I no longer teach in my church women's group once a month, and as much as I love the turning-eight-year-olds that I teach every Sunday now, I really miss it. So when I got asked to give a short presentation for the Relief Society's mid-week February activity titled "How Do I Love Thee?" I jumped at the chance. There were to be three women speaking, each with a different topic on expressing and growing love in our families, with our husbands, and the topic I got, toward our friends and neighbors.
I worked pretty hard on the presentation, and I wanted to share the meat of it with y'all. First though, I am compelled to give you a bit of back story on how I arrived at my approach to the material. I call it my "provenance" and I when I say I am compelled, it's no joke. I pretty much have to do this or I can't go forward, a little thing I learned about myself and teaching style when I used to teach RS. It's sad that I cling to this teaching conceit, my little crutch, but it appears to be my one nod to the streak of OCD that crops up now and then in my family. So suck it up, ya'll... or I guess you could just skip the following, and check back in tomorrow for the first installment of Love Your Neighbor: The Six B's of Friendship.
But where's the fun in that?
When I said earlier that I "jumped " at the opportunity to teach when I was asked, I am mostly telling the truth. My only reservation was that making friends and being a good friend is an area where I have felt weak most of my life. Starting in grade school when I wished so hard for a good friend, a bosom-buddy-friend-for-life type friendship that I had read about in books. Instead I ended up in friendships that were not satisfying and that were fairly shallow. In High School I became one of those girls who you would often hear talk about how being friends with guys was soooo much better, "cuz girls are just so silly, and they are mean... mnyeah!"
Looking back as I started to prepare, I began to realize that the potential for friendships that were nourishing and fulfilling were always there, I just didn't know how to make those connections. I started looking at what was different about me and my approach to being a friend that made this so, tried to put my finger on what worked.
The first thing that came to mind was my mouth. Seriously. My main focus on being a good friend and neighbor is centered on three activities that are managed by mouth. Eating, talking and shutting my pie-hole (both in terms of letting someone else share for theloveofpete, and refraining from gossip). I have discovered as a mother of young children that I was feeling isolated and lonely, and mostly in the middle of the day. So I started inviting women over for lunch. And when I say lunch, sometimes it's as simple as tuna fish sandwiches and a bag of tortilla chips. I think I have even done PB & J's with a girlfriend in my messy kitchen during a problem stretch of time when I was nursing Pearl. Sometimes I make it a little nicer, trying out a recipe that I know my kids and Dadguy will not be able to choke down but sounds good to me. Mostly though, I have this recipe for vegetable soup that I got from Weight Watchers that is amazing; tastes awesome, is filling, nourishing and I have yet to meet a dieter or non-dieter who does not love it with some buttered whole grain toast. The conversation and confidences that have occurred over bowls of Friendship Soup at my table have enriched my life and quite frankly made it possible to keep going with a cheerful heart, or at least a lessening of the obscenity track that plays in my head. Dadguy can tell the days that I have had one of these lunch dates or something similar, I suspect that I am more bearable and fun to be around, so I can even consider these lunches as helpful to my marriage and family. You know it's true; If Mama ain't happy, NObody's happy!
Obviously these lunches aren't gonna work so well for those of you who are 9 to 5, but then again this is not rocket science, we each have our own style and depending on our lives and even the time of life, we have different needs.
The content that I am gonna be posting for the next few days pretty much assumes that you have opportunities to meet other women (work, church, playgroups, school), and yes.... the "friendship" aspects will contain language that assumes you are a woman, and probably growing friendships with other women. Mostly because as a married woman I find it is prudent to not pursue close friendships with men, but also because I was covering a this material for a fairly narrow audience. I don't see any reason to do otherwise, and you can correct me, but I suspect that you can find your own, or broader applications of these principles if you so desire.
Meantime, I am always looking for suggestions on simple ways of being friends. For instance, I have been thinking about starting Mommy Late Overs. The idea being that once ya get the kiddos down at night, leave your husband in charge and come over to my house for a chick flic and popcorn. Whaddaya think? Simple and fun, yeah? No?
Friday, February 26, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Lilac Turns Six
So much has been going on in the House of Chaos; some new, some exciting, but really.... most of it mundane.
On Monday my parents went into the MTC in Provo... for all y'all who don't know Mormon lingo, they entered into the Missionary Training Center in advance to heading off for the Washington DC South Mission, where they will serve in various places (mostly VA) for the next 18 months.
They gonna be doing a full-on Proselyting Mission. Dude. My 'rents are hard CORE. I feel something trembling on the cusp of amazing.... something momentous, at their making this commitment. The sight of them in their name tags at the restaurant on Friday night as they had just left the MTC and were yet to begin their drive to the East Coast, I swear that I could see... something. Something not quite of this mortal realm, something of eternity in them, or around them. Was kind of like sitting down to have a steak dinner with my parents, and maybe some angels.
I have a lot more to pray about these days. I have been more regular about saying my personal prayers, and put more of my heart into each prayer than I have in years.
Among other thing, I have a baby sister doing some work overseas right now. In one of those places, those scary places that I will be glad to have her back from. Not directly in harms way, but not far enough away that I rest easy.
I have learned a few things that I had learned before. Guess I will have to relearn them again next month or next year... 'cause apparently I learn like some kind of sieve. One lesson that I want to talk about, but may be redacted later for Birdie's sake:
Lilac's birthday was yesterday, Valentine's Day. But since this year it fell on Sunday, we decided to celebrate it on Saturday. I try to let the kids have a "friend" party on the odd number birthdays, and reserve the evens for "family" parties. Hopefully it keeps them from getting inflated expectations... we'll see. She turned six this year, so it was to be a cousin party. Anyway, I did not entirely have my act together and we had to hit a couple of stores Saturday morning to pick up some last minute items for the party that afternoon. I couldn't leave anyone home because Dadguy is taking every spare minute he can to put into programming an app for the release of Apple's new iPad, so he was long gone working. Birdie was having a rough time of it. Actually, she was being downright ugly about having to come along to the store, about Lilac's birthday, about not being the center of the excitement. Although, to be fair, Birdie really hates going on shopping trips in general.
I got pretty fed up with it pretty fast. She was really raining on Lilacs parade, and I was also feeling pretty outraged that she would be so nasty about someone else getting to have a special day so soon after such a lovely fuss had been made over her. I felt like she was being very ungrateful and very selfish and very shortsighted.
"Why," I thought, "couldn't she just enjoy the moment for someone else? Why couldn't she be happy to think that her sister was about to get lovely gifts that she would probably share with her sisters? She was about to attend a party, eat cake and generally make merry even if the party was not all about her?" I finally got in her face and informed her that I was not about to let her be so nasty about this, not going to allow her to attend the party if she couldn't find a way to turn it around and help make this a special day for Lilac. It is to her credit that it took her maybe three minutes of silence before she chimed in with an idea for the party.
Sigh. Gratitude. How must I offend my Father in Heaven with my shortsightedness and nastiness, my unwillingness to be happy for others having so much. My ingratitude and insistence that being invited to the party is not enough. That I must be the star or I will be ugly about it.
I pray that I can be like my Birdie, that I can turn it around so quickly. Dang, I cringe to think of how I must hurt and offend my God when I turn a blind eye to my blessings.
