly deserves it. And I want a productive day to get some things done while he is here to help. My oven has been broken for a good month (he says he will fix it today...I'm crossing my fingers), the house is in complete upheaval, and I have things to get ready for a consignment sale that have to be dropped off tonight. Not to mention school with Brother, which has been sporadic these past couple of weeks.

After my meltdown Sunday, I've had to ask myself if there are some things I need to give up. Under normal circumstances, like my husband being home every evening, even three nights a week, I think I could balance and juggle just fine. But I'm really at my wit's end trying to be everything to everyone and do everything in between. And my family is paying the price for that. Last night we got home from Brother's soccer practice at 7:45. The kids were dirty and really needed baths. Sister had an accident in her bed during naptime, but we had to eat dinner and leave as soon as she woke up, so the dirty sheets were still on her bed. And baby is having a major meltdown, because she didn't take a good nap before we left. I'm trying to get everyone in PJ's sans bath while Baby screams. I go to the kitchen to fix water for Sister and Brother to have by their beds, which has become a ritual for them. Baby is following me all over wanting me to pick her up and screaming the entire time. Brother, who doesn't tolerate the crying well on a good day, is tired and not wanting to hear it. He says, "Mommy! Will you come get your daughter?!" Take off the "Mommy" part and it is an echo of Brother Sr. This sends me over the edge. I start yelling at him, "I AM TRYING TO GET YOU A DRINK OF WATER! I WILL GET TO HER WHEN I CAN!! I HAVE MORE THAN ONE PERSON TO TAKE CARE OF HERE!!!" I could hear Super Nanny clicking her tongue in my head. After I got everyone into bed, I managed to load the dishwasher and then collapsed. I looked around the house and knew I should be picking up and doing things that needed to be done, but I just couldn't. I was mentally spent. These moments are becoming more and more frequent and I feel like I am becoming Monster Mommy. Is it feasible for me to homeschool? Can I manage this on my own? My heart breaks at the question.

The spiritual issues I am having only add to the isolation I feel. I know God hasn't turned away from me, but I'm having a hard time turning to him. These questions I have don't seem quite so important anymore. I think I need to accept that I may never have the answers. That is where my faith will double in size. But somehow there is a rift. I should take the next step to close that rift, but I'm still not there. Am I too stubborn?

I want to attach attributes to God I think he should have and make him my own little personal figure to attach to the dashboard of my car, so I can say, "Look how neat he is. He really enriches my life." It would be so much easier if he would knock on my door or send me one of those "Get To Know Your Friends" email questionnares. Or maybe he could start a blog. The reality of who God is seems like riddle. How do any of us really know what he is like?

I know I'm probably not making a whole lot of sense. I'm in a state of confusion myself. And what can you expect at 4 a.m.?

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

I've avoided alarm clocks ever since I quit my outside job as a secretary to stay home and be a mom. But I've recently decided it probably isn't a good thing for my kids to get up and be by themselves for an hour or more before mommy rolls out of bed. So, I discovered that my cell phone has an alarm on it. I chose something that is supposed to sound like nature, because it seemed the least obnoxious off all the sounds. So I have been awaking to the sound of very cheerful bird chirping every morning. This makes me think of Cinderella being woke up by the sweet little mice and bluebirds in the Disney movie. And perhaps I thought that might be what it was like. However, no enchanted woodland creatures get my clothes ready and give me a sponge bath. But that's probably a good thing. Mice creep me out.

So today we had an appointment with a real, live pediatrician. For a few years my children have been on state insurance and we have had to go to a clinic. I can't complain, because it was free insurance when we had none, but I have not been happy with the care. Now Hubby's job has insurance and we get to go back to our old pediatrician, who is more than wonderful (I think I hear a song coming on). I cannot begin to tell you how excited I was to take the kids in today. However, I had to be there by 8:00 a.m. to fill out new patient paperwork. Yeah, that's right. Eight o'clock in the morning. So I take a shower last night and set my Cheerful Chirping Alarm for 6. It takes me an hour to get my eyes open and an hour to get everything else done if I am already showered. The chirping scares me to death when it begins this morning and I shoot out of bed like a rocket. That's one way to get my butt out of bed. I'll be honest. I was worried getting everyone around and getting out of the house so early this morning. But, wonder of wonders, we did it, with minimal chaos. In fact, I had told Sister to pick up her room before we left and Brother asked, "Can I help her?" HUH? What?! Help your sister? It's a foreign concept, but yeah, why not? Go ahead. Help your sister clean her room.

We make it to the appointment right on time. I am clean, with hair fixed and makeup on, which is, sad to say, a rarity these days. I'm feeling ahead of the game. Like I got the jump on my day when it wasn't looking. There's a spring in my step and a smile on my face. Perhaps there is something to be said for rising early. Okay, that's probably a hasty assumption, but it does bear looking into. The waiting room is empty and my children have free reign over all the fun toys, which is the prime environment for fun paperwork filling out. I just finish signing the last medical history form when they call our name, as if there were a magic buzzer back there to let them know we were ready. Sorry. That can't be right. We haven't spent enough time here. I'm not screaming at my children yet. We're actually having fun.

The nurse takes us back to weigh the girls, whose well child appointments are this morning. Brother's is next month. She is sweet and patiently weighs Brother, too, so as not to leave him out. She takes us to the examining room and says, "Wait right here while I go get them some gowns." Gowns? She returns with two little examining gowns for the girls. Sister's is green with Bugs Bunny and Baby's is blue with bath toys on it. They don't have gowns at the clinic. I am expecting to be in here a while. It was nothing for us to wait half an hour or more at the clinic for a doctor to see us. Even first thing in the morning. But I'm not too worried. I brought books, toys and snacks to keep us occupied. I even brought Brother's GameBoy to use in a moment of desperation. Hopefully the doctor will be in before they get bored with them. I barely get one of the gowns on Sister when the doctor comes in! It was less than 10 minutes. Maybe less than 5. And right away, I remember why I love this pediatrician so much. She immediately begins talking to the kids. She asks Sister if she can button and zip, how high can she count, what color of vegetables she eats, etc. She doesn't even direct a question toward me during the checkup. And she is so patient with Brother, who is right there, wanting to know everything she is doing. She doesn't bat an eye when Baby starts screaming and I have to nurse her. She spent time with us. She talked to us. She answered questions. It was Doctor Visit Nirvaneh. Then came Baby's turn. As it turns out, her waking at night to nurse isn't a physical problem, it is a mommy indulging problem. Some of you are smiling, and perhaps even giggling a bit, as if to say, "I knew it". But I have the advice of an expert and will someday...perhaps, act on it. But the real surprise came when she asked how many words Baby could say. "Well," I said, "she's not really saying words. She makes a lot of sounds." I thought Sister was talking by this age, but I knew kids with older siblings might not talk as early because brothers and sisters do the talking for them. But the doctor wanted to do a tympanogram to test her hearing. As it turns out, she has a lot of fluid in her ears and isn't hearing normally. So now we're going to give her allergy medication daily to see if it helps and take her back in a month. See what I mean? My children are given wonderful care and attention to the smallest detail from this amazing woman. She is an angel...a mother of five herself. I love her.

A few more days like this and I might actually start to think I can be Supermom.

What's That Smell?

There's a funky odor in the air and I don't know what it is. At first I thought it was dirty diapers in the trash, but the trash has been taken out and the smell remains. I have tried tracking it, but my nose is allergy ridden and I can't pinpoint it. I think it is somewhere in the kitchen.

Perhaps it is the fruit bowl that went AWOL.

Wrong/Right

I had a tough day today. Needless to say, I came home from church this morning feeling like a complete and utter failure in my ventures as a mother. After a good, hard cry I had to give myself a pep talk. So, in order to affirm myself a bit, I made a list of the things I have done wrong and the things I haven't done wrong.

Things I've Done Wrong In Raising My Children

• I have allowed Baby to nurse herself to sleep, thus making weaning even harder.
• I haven't instilled great eating habits, though I don't feed them chicken nuggets every day.
• Potty training has been a huge chore.
• I have let them sleep in my bed (to me, this isn't bad, but I realize most people think it is, so I will list it here)
• I let them go to bed sometimes without brushing their teeth.
• They watch too much TV.
• I've spanked too hard or spanked in anger when I shouldn't have.
• I haven't spanked when I should have.
• I haven't followed through on all threats and promises.

Things I've Done Right

• I kiss them every night when I tuck them in and tell them I love them.
• I read to them every day.
• I am here with them every day.
• I play with them.
• I want for them.
• I've given them massages when they were babies.
• I put their towels in the dryer when they are coming out of the bath on a cold night.
• I've never taken them to a crack house.
• I've caught their vomit in my hands. This is a biggie.
• I've never put Pepsi in a baby bottle.

Both lists could probably be longer. And in the coming days I may add to them. Feel free to add some of your own if you'd like.

I'm lost.

And the harder I try to find my way back, the further away I slip. So I'm waiting, as something dark and unsettling moves over me. I'm waiting for direction. I'm waiting for rescue. I'm waiting for a lifetime of answers to chase away this shadow that veils my heart.

I was barely six when I felt the tug. I'd been to church a handful of times when my parents remembered to put me on the church bus. My oldest sister talked to me about God. I knew he existed and I wanted to know more. I wanted to know him. If there was pure, unconditional love to be had, I wanted it. I sat under the pinball machine in the room I shared with my brother and sister, with a blanket thrown over the top to make a tent. The blanket was pink and inside my solitude, surrounded by dolls, I prayed to him. I asked him to love me and I would love him. Nothing ceremonious or poetic. But an open heart, filled with an honest belief that God heard and accepted. It was beautiful and simple and sacred to me. And so began my journey.

Now, something like rebellion is rising up within me. I've lived my life within his rules, willingly and happily. I've shed tears of agony, longing to be near him. I've sacrificed and given up things in an effort to be close to him. Today I feel cheated, like somehow my life has been spent following a myth. Like I haven't been given the whole truth. Like there is something I am missing and I have to solve the impossible puzzle to get the answer. I can't deny God. I know he's there somewhere. But who is he? What is he? What makes us, as mere humans, think he wants anything at all to do with us? The good, maybe seemingly simple, answer, is, of course, the bible. But it was men who wrote it. Yes, supposedly inspired by God, but men make mistakes. Haven't we all followed a path we thought was God's idea only to find it wasn't? Haven't you ever thought you had an answer from God then weren't sure? How do we know these men really heard from God? How do we know anybody does? How do we know everything we have believed hasn't been part of man's scheme to manipulate us all?

I'm exhausted from a life of trying to fit in to a mold that makes me more fit, more desirable to him. I've been made to believe the things I do or don't do can possibly alter God's plans. If I prove myself willing or offer up a certain prayer, does that really change anything? I can't get away from these questions. And I'm not sure where to go for the answers. I'm angry. And I'm scared.

I want to be six, in my little tent, where I was safe and secure in knowing what little I knew. Where my childish heart didn't know the difference. Where I could simply love him and believe.