On Monday my parents went into the MTC in Provo... for all y'all who don't know Mormon lingo, they entered into the Missionary Training Center in advance to heading off for the Washington DC South Mission, where they will serve in various places (mostly VA) for the next 18 months.
They gonna be doing a full-on Proselyting Mission. Dude. My 'rents are hard CORE. I feel something trembling on the cusp of amazing.... something momentous, at their making this commitment. The sight of them in their name tags at the restaurant on Friday night as they had just left the MTC and were yet to begin their drive to the East Coast, I swear that I could see... something. Something not quite of this mortal realm, something of eternity in them, or around them. Was kind of like sitting down to have a steak dinner with my parents, and maybe some angels.
I have a lot more to pray about these days. I have been more regular about saying my personal prayers, and put more of my heart into each prayer than I have in years.
Among other thing, I have a baby sister doing some work overseas right now. In one of those places, those scary places that I will be glad to have her back from. Not directly in harms way, but not far enough away that I rest easy.
I have learned a few things that I had learned before. Guess I will have to relearn them again next month or next year... 'cause apparently I learn like some kind of sieve. One lesson that I want to talk about, but may be redacted later for Birdie's sake:
Lilac's birthday was yesterday, Valentine's Day. But since this year it fell on Sunday, we decided to celebrate it on Saturday. I try to let the kids have a "friend" party on the odd number birthdays, and reserve the evens for "family" parties. Hopefully it keeps them from getting inflated expectations... we'll see. She turned six this year, so it was to be a cousin party. Anyway, I did not entirely have my act together and we had to hit a couple of stores Saturday morning to pick up some last minute items for the party that afternoon. I couldn't leave anyone home because Dadguy is taking every spare minute he can to put into programming an app for the release of Apple's new iPad, so he was long gone working. Birdie was having a rough time of it. Actually, she was being downright ugly about having to come along to the store, about Lilac's birthday, about not being the center of the excitement. Although, to be fair, Birdie really hates going on shopping trips in general.
I got pretty fed up with it pretty fast. She was really raining on Lilacs parade, and I was also feeling pretty outraged that she would be so nasty about someone else getting to have a special day so soon after such a lovely fuss had been made over her. I felt like she was being very ungrateful and very selfish and very shortsighted.
"Why," I thought, "couldn't she just enjoy the moment for someone else? Why couldn't she be happy to think that her sister was about to get lovely gifts that she would probably share with her sisters? She was about to attend a party, eat cake and generally make merry even if the party was not all about her?" I finally got in her face and informed her that I was not about to let her be so nasty about this, not going to allow her to attend the party if she couldn't find a way to turn it around and help make this a special day for Lilac. It is to her credit that it took her maybe three minutes of silence before she chimed in with an idea for the party.
Sigh. Gratitude. How must I offend my Father in Heaven with my shortsightedness and nastiness, my unwillingness to be happy for others having so much. My ingratitude and insistence that being invited to the party is not enough. That I must be the star or I will be ugly about it.
I pray that I can be like my Birdie, that I can turn it around so quickly. Dang, I cringe to think of how I must hurt and offend my God when I turn a blind eye to my blessings.
Anyway... speaking of blessings! Look at this glorious six year old !
And a close-up of the cake. Feast yer eyes, cuz this will the last super-fancy cake I make for quite a while. Took six-seven hours to make all told, I started making it the day before and I was still up against it time-wise at the very last... to say nothing of my helpers "helping." Too much time and too frustrating, and all I can see is how sloppy it looks. I know I know, it's fine, it looks great. But I am thinking that the time investment is not worth it. Really. The kid woulda been thrilled for a bakery cake from Wally World.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Pictorial
Birdie wanted a Sand Bucket Cake, and she wanted to decorate it herself.
Birdie and Dadguy right before we left for the Church for Birdie's Baptism.
The dress, the girl. Wow!
The Hair, very easy yet dramatic and princess-like.
The Valentines Box for school. Theme for second grade: Love Bugs.
Kindergarten Theme: Nursery Rhymes.
Little Sister Theme: I Am A BigGirl And I Get To
...and, um, Henry. Just cuz.Wednesday, February 03, 2010
I'm LOOKING!
One really good way to cuss up a perfectly good plan is to talk about it. Like that painting idea I had that I mentioned in my last post. Oh, it's still there, and I have some canvas and a plan to have the next-door neighbor guy make up the frame.
But that's about it.
I already knew that my story idea for a book was gonna sit on a shelf, probably for forever... but the painting kinda hurts.
Slow steps. Yeah. I know. Just some days it makes me want to peel my own skin off, this scattered way of living that seems to be the norm with this many small kids, their projects, homework, piano, the distractions and mess; the simple inability I have to finish the dishes, let alone a painting.
Gughk. Wah wah wah. I piss myself off.
Another note... I have been thinking about the homeschooling from last post too, and some of the comments combined with a post by a friend (and the resulting comments) , I remember now some of what I like about sending the kids off to school.
They get more room to become, more room to grow and grow UP. They have a whole new set of people telling them they should be brushing their freakin' teeth and using good manners.
Sometimes I get the feeling that my kids think I make up half the crap that I am trying to teach them as it is, do I really want to take this fight into academia? Seriously.
I want my kids to become self sufficient, to know that they can do stuff without me. Successfully. And I personally got a lot of that sense of "can do" from going to school. Public School. So I am feeling a little easier, with that in mind, easier enough to sit back and wait and see what happens next year. Chillax a bit. Breathe.
On another note. Wow. Hey. The Bird turns eight today. Eight years old. For those of you who are LDS, you know what this means. For those of y'all who aren't, it means she is now at the age of accountability. She is old enough to get baptised and become a member of the LDS church. Old enough to be held accountable for her decisions, old enough to make this covenant to follow Christ. This a very important time, a very sacred time.
I cannot seem to wrap my head around this; my baby is here already. And then again, this Birdie is more than ready. She is strong and whole and prepared, and I am so proud it hurts.
I was thinking the other day about how I used to think of myself as "damaged." I used to, but I haven't even thought about it for years. I used to feel bad that my sweet Dadguy had to get a broken version of me, but I think maybe, if I ever was in fact broken, I am now healed. If there are broken bits left? They are pretty much immaterial, they just don't matter in any way that matters. I love to look at my life and my family and revel in the goodness of it. To feel the love and joy with my whole body, visceral feeling of love. Funny how these moments don't inspire these feeling, but they sure do put them at forefront and grab ya and say "LOOK!"
But that's about it.
I already knew that my story idea for a book was gonna sit on a shelf, probably for forever... but the painting kinda hurts.
Slow steps. Yeah. I know. Just some days it makes me want to peel my own skin off, this scattered way of living that seems to be the norm with this many small kids, their projects, homework, piano, the distractions and mess; the simple inability I have to finish the dishes, let alone a painting.
Gughk. Wah wah wah. I piss myself off.
Another note... I have been thinking about the homeschooling from last post too, and some of the comments combined with a post by a friend (and the resulting comments) , I remember now some of what I like about sending the kids off to school.
They get more room to become, more room to grow and grow UP. They have a whole new set of people telling them they should be brushing their freakin' teeth and using good manners.