I Just Realized Something...

...if you scroll down to the blog with pictures of my loveseat and sofa, you could play "Where's Kitty?". Kind of like Where's Waldo?, but with my cat. See? There are advantages to being messy! It's more fun :-)

One Of My Many Endearing Qualities

This hangs on my kitchen wall. Lovely, isn't it? This is where things go when I don't know where to put them. I think it best sums up my personality...cluttered. I tried to cram something else in there the other day and couldn't. I thought it deserved to be captured and preserved for posterity. We used to keep bills in there, but Hubby (who claims to be organized and neat but doesn't know how to throw a cheese wrapper in the trash) finally shorted out and found another spot. He used to clean it out for me every so often and keep it looking decent. But since he moved out of it, all hell has broken loose.

Sigh. Martha Stewart has nothin' on me.

A Rose By Any Other Name...

I saw this little quiz on someone else's blog and tried it myself. These are my results. Looks just like me, don't you think? Especially the pouty, "come hither" look. Pretty funny, if you ask me...

You are a Rose:You are creative, sensual, passionate, and bold. You pour your heart into everything that you do. Alluring and gifted with strong sex appeal, you very easily draw people in with your animal magnetism.Symbolsim: The rose has always been a flower heavily loaded with symbolism. In general it symbolizes desire, passion, beauty, and enchantment.

Yup. I'm loaded with animal magnestism. Especially today. Sitting here with my hair only partly pulled up while the rest hangs in my face (not in the sexy, Victoria's Secret way...more like Edward Scissorhands), no makeup and wearing my ratty, fuzzy blue slippers. Not only that, I smell like puke, because Baby has a stomach virus.

That's me. I'm a rose.

I've never been drunk in my life. However, I would liken the way I feel this morning to being hung over.

Hubby got in last night around 9:30, I think. I was staring blankly at the computer screen about to pass out from exhaustion. Just as he walked in the door, I heard Baby cry. The last thing I remember was laying down next to her. Then I woke up in my bed, fully clothed, sandwiched between Hubby and Baby. I looked at the clock. 1:12 a.m. Baby is still attached and wriggling around. She has a yucky cough, a stuffed up nose and tooting like a freight train. I sit up and try to decide if I should give her the cold medicine or the gas medicine. I can't give them simultaneously. I decide the cold medicine will probably make her drowsy, so I get up and take her to the bathroom to administer it. Two hours later, she finally goes back to sleep.

I wake up to the sounds of Brother and Sister arguing in the living room. Baby hears it and is instantly fully awake and ready to play. I'm trying to peel my eyelids open as she climbs onto my head and straddles it. She bounces up and down, riding my head like a pony at the fair, giggling and screeching with delight. I groan. I don't want to get up. But the fact is, even though she is being such a rotten little stinker, she is so adorable I can't resist her. I grab a chubby little leg and nibble it and make a wish that she would never get a day older. My cute-o-meter completely maxed out, I remember that the gas man is coming to light the pilot light on my oven. Luckily, I am already dressed, so once I drag myself out of bed and have coffee, we can get the show on the road.

I am staggering down the hall, my head in a fog. The living room is like a field of land mines, with toys and books strewn about. I am an expert at dodging them. I can do it in my sleep. Which is good, because I am not quite awake. I feel like Dracula, eyes squinted, arms raised, trying to block out the light that seems to be burning a hole in my brain. Coffee. Must have coffee. It is the life's blood that flows through my veins. Brother takes a break from fighting with Sister to tell me how hungry he is. I grunt something about patience as I fumble for the coffee maker. I start to break out the cereal...again...when I have a pang of guilt and decide to make french toast. I bark orders for the kids to pick up the land mine so we don't kill the gas man, and I attempt to make breakfast in my stupor. The coffee beeps. Actually, the coffee maker beeps and I get butterflies, knowing I am about to have my fix. It's hot. It's creamy. It's soothing. I feel it down to my toes. It's...well, you get the picture. I kind of like coffee. So, I'm coming alive and the smell of cinnamon toasting on the bread is wafting through the house. I am glad because it will mask the smell of filth when the gas man arrives. Brother comes into the kitchen and says, "Mom, can we have french toast for breakfast?" I stop and look at him, slightly pleased that I have pulled this one off. I actually made what he wanted! Before he asked!! I said, "Yes, you can." He grinned. "How did I know that's what you wanted?" I ask. He said, "Well, I thought I smelled poop or something, but it was French Toast."

I go over my mental to-do list for today.

1. Clean behind the stove.
2. School.
3. Shower. I'm starting to smell.
4. Bathe the kids. They smell, too.
5. Figure out what to make for dinner and go get it.
6. Visit with a friend who is coming over.

I have to do all of this by 4:30 or 5:00, because tonight I am meeting friends...without children...for dinner and a movie. And I see an email from Hubby containing an errand I need to do for him. It is more than I can get done, so I'm trying to prioritize. There is God knows what living behind my stove, since it has sat in the same place for seven years without being moved, so I feel the need to clean before the gas man comes. I'd like to push back the visit with a friend to another day, but I haven't seen her in about 9 months, and we've been trying to get together for about 2 months. I don't feel like I can do that to her. A shower is pretty important, too, but maybe I can use a baby wipe to wash off a bit and make due. No, I want to look and smell like a girl tonight. I want to do makeup, hair, the whole shabang. The kids haven't bathed in about four days, and I can't leave it to Hubby tonight because he will have a friends' two kids along with our three so she and I can go hang with the girls. It's all important!!!

I call Hubby and he is short with me about calling him at work. So we fight by text messaging while the kids eat breakfast. I barely get everyone dressed when the gas man arrives. So much for cleaning behind the stove. Luckily, he doesn't even pull it out. Not so lucky, we need a new part for the stove. Gas man leaves. I text Hubby. "Handle it." is his reply. Add that to my list. I do a short school lesson with the kids, call around to find the part for the stove and we pile in the car to run errands, smelly and all. We are in Wal-Mart when a sweet, little grandpa begins to talk to Baby and tell her how pretty she is. She just stares at him and he laughs. "She's awful quiet," he says. "Not like my granddaughter." "Oh, she's not like this at home," I assure him. He waves bye-bye to her, which is met with a cold, dead stare. I start off down the aisle again when I realize Sister is not with me. I call her name. No answer. I check the nearby aisles. I can't find her. I'm starting to run, frantically searching for that long, blonde ponytail and red shirt. Finally, I see her, sitting on the floor looking at a Barbie computer game. She looks up at me with those enormous baby blues, "Mom, can we get this?" I grab her little arm and give her a swift swat on the tushie. "DON'T EVER WALK AWAY FROM ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!" I don't even care if people are looking at me. She looks confused and then starts to cry. I scoop her up and squeeze her tight, shaking. I can't even let my mind begin to think about what could have happened. "You scared me, " she says, sobbing. "You scared me, too" I say, not wanting to let her go.

I was going to try and pick up the stove part, but it is lunchtime by the time we leave Wal-Mart. Baby has fallen asleep in the 8 minutes it takes us to get home, so I try to wake her up when I get her out of the car. She won't do it. Now, if I tried to lay her down, she would be wide awake. We get the bags in and I set her down on the floor. She starts wailing, but the clock is ticking, so I leave her. I am expecting my friend around 1:30. I need to feed everyone, put them down for naps and sneak in a shower in about an hour and a half. I put the girls in the bathtub while I make lunch. Hubby calls and we make up. He says he will pick up the part for the stove on his way home. The girls get clean, everyone gets fed and they all lay down. I hit the shower. I get to use the yummy smelling shower gel Hubby got me for Valentine's Day. And I don't hurry. No one is standing outside the door yelling. No little fingers are poking in under the door. Afterwards I use more yummy smelling stuff from Hubby and I feel like a new person. A real person.

The sun is shining, the wind is blowing, as if God is whispering to me "Spring is coming!" The house is quiet. I am clean. I smell good. Tonight I get to take off my Mommy hat and go be me with the girls. We will cluck and cackle like hens and eat queso at Senor Tequila's. I am excited. I deserve it.

I've never been drunk in my life. But after today, maybe now is a good time to start.

I have lost my fruit bowl. I know what you're thinking. "How the heck do you lose a fruit bowl?!" Let's just say there are some things I am very good at. Misplacing things should have been my major in college. It's been missing about nine days. The bad thing is, it had fruit in it.

Oh well. Guess I'll just wait and follow my nose...

Needs Good Home

One very energetic, six-year-old boy. Scruffy in appearance, missing two front teeth, usually has holes in knees. Housebroken, though needs some work on aim. Could benefit from obedience training. Eats only peanut butter and root beer. Serious inquiries only.

Okay, okay. Of course, I wouldn't take anything for my one and only boy. Although if you had asked me earlier today, I might have given it some thought. He is so whiny and downright crotchety!!! It's driving me up the wall. If he complains this much at six, what is it going to be like when he's sixteen?

Have A Seat...NOT!

It's a good thing I didn't have any "surprise" company drop by today. Not only would I have been extremely embarrassed, but they would have had to sit on the floor.

I started my day ready to put Brother on the first school bus outta here. We reviewed a new phonetical sound that we learned on Friday. Friday he had it down. Friday he zoomed through all the reading words with that sound like greased lightning. Friday he was a genius, a boy wonder. Today...not so much. We began with spelling words, reviewing the "ng" sound. First word, "win". Second word, "wing". Third word, "thin". Fourth word, "thing". Notice a pattern? Unfortunately, he didn't. And for some reason it was driving me CRAZY. Of course, it might have had something to do with cranky Baby and restless Sister clammoring for me attention, too. It took us half an hour to do eight words, but I managed to keep from throwing the teacher's guide across the room. Next we went over some reading words with sounds he already knew. The last row of words went like this: "funny, sneaky, baby, tricky". He read the first three fairly quickly. But he got hung up on "tricky". He kept saying "trickick". Trickick?! I tried to help. In a very soft, soothing voice, through clenched teeth, I said, "If this says funn-y, sneak-y, bab-y, what does this say?" His reply? "Trickick." He got the "trick" part, but couldn't make the connection at the end. He was squirming and trying to change the subject. He was sooooooo not interested. I wanted to scream. I wanted to jump up and down. I wanted to throw things. I wanted to tear my clothes and rip my hair out by the roots. Okay...well, maybe not the hair. I pay good money to make it look like my daughter gets the blonde hair from me. (Just for the record, she does.) I was so incredibly frustrated I couldn't see straight. I wanted to just put the books away and put on a video for them. It was all I could do to muster up the little bit of patience I had to help him through it. It took an hour and a half to do a lesson he usually does in thirty minutes. But once we did it, I was so glad it was me there to help him. It was one of those moments that would have been completely different for him in a classroom. It could have been a day he would have come home from school defeated and hating it. Instead, I got to see him through to success and then we moved on to fun things. We made a volcano. I taught him to play Uno. We played a math game.