Sometimes I get the feeling that my kids think I make up half the crap that I am trying to teach them as it is, do I really want to take this fight into academia? Seriously.
I want my kids to become self sufficient, to know that they can do stuff without me. Successfully. And I personally got a lot of that sense of "can do" from going to school. Public School. So I am feeling a little easier, with that in mind, easier enough to sit back and wait and see what happens next year. Chillax a bit. Breathe.
On another note. Wow. Hey. The Bird turns eight today. Eight years old. For those of you who are LDS, you know what this means. For those of y'all who aren't, it means she is now at the age of accountability. She is old enough to get baptised and become a member of the LDS church. Old enough to be held accountable for her decisions, old enough to make this covenant to follow Christ. This a very important time, a very sacred time.
I cannot seem to wrap my head around this; my baby is here already. And then again, this Birdie is more than ready. She is strong and whole and prepared, and I am so proud it hurts.
I was thinking the other day about how I used to think of myself as "damaged." I used to, but I haven't even thought about it for years. I used to feel bad that my sweet Dadguy had to get a broken version of me, but I think maybe, if I ever was in fact broken, I am now healed. If there are broken bits left? They are pretty much immaterial, they just don't matter in any way that matters. I love to look at my life and my family and revel in the goodness of it. To feel the love and joy with my whole body, visceral feeling of love. Funny how these moments don't inspire these feeling, but they sure do put them at forefront and grab ya and say "LOOK!"
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Out of the Vortex
As far as I can tell, I coming out of the baby vortex... that's the black hole that all my energy, heart and brains goes into early on in each pregnancy and then continues to go until approximately when the baby starts taking one nap a day (thirteen months old).
I am back!
I guess.
Really, Hen is not doing the one nap bit yet... but I seem to be getting ideas again, so I am calling it good.
ish.
If I seem conflicted, it's because I am. I cannot quite figure it out. I clean forgot how to subtract two digit sums in a column last Saturday, yet I got a screamin' good idea for a book. Seriously. I had an actual vision of a painting two weeks ago, a thing that has not happened for me since I got pregnant with my first baby, yet I am as distracted as ever and cannot seem to finish a sentence using the correct words when I am speaking. The house is only the slightest bit more clean and organized, but I am super-amped about teaching a Color Theory For Kids class this summer. Having fun researching and putting together the lesson plans. Tonight I am headed off to the fourth and final class of the "play piano fast" class that came free with the purchase of a digital piano last year (the girl's are taking piano lesson). I will be playing "How Great Thou Art" in the class recital, top and bottom hands... I am crazy pleased with myself.
Plus I appear to have the extra energy to start freaking out about whether I should homeschool this fall, or just supplement the public schools with some extra stuff at home. Which, yeah, you might think hey! No brainer, chicky! Supplement City, why make life hard on yourself? But every time I volunteer over at Lilac or Birdie's class's I am struck by how much of what is going on is simple herd management. How useful is that? I guess I wouldn't mind the timesuck and the "hurry up and wait" crap, except that it's my understanding that this school really falls apart for advanced kids in the third grade.
As much as I don't want to be "that mom." I fear it less than being the mom who just wasn't paying attention while everything fell to crap for her kid, and this year has been very disheartening for me as far as Birdie goes. Don't get me wrong, things are mostly Ok, and when I talk to moms of special needs kids I feel like a real schmuck for getting in a twist, but her teacher just doesn't get her, has no clue where this little girl is coming from.
Sure, at Parent-Teacher night the conversation seemed to go well at first, with all the things a mama would hope to hear.... top reader in the class, one of the top spellers, great in math, pays attention, participates in class, etc. it was the odd pauses before she continues with a puzzled look on her face that Birdie also really enjoys to write, but how she doesn't write things at all like any of the other kids. How her writing sounds so different, but it is actually pretty good. How she seems to be doing well socially. Like this surprises her. Like she couldn't understand how Birdie could manage to have friends.
Y'all, I got this distinct impression that she thinks my kid is a freak. That she could not understand how this freaky kid has friends. That the things she writes is weird. I guess I am saying that this teacher doesn't much like my kiddo.
Wah.
I guess I should just suck it up, except that this option of homeschooling is there and it is surprisingly within my grasp. The kids would have more time to learn fun stuff because they would have one on one time with a teacher who loves them, and less time would go down the dumper from sheer numbers management.
Dadguy is right. I need to just let this go for now. What if Birdie and Lilac get amazing teachers next year? Supplementing would be optimal in that case.
I just feel like I have been too passive this year as far as Birdie's teacher goes. I kept telling myself that it's going to get better. But maybe it really will get better. Plus there are way worse things that a teacher who does not think the sun rises and sets over my kid. Right? I personally have spent a goodly amount of time with people that don't know what the heck to make of me, and I am undamaged by it. Bleah.
Hey, did I tell you that the girls have given my scissors a name? No joke. Whenever they need large, sharp scissors instead of their blunted safety scissors they ask to use "Straighty Katie." No clue where that comes from, but it slays me every time.
I am back!
I guess.
Really, Hen is not doing the one nap bit yet... but I seem to be getting ideas again, so I am calling it good.
ish.
If I seem conflicted, it's because I am. I cannot quite figure it out. I clean forgot how to subtract two digit sums in a column last Saturday, yet I got a screamin' good idea for a book. Seriously. I had an actual vision of a painting two weeks ago, a thing that has not happened for me since I got pregnant with my first baby, yet I am as distracted as ever and cannot seem to finish a sentence using the correct words when I am speaking. The house is only the slightest bit more clean and organized, but I am super-amped about teaching a Color Theory For Kids class this summer. Having fun researching and putting together the lesson plans. Tonight I am headed off to the fourth and final class of the "play piano fast" class that came free with the purchase of a digital piano last year (the girl's are taking piano lesson). I will be playing "How Great Thou Art" in the class recital, top and bottom hands... I am crazy pleased with myself.
Plus I appear to have the extra energy to start freaking out about whether I should homeschool this fall, or just supplement the public schools with some extra stuff at home. Which, yeah, you might think hey! No brainer, chicky! Supplement City, why make life hard on yourself? But every time I volunteer over at Lilac or Birdie's class's I am struck by how much of what is going on is simple herd management. How useful is that? I guess I wouldn't mind the timesuck and the "hurry up and wait" crap, except that it's my understanding that this school really falls apart for advanced kids in the third grade.
As much as I don't want to be "that mom." I fear it less than being the mom who just wasn't paying attention while everything fell to crap for her kid, and this year has been very disheartening for me as far as Birdie goes. Don't get me wrong, things are mostly Ok, and when I talk to moms of special needs kids I feel like a real schmuck for getting in a twist, but her teacher just doesn't get her, has no clue where this little girl is coming from.
Sure, at Parent-Teacher night the conversation seemed to go well at first, with all the things a mama would hope to hear.... top reader in the class, one of the top spellers, great in math, pays attention, participates in class, etc. it was the odd pauses before she continues with a puzzled look on her face that Birdie also really enjoys to write, but how she doesn't write things at all like any of the other kids. How her writing sounds so different, but it is actually pretty good. How she seems to be doing well socially. Like this surprises her. Like she couldn't understand how Birdie could manage to have friends.