My house is a disaster. But man, what a great day.

Okay, This Is What I'm Talking About

In my complete shock at finding an actual "Shepherd's Guide", I sent an email to whoever it is who responds to their "contact us" emails. I told them I thought this was wrong, and didn't do anything to further the Kingdom, yada, yada, yada. I wasn't hateful or rude. I'm not even sure why I did it, except that I was feeling especially outspoken and probably just a tad teed off. I certainly didn't expect anything in response. But surprise, surprise, Mr. Dave Moyer responded:

Although I may disagree with some of your comments, much of what you share is right on target. As a corporation that has been blessed to be in business for over 25 years, we have always been sensitive to the "great commission" even while our particular focus is on the Church - the visible body of believers. You will find that within the pages of The Shepherd's Guide there are clear evangelical messages - for salvation, growth in your walk with the Lord, inspiration, encouragement, etc. We regularly include the Billy Graham "steps to salvation"; confident that many readers have not yet received Christ. Many non-Christians use the Shepherd's guide as a resource because of the perceived "trust factor" (their words, not mine). This is where the Shepherd's Guide and its family of thousands of advertisers are at their "evangelical" best - serving as stewards of God-owned businesses, testifying of the "hope that is within" by doing business His way, making a difference, not so much by what we say but what we do! With that said, I want it to be perfectly clear our primary focus on believers is intentional and biblically mandated: "Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do well to all, especially to those who are of the household of faith." (Galatians 6:10)

I also want to assure you that we don't believe that Christians are more trustworthy; however, we believe they should be - we are "new creations"!!

Thanks again for your comments and for your heart for the lost.

Together for Him,

David Moyer

I went back to the website to copy some of what I read upon first discovering it. However, it has been changed. Either that, or I am hallucinating. The first time I read their home page, it was a much longer shpeal and it didn't include the soft focus image of a shepherd. Anyone else know what I'm talking about? One of the statements that stuck out in my mind, though I can't remember it word for word, was something like you would know the people were trustworthy because they were Christians and you'd know they were Christians because they had to sign a statement of faith before they were allowed to advertise. However, try as I might, I could not find it on there today. I don't know what that means.

I thought about just letting this issue die. I was feeling kind of bored with it. But I feel the need to further explain myself. I still don't understand the need for this directory. Is one plumber's crack more righteous than another? (No offense to plumbers) If I wanted a Christian doctor or counselor, couldn't I find one easily enough, being a Christian? Wouldn't word of mouth be enough? Personally, I wouldn't seek out a counselor or doctor just because they were a Christian. If they are any good, they are going to take my beliefs into account. Seriously, would a non-Christian marriage counselor tell me to divorce my husband or do something immoral to save the marriage? And if they did, shouldn't I know the difference? Do I need a couselor to pray for me? Do I need an intercedant? And as far as the praying doctor goes, will God say "Sorry, I can't answer your prayer to heal. But if your doctor asks for it, I'll do it. His carries more weight"?

And do these people really believe that someone who is not a Christian is going to pick up this directory, read the "steps to salvation" and suddenly convert? And if they aren't a Christian, but "trust" Christians more, why aren't they a Christian in the first place? I can't believe they actually perceive that as outreach. This is their "evangelical best"?

I know just as many immoral Christians as non-Christians. Just because they say they follow Christ doesn't mean they do. Signing a piece of paper doesn't make it so. This directory is someone's idea to make money by marketing to Christians. It's no different than a Jesus-scented candle. I think saying, "Come do business with me because I'm a Christian" is repulsive. It's the opposite of what we should be doing. It is one step further to living in the bubble.

Whoa...She Wasn't Making It Up...

It's true. There is such a thing as a Jesus-scented candle.

http://www.nbc10.com/news/4287825/detail.html

Boundaries

Tonight I got to go to Wal-Mart all by my little lonesome. It was a delightful treat. How pathetic am I? I only went for milk, cold medicine and bread, but since I was alone, I also got a pumice stone, half price Valentine candy and a book.

During my leisurely stroll down each and every aisle, I feel my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. I check to see who it is. Sam. My brother. He's already left me three voice mails today, but I haven't had a chance to call him back. I answer.
"Wow! You finally answered!" he says. His reaction when I don't answer every single time he calls, which can be half a dozen times in one day. "Where are you?"
"I'm in Wal-Mart."
"Where's the kids?"
"They're at home with their dad."
"Oh, he's home? He's not answering his phone."
"Well, he's probably got the ringer off. What's going on?" I reply, trying to hide the irritation in my voice and sound cheery and friendly-like.
"Well, I think I should come up tomorrow. It looks like Friday is going to be bad."

Allow me to fill you in on the conversation I had with him last night. He calls me yesterday afternoon, Valentine's Day, and wants to come over. He said he had a roommate who was drinking and smoking in the room and he can't take it. He said he was waiting on his next unemployment check so he could get his own room. "It's Valentine's Day," I said. "Oh, do you and Todd have plans?" he asks. I told him we did, even though it consisted of staying home. "Well, I could come over and watch the kids for you" was his suggestion. My brother won't even have a pet because he doesn't want the responsibility. I'm going to leave my three children in his care? Yeah, right. I was able to explain to him that it wasn't a good time and offered for him to come over Friday.

Now, tonight, I'm standing in Wal-Mart, having my glorious solo shopping night interrupted, listening to him try to manipulate me.
"Bad? What do you mean bad?" I ask.
"Well, the weather. It's going to get bad Friday."
"Well, I have plans," I say. It's no lie. I really do.
"Oh," comes the disheartened answer. "I just thought it would be better with the weather and all. I don't know if I can make it Friday."
Fortunately, the connection started breaking up and I had to cut it short. "Let me call you back when I get home," I say. About 30 seconds later, my hip vibrates again. It's my husband.
"You need to call your brother," he says in a very annoyed tone.
"Yes, I already talked to him."
"What's he want?"
"He wants to come up tomorrow."
"What?! No. Absolutely not. You need to tell him no. Did you tell him to call and ask me?"
"No! I told him I'd call him back when I got home. He was breaking up. Why are you avoiding him?" Sam loves my husband. Probably as much or more than he loves me. My husband has always been very kind to him, and treats him like a real person. That's not something he gets every day. But lately, he's been avoiding his calls, just because he calls all the time. I'm feeling trapped between the two of them. My brother is needy and looks to us to fill a need. My husband is annoyed with that and is trying to put some distance between them. I am afraid to get angry with Sam, who is emotionally fragile, so I vent on my husband, who I know will not flake out on me.

Allow me to flash back again, about two years ago. Sam gets arrested and put in jail. Honestly, it's happened so many times, I can't remember the particular charge. My parents have bailed him out time and again. On this occasion, they did not. He was there for three weeks. During this time he called me collect from jail at least twice a day, asking me to forward messages to my parents and just to cry. He told me how sorry he was, how it wouldn't happen again. How if he could just get out of there he'd turn his life around. After about a week of this, the calls began to take a serious manipulative dive. He told me he couldn't take it anymore. If he didn't get out he was just going to end it. He told me no matter what happened, to remember that he loved me. And he hung up, leaving me screaming and crying hysterically into the phone. I called my mom in a panic, barely able to speak. I've always had this fear in the back of my mind that he would kill himself. I could see it playing out with a very tragic ending. But he didn't do it. And it seemed everyone but me knew he wouldn't. My husband was irate, to say the least, that he played me like that, and refused any collect phone calls from him from that point on.

So, I'm standing in the checkout line at Wal-Mart. I know Sam has an ability to manipulate me, and I let him. I would love to forget he called and just avoid him rather than confront him honestly. I am afraid to be honest. I don't want to crush him. As I stand there, blankly staring at the People magazine cover, I see a scenerio where Sam is feeling desperate because my husband is avoiding him and I am refusing him and he kills himself. I blame myself, and then my husband for not taking his calls. I don't want to be in this position. I don't like feeling responsible for his emotional well-being. Should I? Why am I? I am either willing to let him suck me dry or I completely ignore him. I'm having a hard time finding that happy medium with Sam. And I'm not sure if happy medium is okay.

I call my husband when I get in the car. "You have to establish some boundaries with Sam," he says. I know he is right. I know it is my job, not his. I have to suck it up and do it, and not play into his game of emotional chess. I take a deep breath and dial Sam's number.
"Poo?" he answers. Yes, my nickname is Poo. There is a disgusting rhyme that my family attached to it, but I won't get into that.
"Can you hear me now?" I joke, trying to be like the cell phone commercial.
"Yeah," he laughs. "Hey, do I need to wait till Friday?"
"Yeah, Sam, you really do."
"Well, I know. I understand."
I am relieved.
"I don't think the weather is going to be that bad," I say. "It's going to be cold, and we might get some rain, but it should be fine."
"I'm so excited to see you guys. Are the babies okay?"
"Yeah, they're fine."
"I talked to Mom tonight. You know, Dad didn't get her anything for Valentine's Day."
"Really?" I say, not too surprised.
"Dad, you know, he's...well, he's not the dad he used to be, Poo. That doesn't mean I don't love him, though." His voice cracks a little. "It's not easy to love him, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," I say. "Sometimes it's not easy."
"I do love him. I don't tell him that, though. He doesn't like to hear it. Well, I'm excited to see you. What time on Friday?"
"How about 5:00? Come for dinner," I say, as I'm pulling into the driveway
"Ooooooo, what are we having?"
"I don't know. We'll think of something."
"I'll see you then. I love you, Poo."
"I love you, too, Sam," and I cut the engine.

Good Grief

Hey, guys! Now Christians don't even have to patronize non-Christian businesses!!! Just look in this handy-dandy guide to find a good, God-fearing person like yourself so no pagans will be able to further the devil's work with your hard earned money. God forbid we have contact with people who don't go to church. If they'd just come to church and hear about Jesus they could get some good religion and be listed in this here directory, too.