Y'all, I got this distinct impression that she thinks my kid is a freak. That she could not understand how this freaky kid has friends. That the things she writes is weird. I guess I am saying that this teacher doesn't much like my kiddo.
Wah.
I guess I should just suck it up, except that this option of homeschooling is there and it is surprisingly within my grasp. The kids would have more time to learn fun stuff because they would have one on one time with a teacher who loves them, and less time would go down the dumper from sheer numbers management.
Dadguy is right. I need to just let this go for now. What if Birdie and Lilac get amazing teachers next year? Supplementing would be optimal in that case.
I just feel like I have been too passive this year as far as Birdie's teacher goes. I kept telling myself that it's going to get better. But maybe it really will get better. Plus there are way worse things that a teacher who does not think the sun rises and sets over my kid. Right? I personally have spent a goodly amount of time with people that don't know what the heck to make of me, and I am undamaged by it. Bleah.
Hey, did I tell you that the girls have given my scissors a name? No joke. Whenever they need large, sharp scissors instead of their blunted safety scissors they ask to use "Straighty Katie." No clue where that comes from, but it slays me every time.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Quick Note
To Chaos:
I have been asking this of you for several months now, and I will continue to remind, cajole, beg and plead for your assistance in thwarting our budding water sports enthusiast by closing the bathroom door. Just shutting the lid on the toilette not only is no impediment to his nasty splashery, but he is trying to perfect his toilet-brush javelin throw. Shut. That. Door.
Along the same vein, Henry has developed a strong interest in Xtreme Freestyle Stairwell Descent, and that "spring loaded self closing gate" that we have at the top of the stairs? Not so self closing. Help a muthuh out?
Also, I understand that y'all may experience technical difficulties occasionally when "taking care of business" in the bathroom. Happens to the best of us, but let me re-re-reiterate: if you should, by any misfortune, find yourself with bodily functions upon you fingers? The protocol is as follows: Wipe fingers on toilet paper conveniently stationed near the john, then wash hands with soap and water, dry on towel hanging on wall. If you review the previous protocol I am sure you will find that nowhere in there is any mention of the shower curtain. No. Where. Nada. Zip. Not there. So quit it.
And speaking of wiping, let us not forget the many boxes of tissue that I have stationed round the house. Yes, they have been place up a little higher than usual to keep them out of Henry's "she love me she loves me not" plucking range, but they are nonetheless still in your line of sight. For the love of Pete. Use them. The hallway walls, both upstairs and down are lousy tissues and your slug trails are lousy decor.
As you were.
I have been asking this of you for several months now, and I will continue to remind, cajole, beg and plead for your assistance in thwarting our budding water sports enthusiast by closing the bathroom door. Just shutting the lid on the toilette not only is no impediment to his nasty splashery, but he is trying to perfect his toilet-brush javelin throw. Shut. That. Door.
Along the same vein, Henry has developed a strong interest in Xtreme Freestyle Stairwell Descent, and that "spring loaded self closing gate" that we have at the top of the stairs? Not so self closing. Help a muthuh out?
Also, I understand that y'all may experience technical difficulties occasionally when "taking care of business" in the bathroom. Happens to the best of us, but let me re-re-reiterate: if you should, by any misfortune, find yourself with bodily functions upon you fingers? The protocol is as follows: Wipe fingers on toilet paper conveniently stationed near the john, then wash hands with soap and water, dry on towel hanging on wall. If you review the previous protocol I am sure you will find that nowhere in there is any mention of the shower curtain. No. Where. Nada. Zip. Not there. So quit it.
And speaking of wiping, let us not forget the many boxes of tissue that I have stationed round the house. Yes, they have been place up a little higher than usual to keep them out of Henry's "she love me she loves me not" plucking range, but they are nonetheless still in your line of sight. For the love of Pete. Use them. The hallway walls, both upstairs and down are lousy tissues and your slug trails are lousy decor.
As you were.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I Am The Mama, Not A Maid
At the start of this week I observed to Dadguy that I couldn't understand why I don't take the time to clean the basement more often, since the basement stays clean and organized for a longer amount of time than the upstairs; emphasis on the kitchen and the dishes. Sort of a "more bang for your buck" housekeeping realization. Then I put away the Christmas tree and all the holiday decorations that we still had up downstairs. I cleaned, straightened and I vacuumed down there, and today I realized something else:
I lie to myself a lot.
I lie to myself a lot.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Wall-E Shoes
Today Lilac was going through a large cardboard box of "boy" toys that our neighbor's tweener son had outgrown and given to Henry; mostly matchbox cars and plastic dinosaurs. She pulls out a small, yellow bulldozer type toy and inspects the tracks (tank tread) and mutters to herself, "Wall-E feet? Shoes?"
She then tuns to me, triumphantly holding aloft the dozer and declares, "This truck has Wall-E shoes!"
She then tuns to me, triumphantly holding aloft the dozer and declares, "This truck has Wall-E shoes!"
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Funny Dudes
Haw Haw Haw!
(she sidles into the room laughing just a shade too jovially)
I was totally going to post something really great. I was! Only there was Christmas, and you know how that goes; the parties, the family, the overeating and the over stimulation! Who writes during Christmas really?
Plus, on Christmas Eve I was making the traditional Chaos Family and Friends Party Soup, (out of TURKEY ya wiseguy) when I zipped a goodly portion of the top of my right thumb off. Just barely getting round to typing again. Right hander thumb's mah spacebar finger, y'all. I was invalid. Gimpy. Hadda use one of those goofy finger condoms just to take a shower.
And, um.... Oh yeah! I got what I wanted for Christmas! The first five books in Jim Butcher's Codex Alera! And four Odd Thomas's (Koontz). And the full, whompin' Pride'n Prejudice Colin Firth whoopty of a disc set. So yeah... I have one book left in the Codex to go, and I have fallen to sleep trying to watch the P&P several times. Plus I have been indulging heavily in season two of Bones.
What?
I got sick again. What else was I s'posed to do? Sick at least twice, though really, it's hard to say exactly. Mighta been two viruses and a bonus sinus infection, or I may be taking a completely gratuitous round of Sulfa antibiotics right now, because the second virus hopped aboard the bandwagon on day six or seven of the first headcold-type thingy, and I went from "improving" to "feeling hellish yet again."
I am still recovering from THAT crap, and the only reason I am still taking the antibiotics, other than a genuine fear of the Antibiotic Police coming to get me, is the fact that the color of my snot went from "day-glo" to significantly less virulent colors within the first thirty six hours. So yeah... sick and.... oh yeah... Mama? Because I keep forgetting to ask, what kind of Calcium tablets are the supergood kinds? I am a stone-cold believer in that cycle/sicko thing you were telling me about. The only month I haven't come down with a barnyard full of feel-like-dirt is the one where I was on the Calcium ya gave me. HALP!
...and lessee...
The KIDS! Yep, they were home all day every day, and friends, and cousins and crime-uh-NIT-ly that's a boatload of kiddos making messes, fighting, crying, laughing manically and thundering up and down the stairs.
And if you needed yet another pathetic excuse for my not having sat down and blogged even just a wee bit, Henry popped a handful of teeth while Birdie had to get one yanked.
She wants me to tell y'all the tale of how it went at the dentists, but I am afraid I haven't the stomach past the basics. Dude. They tried to do a Pulpotomy first (a babytooth root canal) but it wasn't savable. So when the guy yanked... shudder... she has several pieces to hand over to the TF, after she shows 'em off at school. Suffice it say, the kid was brave. We go back to take care of tooth numero-two-o the day before her birthday in Feb. I have already had nightmares involving early morning calls from the dentist saying they can fit her in at six in the morning.
The crying shame of it all, is that the post I had written waaaay back in the day got some great responses, and I guess that Elizasmom wrote some kind of typically thoughtful post linking to what I had said, plus the post that I had linked to myself...I have not responded to anyone or read EM's post and whattheheck? Is? Wrong? With? Me?
That's right, I remember....please see all the above excuse making, plus oh yeah! I suck.
Oh, but before I forget to record it... Henry has been doing his first forays into solo walking. He's clocked in at four consecutive unassisted steps, so long as you don't count over enthusiastic cheerleading, spastic clapping and "cometomama-ing" from some screamy and sort of annoying woman as assistance.
Plus somebody better record for posterity the fact that Pearl calls her panties "funny dudes" every time they come down unexpectedly when she's changing out of her pants or they don't pull up properly when she yanks her pants up after finishing on the potty. This is actually something that happens fairly regularly when one is four years old and still trying to get the hang of business. She always calls them "funny dudes" and laughs, chortles really, and then asks you if you think they are "funny dudes" too.
Y'all, I think they are very funny dudes.
(she sidles into the room laughing just a shade too jovially)
I was totally going to post something really great. I was! Only there was Christmas, and you know how that goes; the parties, the family, the overeating and the over stimulation! Who writes during Christmas really?
Plus, on Christmas Eve I was making the traditional Chaos Family and Friends Party Soup, (out of TURKEY ya wiseguy) when I zipped a goodly portion of the top of my right thumb off. Just barely getting round to typing again. Right hander thumb's mah spacebar finger, y'all. I was invalid. Gimpy. Hadda use one of those goofy finger condoms just to take a shower.
And, um.... Oh yeah! I got what I wanted for Christmas! The first five books in Jim Butcher's Codex Alera! And four Odd Thomas's (Koontz). And the full, whompin' Pride'n Prejudice Colin Firth whoopty of a disc set. So yeah... I have one book left in the Codex to go, and I have fallen to sleep trying to watch the P&P several times. Plus I have been indulging heavily in season two of Bones.
What?
I got sick again. What else was I s'posed to do? Sick at least twice, though really, it's hard to say exactly. Mighta been two viruses and a bonus sinus infection, or I may be taking a completely gratuitous round of Sulfa antibiotics right now, because the second virus hopped aboard the bandwagon on day six or seven of the first headcold-type thingy, and I went from "improving" to "feeling hellish yet again."
I am still recovering from THAT crap, and the only reason I am still taking the antibiotics, other than a genuine fear of the Antibiotic Police coming to get me, is the fact that the color of my snot went from "day-glo" to significantly less virulent colors within the first thirty six hours. So yeah... sick and.... oh yeah... Mama? Because I keep forgetting to ask, what kind of Calcium tablets are the supergood kinds? I am a stone-cold believer in that cycle/sicko thing you were telling me about. The only month I haven't come down with a barnyard full of feel-like-dirt is the one where I was on the Calcium ya gave me. HALP!
...and lessee...
The KIDS! Yep, they were home all day every day, and friends, and cousins and crime-uh-NIT-ly that's a boatload of kiddos making messes, fighting, crying, laughing manically and thundering up and down the stairs.
And if you needed yet another pathetic excuse for my not having sat down and blogged even just a wee bit, Henry popped a handful of teeth while Birdie had to get one yanked.
She wants me to tell y'all the tale of how it went at the dentists, but I am afraid I haven't the stomach past the basics. Dude. They tried to do a Pulpotomy first (a babytooth root canal) but it wasn't savable. So when the guy yanked... shudder... she has several pieces to hand over to the TF, after she shows 'em off at school. Suffice it say, the kid was brave. We go back to take care of tooth numero-two-o the day before her birthday in Feb. I have already had nightmares involving early morning calls from the dentist saying they can fit her in at six in the morning.
The crying shame of it all, is that the post I had written waaaay back in the day got some great responses, and I guess that Elizasmom wrote some kind of typically thoughtful post linking to what I had said, plus the post that I had linked to myself...I have not responded to anyone or read EM's post and whattheheck? Is? Wrong? With? Me?
That's right, I remember....please see all the above excuse making, plus oh yeah! I suck.
Oh, but before I forget to record it... Henry has been doing his first forays into solo walking. He's clocked in at four consecutive unassisted steps, so long as you don't count over enthusiastic cheerleading, spastic clapping and "cometomama-ing" from some screamy and sort of annoying woman as assistance.
Plus somebody better record for posterity the fact that Pearl calls her panties "funny dudes" every time they come down unexpectedly when she's changing out of her pants or they don't pull up properly when she yanks her pants up after finishing on the potty. This is actually something that happens fairly regularly when one is four years old and still trying to get the hang of business. She always calls them "funny dudes" and laughs, chortles really, and then asks you if you think they are "funny dudes" too.
Y'all, I think they are very funny dudes.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Sacred
I have a headcold. Bleah!
I had no intention of posting, but then as I was taking a break from cleaning and preparation for the Christmas Eve gathering we are having tonite, I read this post that a friend of mine wrote.
I had to go and Google the term "Festivus." I was never a Seinfeld fan. I think that I didn't have a TV or watch much TV during it's heyday in general.... but I have seen re-runs; and as I mentioned, not a fan. Just doesn't make me laugh much. Smirk occasionally, but not laugh.
All of that aside, in trying to explain some of her beliefs, my friend had used the term "Sacred" and did not seem to be getting any comprehension from the folks she was speaking to. So she asked them what they thought the word meant.
In thinking about the word "sacred" and what it means to modern society overall, I think that my friend really summed it up here:
"Perhaps nothing is sacred anymore, since the very concept of sacredness is becoming foreign. In some circles the idea of sacredness is distasteful–everything should be “equal” and therefore nothing should be ”special”, let alone special to the degree of “sanctity”."
What do you think Sacred means? Does it have any use in your everyday vocab, or is it defunct?
I had no intention of posting, but then as I was taking a break from cleaning and preparation for the Christmas Eve gathering we are having tonite, I read this post that a friend of mine wrote.
I had to go and Google the term "Festivus." I was never a Seinfeld fan. I think that I didn't have a TV or watch much TV during it's heyday in general.... but I have seen re-runs; and as I mentioned, not a fan. Just doesn't make me laugh much. Smirk occasionally, but not laugh.
All of that aside, in trying to explain some of her beliefs, my friend had used the term "Sacred" and did not seem to be getting any comprehension from the folks she was speaking to. So she asked them what they thought the word meant.
In thinking about the word "sacred" and what it means to modern society overall, I think that my friend really summed it up here:
"Perhaps nothing is sacred anymore, since the very concept of sacredness is becoming foreign. In some circles the idea of sacredness is distasteful–everything should be “equal” and therefore nothing should be ”special”, let alone special to the degree of “sanctity”."