http://corporate.shepherdsguide.com/

Family

Yesterday the kids and I went to see my parents. I had no cash whatsoever, so we took the scenic route instead of the turnpike. This led us through a town I lived in as a small child. I hadn't been there in a few years, but everytime I drive through, I have all these very vivid memories. The first was the tire shop where my dad worked. I pointed it out to the kids and explained that was where PawPaw worked when I was a little girl. This, of course, opened up questions about what life was like when I was a kid. I decided to take a detour and show them where we lived. I was six when we moved from there, but amazingly enough, I still remembered the way. It was a small apartment complex, which surprised me. It seemed endless when I was barefooted, running to and from my friend's apartments, playing on the playground and wading in the creek that ran behind. It was a surreal feeling to drive through the parking lot and see that the buildings were only two stories, when I remember climbing the stairs to the second floor and it seemed to take forever. I pointed out the apartment that was ours. "See? Right there where that pink and purple bike is." "So, that was your bike?" asked Brother. "No, Sweetie," I explained. "Someone else lives there now. That belongs to another little girl." I showed them the laundromat where we washed our clothes and where some of my friends lived. The creek was now blocked by a fence. Good thinking. I told them the story of how I went wading in the creek with my friend, Robin, barefoot, of course. Mee Maw found me and spanked my bottom. She told me to stay out of that creek, there were things in there I could step on and cut my foot. Well, as soon as she was out of sight, I went right back in. And do you know what happened? I cut my foot on a piece of glass. I remember her running to me, picking me up and running with me to the car with a bloody towel wrapped around my foot, half hysterical herself. The doctors couldn't get my foot numb, so they put the eight stitches in without anesthetic. It took two nurses and my poor mother to hold me down. She still shudders when we talk about that. On the way out of town, I showed them where I went to Kindergarten, and Sister was fascinated that I was four, like her, when I started. All the reminiscing brought back hundreds of memories, like an old photo album turning pages in my mind. It was a time when all we ever did on weekends was hang out with our family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents...we were always doing something together. It seemed like we were so close and enjoyed each other so much. Now, my children only see their grandparents about once a month, and aunts and uncles even less. As we made our way to Mom and Dad's, I felt the ache inside for that family that loved and laughed in the midst of so much gone wrong. Knowing what I know now, things were bad...for all of us. But it didn't seem to matter. I always thought I had a tight-knit family. And now I am so sad for the distance and the superficial hug that never really goes deep enough for me, never really scratches the itch. I want more.

My Prayer For the Day

For the Record

A serving of Hershey's Kisses is 9 pieces. One serving has 13 grams of fat, 230 calories and 24 grams of carbs. One 13-ounce bag has roughly 9 servings in it...about 81 kisses. So if I eat half a bag, I have consumed 68.5 grams of fat, 1, 025 calories and 108 grams of carbs. I said IF. Fortunately I think I only ate about 1/4 of the bag, so I'm okay.

Too Cute

I know I said I wasn't going to post pictures of my kids, but this one was too cute. I had to do it. Baby and Cookie.

The Wake of Hurricane Grandma

Hurricane Grandma hit land at approximately 1:00 p.m. yesterday, leaving death and destruction (and a clean kitchen) in her wake.

A little background about my Grandma Val. Once a possum found it's way into her trailer house. She caught it with her bare hands, took it outside, and, holding it by the tail, swung its' head against the sidewalk till it died. She had a leak in the roof, but no one around to fix it. So Grandma, well into her seventies, grabbed the ladder, climbed up on the roof, and fixed it herself...in August. You might imagine her as a big, burly woman. But she is a stick. She once told me not to hug her so hard because it hurt. Now Grandma has lung cancer and has been taking chemotherapy for a few months. My parents have been taking care of her and took her to her doctor's appointment yesterday. While they were in town, they called ahead and said they'd like to come over for a visit. Now, I'm not quite the housekeeper my mom was, and though she would never say a word about it, my dad has been known to make a few comments here and there. So I do try to make things a bit neater than normal when they come over. I'm over trying to make it all perfect, but I put in a smidge of extra effort to make them comfortable. I was barely out of the shower and dressed when I heard their knock on the door at 1:00, even though they were supposed to be here between 2:00 and 2:30. Grandma doesn't even bother to wait for me to open it before she blows right on in.
"Why isn't your door locked? You're supposed to keep your door locked! Too many crazy people in this world!"
"I know," I say as I lean over to hug her. "How are you?"
"I'm hungry!" She makes her way to the kitchen. "I haven't had a thing to eat today. They wouldn't even let me have coffee! I want a pancake!"
What happens next is a whirlwind of activity, so I'm a bit foggy on the details. Mom went straight to the kitchen and got the coffee pot going and starting asking where I kept the baking powder and flour and salt. I pointed her in the direction of the laundry room, where the pantry is, as Grandma exclaimed, "Good Lord, Donna (my mom)! I don't know how you're going to get to anything! Look at the dishes! That sink is full!" There were a few big items in the sink that wouldn't fit in the dishwasher, so I guess that made it look full. I winced as Mom made her way to the laundry room, knowing full well Grandma would have something to say about the state it was in. As soon as she opened the door, Grandma hit me with another one. "Good grief! How can you get any laundry done? Would you look at the stuff piled on that dryer!" Grandma takes off her coat and rolls up her sleeves. She runs dishwater in the sink while Mom mixes pancake batter quietly. The crockpot containing cheese dip from our SuperBowl party the day before really gets Grandma going. The two of them are zipping around my kitchen, washing, cleaning, cooking, clearing the table, all within about two minutes of their arrival. I look at Dad, mouth agape. He rolls his eyes and says with a grin, "Where's your vaccum?" But Grandma has no patience for idle hands. "Why are you just standing there, girl? That's why you can't get anything done!" Ouch. That one stung. I smiled and pretended to be listening to one of the kids. I decided to get out of the way before I got run over...again.

Grandma softened a bit after eating and having some coffee. But continued to hop up and down the entire time she was here, never really stopping to visit. I'm pretty sure she didn't realize she was speaking to Supermom. After all, most civilians see me as a mild-mannered housewife when I am not wearing the cape.

It's a good thing I cleaned the pee from the bathroom floor before they came. That might've sent Grandma over the edge and I wouldn't be standing here today.

Holy Kitty Litter, Batman!

Sister put Brother's Batman cape on Cookie today and yelled at me, "Mommy! Come look! It's a BatCookie!!" Cookie was thrilled, as you can tell.