What do you think Sacred means? Does it have any use in your everyday vocab, or is it defunct?
Friday, December 18, 2009
Henry Turns One
Wait... did we have a birthday around here?
Yep, Henry turned one on the 2nd. I threw together a cake, and it's an OK cake, it's just not the one I'd had in mind. I cannot remember for the life of me the reasons why I didn't do the cool blue and red polkadot fondant bit that I had planned on, but the fact that the kid is one and doesn't really care, and hadn't requested anything in particular eased the decision along, I am quite sure of it.
Yep, Henry turned one on the 2nd. I threw together a cake, and it's an OK cake, it's just not the one I'd had in mind. I cannot remember for the life of me the reasons why I didn't do the cool blue and red polkadot fondant bit that I had planned on, but the fact that the kid is one and doesn't really care, and hadn't requested anything in particular eased the decision along, I am quite sure of it.
To be sure... he enjoyed the prep of the cake immensely.
He is such a big boy.
Overheard from Pearl: (breathing out vapors on a frosty morning in the front yard) "Look mama! It's my BRAIN SMOKE!"
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Pearl: Age Four
Ahh! The dangers of FarceBook! I post pictures of Pearls birthday cake and then promptly crossed it off of my list.
Poor, poor neglected bloggy.
Sooooo.... the cake!
Poor, poor neglected bloggy.
Sooooo.... the cake!
Behold my first attempt at covering a cake with fondant!
I learned from my small foray into store bought fondant with Birdie and Lilac's cakes in February; the stuff is only technically edible. As in, you can eat it, it won't hurt you, but it is naaasty! My SIL Gingerbird suggested that I try a homemade recipe for fondant that uses marshmallows and powdered sugar, and the Internets are rife with how-to videos on making it, so I gave it a whirl.
Highly recommend it. The texture and the flavor are more in the realm of "I could eat that" even if it is not quite "I'd like to eat that." Not even the kids could manage much more than a few bites, but then that may be because I went a little too thick with the white cover.
Ya'll, one recipe has a whole bag of powdered sugar, a whole bag of marshmallows and a half cup of shortening. Whuff, that's some challenging eatin' even for the younger set!
So yeah... too thick. Since this was my first ever try at covering a cake, and I was doing it with a bare hour to go before time to leave for Pirate Island for the party, I went thicker since I was afraid if the fondant cracked or tore, I would never get the job done in time. The result was a layer that was soo thick and heavy, it smooshed the whole cake down into a squashy couch cushion sort of a look. Not what I had intended, but it didn't look terrible either. I will do it different next time!
Behold! My four year old! Another area of excessive pride, but for vastly different reasons than the cake.
I learned from my small foray into store bought fondant with Birdie and Lilac's cakes in February; the stuff is only technically edible. As in, you can eat it, it won't hurt you, but it is naaasty! My SIL Gingerbird suggested that I try a homemade recipe for fondant that uses marshmallows and powdered sugar, and the Internets are rife with how-to videos on making it, so I gave it a whirl.
Highly recommend it. The texture and the flavor are more in the realm of "I could eat that" even if it is not quite "I'd like to eat that." Not even the kids could manage much more than a few bites, but then that may be because I went a little too thick with the white cover.
Ya'll, one recipe has a whole bag of powdered sugar, a whole bag of marshmallows and a half cup of shortening. Whuff, that's some challenging eatin' even for the younger set!
So yeah... too thick. Since this was my first ever try at covering a cake, and I was doing it with a bare hour to go before time to leave for Pirate Island for the party, I went thicker since I was afraid if the fondant cracked or tore, I would never get the job done in time. The result was a layer that was soo thick and heavy, it smooshed the whole cake down into a squashy couch cushion sort of a look. Not what I had intended, but it didn't look terrible either. I will do it different next time!
Behold! My four year old! Another area of excessive pride, but for vastly different reasons than the cake.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Grateful
It has seemed that my world has been washed out and tired the past week and a half; today I am seeing in color again.
I can also eat food with only a minimal assist from a glass of ice water.
To celebrate my new found freedom, I share with y'all the fun activity we are doing here in Chaos this month. We made a tree out of black butcher paper (cuz they didn't have any brown), and we write a thing we are grateful for on each leaf. We kicked it off on Monday evening as a part of Family Home Evening, and we add a leaf per person each evening. I hope that by Thanksgiving the kiddos will have an inkling of why we celebrate it., and I hope that the holiday will be a little more meaningful for them than, "whee! Punkin PIEEEE!"
That remains to be seen.
There is also an empty bird nest and a hole in the tree trunk where a family of owls live. It doesn't correspond with any cool moral lesson or anything, the girls insisted is all.
I have just decided to go and get a new leaf and write "Pirate Island" on it with glitter. Pearl has agreed that going to Pirate Island (the new Chuck E. Cheeze, only with better food) for her birthday will be just the thing. I hope that it will make the day special for her, as I will be hard pressed to do more than make a cake for the kid, and getting the house ready for a party is out of the question for me right now. Zero reserves.
Also there is the awkwardness that she thinks all of Birdies and Lilacs friends are her friends, and should come to her party. She is only just now starting to branch out and make friends of her own age in the hood, and I am not able to get it together enough to find out who she pals around with at pre-school. So yeah... a little "family party" that is extra special yet low-effort, is just the ticket.
I can also eat food with only a minimal assist from a glass of ice water.
To celebrate my new found freedom, I share with y'all the fun activity we are doing here in Chaos this month. We made a tree out of black butcher paper (cuz they didn't have any brown), and we write a thing we are grateful for on each leaf. We kicked it off on Monday evening as a part of Family Home Evening, and we add a leaf per person each evening. I hope that by Thanksgiving the kiddos will have an inkling of why we celebrate it., and I hope that the holiday will be a little more meaningful for them than, "whee! Punkin PIEEEE!"
That remains to be seen.
There is also an empty bird nest and a hole in the tree trunk where a family of owls live. It doesn't correspond with any cool moral lesson or anything, the girls insisted is all.
I have just decided to go and get a new leaf and write "Pirate Island" on it with glitter. Pearl has agreed that going to Pirate Island (the new Chuck E. Cheeze, only with better food) for her birthday will be just the thing. I hope that it will make the day special for her, as I will be hard pressed to do more than make a cake for the kid, and getting the house ready for a party is out of the question for me right now. Zero reserves.
Also there is the awkwardness that she thinks all of Birdies and Lilacs friends are her friends, and should come to her party. She is only just now starting to branch out and make friends of her own age in the hood, and I am not able to get it together enough to find out who she pals around with at pre-school. So yeah... a little "family party" that is extra special yet low-effort, is just the ticket.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Sunday Pic: I Will Survive
Strep throat? As it turns out, maybe I had strep throat. Sure, I tested positive for strep, but as it turns out a person can be what is called a "carrier" for the strep, without actually having it.
So maybe I am a carrier and didn't have strep throat, instead I had a rather horrific mutant virus that swells a girl's entire soft tissues in the old throat-n-neck-y-o region and puts open ulcers all over her pharyngeal, tonsils, and uvula while also causing huge fevers and general misery.
Or maybe I had the strep and the virus together. Cuz I is spay-shull an' I gits to. No joke! So special, in fact, that I would like to point out, that while I am grateful that no one in this house came down with either said virus nor strep.... I find it highly suspect that no one else in this house came down with said virus nor strep.
The upshot of all of this is that I am still sick, and very likely have three days more to look forward to this; and by "this" I mean the open sores in the back of my mouth and down my throat. The self pity is of a wallowing depth, and I plan on taking a loooooong bath in it.
This also means that I missed Halloween. I missed it, and I have about as much grace about the fact that I had to miss it as any six year old might. For those of you who don't have kids, allow me to translate: tantrum. Good thing for everyone I am the mama... so I kept it a quiet one, but were tears shed? Yes. But it may be because I got mad enough to try to eat a piece of Halloween candy, and the sugar burned the crap out of my ulcers on the way down. The pink polyjuice potion looking crap the doc prescribed for me to gargle with thrice daily so that I can eat something, is really only up for the job of helping me choke down unseasoned soft scrambled eggs, or plain mashed potato and the like. Fun sized Butterfingers bar? Not so very much.
Here is a pic of Lilac and Pearl before they went to school for their parties and parades. I didn't even manage to get one of Birdie's re-vamped costume... I have nothing of Henry's super cute pirate costume and nothing of Dadguys poacher outfit that still makes me snort with laughter. Obviously I skipped a costume of my own, and went straight to for unkempt deathbed sort of a look.... and I am remembering now that a few years ago when I had the "almost pneumonia" that I now realize was "actual pneumonia," I went through this whole thing of feeling rundown and I kept catching everything that came down the road and made you fell like ya wanted to die. I remember because this new doctor (one at the clinic that I had not ever been to see) wants to start trying to figure out if there is an underlying cause to all the creeping crud, or if maybe I am just lucky. He's starting with Diabetes. Pretty sure I don't have Diabetes, but this is where my last doctor started in the trying to figure what is my malfunction.
Anyway... all I am saying is now I remember: I have been here before, and yet I was able to get to a place where I was running and strong and feeling very, very good. I did it before, I will do it again. It's very possible that there is nothing wrong with me past the damage done from having my Henry boy-o. I know that pregnancy is a big strain on my body, and four pregnancies spaced fairly close together in my mid to late thirties? Perhaps I got off lucky with a little round of the "I-feel-sickies." So yeah, I am gonna wallow for a while, then go back and take a sugar test and then see where to go from there.
Cuz i am sick, but i am not beaten.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Again
I have been nearly forty eight hours on a Z-pack, and I am still in a hell of having to screw up the courage to swallow water.
Strep throat, baby.... and I have no clue how people with a painful, terminal illness do it. I want to die, but the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that if this round of antibiotic doesn't work (as it appears to not be working) despite the repeated assurances from my doctors office that sometimes it just takes a little while to kick in, then I will go back to my @#$% doctor and demand something with a little kick... and some morphine.
It looks a lot more like mumps than it does strep. My neck and throat and, well, all soft tissues therein have gone hard. And rotted. And twice their original size.
I almost didn't write this post because I am so angry that I am so sick. Y'all, Dadguy took Monday and Tuesday off from work to play single-dad-nursie-maid for this family. I have not changed a diaper nor fixed a meal nor wiped a nose other than my own. I KNOW how lucky and blessed I am to have this man and this opportunity to be sick. Just sick. Sick the way that moms never get to be sick, and I am still flailing about and whining, shaking my spoiled fists.
This is why I cannot make more babies. My poor body is wide open to any bacteria or virus that mosey's down the pike, I have no immune system left. I am old.
Holycrap and I'm hungry. I am gonna go try to choke down some soup. Literally.
Friday, October 23, 2009
there is no title for this
My heart is tender, and although I know that it is not broken, right this minute it almost feels so. All for a thing that I had never thought to mourn, a thing about myself and my life that I have felt joyful, even gleeful about for well over a year.
I am done having babies. I have known well and solidly that I am done, and i won't bore anyone with the various and obvious reasons (and a few personal reasons too) why I am done; because I just felt done. Done and done, and relieved to be so. Able to set about the rest of my mortality with all of that, fertility and timing and fretting about am or am not gone by the wayside, a dance for younger or more energetic women. I have indulged in this running countdown of lasts in my mind, gleefully treasuring up Henry's baby accomplishments. His unhurried pace through his life, the happy and almost senseless whanging around of his little fists all about his little boy person. So very done even before his arrival on earth, that I agreed to a c-section a bit easier than I think I normally might, just so I could have the tubal and have done with all of it, have that door shut for good.
Only earlier this week I realised I was late after a weekend of exhaustion and queasiness, and a suspiciously familiar itchy rash that had started again on my lower stomach two weeks earlier got me feeling a little uneasy. Then a friend from the neighborhood announced she was pregnant and had gotten so on the very same IUD that one of the OB's from the doctors office had tried to talk me into, proclaiming it had the same rate of efficacy as the more final surgical procedure I was asking for. And then somehow the tales of women started in a torrent, women who are right this minute pregnant in impossible circumstance. So I checked with Dr. Google, and sure enough, tubals done in conjunction with a c-section have a higher fail rate than the usual 1%. And then there is that 1% in normal circumstances.
And I have been waiting. On the one hand quite sure that I have just been put off schedule by the past month of pneumonia and colds, and on the other hand discovering...
...discovering to my shock and dismay, that there was a familiar flutter of hope.
damn.
As it turns out, I do have to mourn the passing of this time in my life; regret, after all, that there will be no more. I know, I know... I honestly suspect that my body might break irreparably if called on to create another life. I would be forty one. I know.
There are reasons and logic and knowledge... and then there is my heart, and of course I am not pregnant. This afternoon saw the start of the end of that brief hope. There is my astonishingly fickle heart, and there, this little crack in it.
I am done having babies. I have known well and solidly that I am done, and i won't bore anyone with the various and obvious reasons (and a few personal reasons too) why I am done; because I just felt done. Done and done, and relieved to be so. Able to set about the rest of my mortality with all of that, fertility and timing and fretting about am or am not gone by the wayside, a dance for younger or more energetic women. I have indulged in this running countdown of lasts in my mind, gleefully treasuring up Henry's baby accomplishments. His unhurried pace through his life, the happy and almost senseless whanging around of his little fists all about his little boy person. So very done even before his arrival on earth, that I agreed to a c-section a bit easier than I think I normally might, just so I could have the tubal and have done with all of it, have that door shut for good.
Only earlier this week I realised I was late after a weekend of exhaustion and queasiness, and a suspiciously familiar itchy rash that had started again on my lower stomach two weeks earlier got me feeling a little uneasy. Then a friend from the neighborhood announced she was pregnant and had gotten so on the very same IUD that one of the OB's from the doctors office had tried to talk me into, proclaiming it had the same rate of efficacy as the more final surgical procedure I was asking for. And then somehow the tales of women started in a torrent, women who are right this minute pregnant in impossible circumstance. So I checked with Dr. Google, and sure enough, tubals done in conjunction with a c-section have a higher fail rate than the usual 1%. And then there is that 1% in normal circumstances.
And I have been waiting. On the one hand quite sure that I have just been put off schedule by the past month of pneumonia and colds, and on the other hand discovering...