SuperBowl Meltdown

I was arrogant and foolish. I was haughty and proud. I said God had given me patience and he struck me down, as if to say, "So you think you have patience, huh? KAPOW!!!!!!! Here's a cranky toddler who needs a nap. KABAM!!!! One snotty four-year-old girl, coming up! KABLOOEY!!! How about a sleepy, grouchy boy who wants to beat up his sister? And if that's not enough, let's have all this fun at church." On a scale from one to ten, I would give my children's behavior in church this morning a -20. And it wasn't just one of them, it was all three...a conspiracy between them and God to take me down a notch or two. I noticed Sister's behavior first, when people were talking to her before things got started. She had her head down, brows furrowed and gave everyone the silent treatment in pouty overdrive. When class got started Brother kicked things off with a classic I-Don't-Want-To-This-Is-Boring routine, interjecting whines here and there. Then almost got into a knock-down-drag-out with Sister toward the end. And not to be outdone, Baby cried through most of it. Patience? What patience?! When it was over, I gathered our things, gathered Daddy Dear and found the door as quickly as possible, with two of them in tears behind me. We marched to the car in a sad parade while I fought with everything in me not to scream at the top of my lungs, "I CAN THROW A BIGGER FIT THAN YOU!!!!!!!!!!!" My anger was like a boiling pot of stewing chicken. No matter how I tried to keep the lid on, steam kept forcing the lid to clatter up and down, making an annoying little racket. To make matters worse, we were having company over to watch the SuperBowl and I had done zilch to prepare. More steam. Clank. Clank. Clank. This became my husband's fault because...well, because he was there. The closest target. We stopped at the store and I ran in to get something for lunch while the rest of the family waited in the car, my lid clanking all the way. Suddenly I didn't want anyone coming to my house. I didn't want my family at my house. I didn't want to be at my house. I wanted to run away. I went to the dairy aisle to grab a package of cheese slices for sandwiches. A man pushed his cart to land right in front of the cheese, just the right spot to block everything I needed. And he stood there, looking and thinking. Thinking and looking. I sighed. Clank. He reached up and fingered some string cheese, obviously pondering the very important decision he had to make. Clank. I finally went around the front of his cart and grabbed what I needed. I didn't even say "excuse me". But it didn't matter, because he didn't even know I was there. Clankety clank. I made my way to the salad dressing aisle and grabbed a jar of mayo. Then I proceeded to try and find the shortest checkout line, which didn't exist, because everyone at the grocery store was in on the conspiracy with God and my family to make my life miserable. So I found the slowest possible checkout girl who was ringing up a little, old lady with a basket overflowing. Clank. Clank. Once the little, old lady finished paying for her things. She just stood there. Waiting. She said something to the kid who was trying to help her out with her groceries. He just looked at her. Clank. Then he looked at the checkout girl, who was smacking her gum and looking at me as if to say, "Well?" Clankety clank clank. Grandma wasn't moving. Clank clank clank clank. Smacking Checkout Girl went ahead and rang me up with Grandma standing in my way. "Three sixty two," she smacked at me. Grandma is standing right in front of the thing I need to swipe my card. Clank. Smack. Clank. Smack. Why Smackerella didn't pay attention to Grandma and find out what it was she was waiting on, I don't know. So I reached over in front of her and swiped my card. She then realized she was finished and apologized sweetly. I felt bad. I smiled and said, "That's okay." As I was leaving I heard the checkout girl saying something about the bad day she was having.

After a quick lunch at home, I put the kids to bed and sent hubby back to the store to pick up food for the SuperBowl gathering. I found my "zone" and began to clean. I also turned the fire down on my boiling pot. It was good to have that time alone with my thoughts and put things into perspective. People came. We ate. We had fun. And it wasn't such a bad day after all.

Interesting...

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060204/ap_on_re_us/church_fires

All Is Well

I'm having writer's block. I know many of you come to my blog looking for something to make you laugh at my life and feel better about your own. No, really, it's okay. I enjoy being able to see the humor in things that otherwise drive me crazy, and if it helps someone out, even better. However, God is truly answering my prayers for patience and wisdom...well, I have the patience part, anyway. The jury is still out on wisdom. Unfortunately, it doesn't make for a funny blog. Really, the kids and I have been having some unbelievable days lately. And the times I feel like I'm about to go postal have been few and short-lived. Sorry...all is peachy keen here at the crazy housewife camp. I truly enjoy being a domestic goddess. However, I am continually swimming in laundry, so I am going to post my original poem, Ode to Laundry. You may have read it before, but I refuse to put another serious post on this blog. People will start talking.

Laundry, O Laundry, Most Monotonous of Chores!
You lie strewn about blocking entries and doors.
Just when I think we are over and done
You creep right back in ruining all of my fun.

Laundry, O Laundry, will you ever be silent?
Your night and day beckoning is making me violent!
Among endless mountains of undies and dresses,
Your sad, soapy song demeans and depresses.

I have tried to escape you and leave you behind
But your vengeance is one that is more than unkind.
Ignoring you unleashes your anger tenfold!
(I mean that literally...ten times more to fold)

And to make matters worse, you then make me hated
when my entire family has to spend the day naked.
Alas, I cannot turn my back on your call.
I must always answer...always heed your footfall.

I am trapped under Carter's and Osh Kosh B'Gosh,
And I now bear the marks of bleach and Spray and Wash.
You have beaten me down. You have made me your slave.
We are diabolically joined till I go to my grave.

So Laundry, Vile Laundry, my days aren't my own.
I'll keep washing the clothes...reap the seeds I have sown.
But one day, perhaps I'll mark you off the to-do list,
When I have the last laugh and go live with the Nudists!!