...discovering to my shock and dismay, that there was a familiar flutter of hope.
damn.
As it turns out, I do have to mourn the passing of this time in my life; regret, after all, that there will be no more. I know, I know... I honestly suspect that my body might break irreparably if called on to create another life. I would be forty one. I know.
There are reasons and logic and knowledge... and then there is my heart, and of course I am not pregnant. This afternoon saw the start of the end of that brief hope. There is my astonishingly fickle heart, and there, this little crack in it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Who's Geekin' NOW, Baby!
We have been getting ready for Halloween; decorating and such. I thought I was going the extra mile for Birdie's costume, you know... the Jedi thing. But then I realized that I had stepped over the line when I started calling the brown criss-crossed thingies of her costume, the "tabards." And then I had to un-criss-cross them. With a seam ripper. Because they were not authentic.The kid was pleased as punch with 'em, and yet I HAD to fix 'em anyway. And an "obi", I had to make her an "obi," otherwise known as a fabric under-the-belt thingummy, not because she wanted them, but because I had to. Oh yeah... and I got a "gi" or Tae Kwando tunic (five bucks at the secondhand shop) , and then I had to dye it so it was not so very stark white, so it matched the tabards and obi better. But because I am a Mormon housewife, I had no tea or coffee to dye it off-white. So yeah.... I don't know for sure if it was the baking cocoa powder or the Pero or the Orange Zest Herbal tea or the vanilla extract that did the job, but I suspect it was the cocoa. Don't try this at home y'all... it smelled like someone vomited in a large dish of potpourri and then cooked it. Dadguy still shudders.
The deed is done, but there will be no costume preview this time. I may have sucked the fun out of the Jedi. All Birdie cares about is the robe, the lightsaber and a hook to hang it on. She will wear the whole she-bang for the festivities, and I'll get pictures then, but I am not gonna chivvy the poor girl back into the whole get-up one more extra time... not even for posterity. Unless she wants to! And then WHEEEEE! I am so proud and yet so ashamed all at the same time.
As a consolation prize to the two younger girls I made them each a new skirt from the fabric of their choosing. This is Lilac's. Those are little kittens wearing scarves on her skirt. Unfortunately I didn't catch Pearl's skirt as it went through the wash though.... the fabric had millions of little sequin sparkly things all over that apparently were stuck on with some sort of adhesive that lets go in the heat of the dryer cycle. I will be both picking wee magenta sparkles out of the laundry from here to eternity and making a new skirt for the kid. Sorry Pearl.
What do ya think? Shall I whip together an "Uncle Fester" robe for the guy?Interior Design: Three Year Old Version
Saaaaay, thanks Pearl, I needed a Q-Tip right there. Brilliant move sticking it on with BubbleMint Toothpaste!Thursday, October 15, 2009
Henry
So the kid is hitting his milestones more or less. Not exactly winning the old "developmental derby" I guess you could say, but he's been crawling and pincer grasping and all that sort of stuff.
Except for eating. He's really good at eating.
Advanced even!
Except for eating. He's really good at eating.
Advanced even!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Sunday Pic: Halloween Preview
I finished Birdie's costume this weekend. I must admit to being excessively proud of that which I have wrought. Bird is pretty thrilled too, although you'd have a bit of a time telling from her expression on most of the shots I took to document the final product.
She already had the pants, shoes, and the brown t-shirt, so I used an old bedsheet to make up the criss-crossed portions. Technically this whole thing would be much more accurate if we had a karate gi (the shirt part of the uniform) to go over the t-shirt but under the criss-crossed parts. If I happen to find a used gi at a second hand shop, then "yay!" but I am not holding my breath, and I am not putting much more $$ toward this outfit than the thirty odd bucks that we already have. In any case, she is in love with it already.
I made the boot toppers and the belt out of some pleather sort of stuff that I got at Wallyworld for about five bucks. The robe fabric was the big score though; I got three yards for a grand total of seven dollars. The fabric is very thick and soft.
A couple of bucks for some hooks that I used for the robe clasp, and on the belt to hold the saber, little bit of velcro for the backs of the boot toppers and "cha-CHING!" there ya go. It is amazing what can be done via the awesome advice and how-to Youtube videos that are available on the Internets.
A couple of bucks for some hooks that I used for the robe clasp, and on the belt to hold the saber, little bit of velcro for the backs of the boot toppers and "cha-CHING!" there ya go. It is amazing what can be done via the awesome advice and how-to Youtube videos that are available on the Internets.
...and yes, yes I am aware that her light saber is the wrong color for a Jedi. Just ask yourself how big of a geek you must be to point that detail out to a happy little seven year old girl.
Really.
Geek.
Really.
Geek.
Friday, October 02, 2009
List
1. I am changing LaLa's blog name at her request. She will further more, and henceforth be known as Lilac.
2. Lilac, Pearl and the next-door-neighbor-girl made some glittery dance-contest award ribbons for the All-Girl-Super-Fun-Dance-Party and there seems to be no end to the stray flecks of glitter. Henry seems to always be sporting at least on bit of glitter on his head at any given time. The girl's refer to it as his "Pet Sparkle." I have know idea why.
3. I no-longer feel like hot buckets of raw sewage. I merely feel like poo. YAY!
4. We had a bumper crop of grapes this year, and since my mama moved into a town just a 45 minute drive away, I thought I'd con her into teaching me how to can grape juice. She came and we put away approximately two dozen quarts of grayish greenish juice. I am veeeery proud and pleased, and very put-out with the dough-heads that I live with who have declared they don't like it.
5. Am up for suggestions and recipes to slide this stuff past the picky palettes of my kids.
6. My chest no longer sounds wheezy and gurgly. The sound that is makes is now describable only when I liken it to the sound of Pop Rocks. Dadguy does not find this sound to be a turn on. Whatever.
2. Lilac, Pearl and the next-door-neighbor-girl made some glittery dance-contest award ribbons for the All-Girl-Super-Fun-Dance-Party and there seems to be no end to the stray flecks of glitter. Henry seems to always be sporting at least on bit of glitter on his head at any given time. The girl's refer to it as his "Pet Sparkle." I have know idea why.
3. I no-longer feel like hot buckets of raw sewage. I merely feel like poo. YAY!
4. We had a bumper crop of grapes this year, and since my mama moved into a town just a 45 minute drive away, I thought I'd con her into teaching me how to can grape juice. She came and we put away approximately two dozen quarts of grayish greenish juice. I am veeeery proud and pleased, and very put-out with the dough-heads that I live with who have declared they don't like it.
5. Am up for suggestions and recipes to slide this stuff past the picky palettes of my kids.
6. My chest no longer sounds wheezy and gurgly. The sound that is makes is now describable only when I liken it to the sound of Pop Rocks. Dadguy does not find this sound to be a turn on. Whatever.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Satisfaction. Sort Of.
Obviously I am not happy to be sick. Obviously. It sucks, and it takes a while to be clear of this kind of yuck.
But I cannot deny a certain satisfaction with the diagnosis. It's good to put a name on feeling like hot buckets of raw sewage. It was also particularly satisfying at the doctors office, in a third grade mocking "faaaace!' sort of a way. Too bad I have to have pneumonia to have that sort of "satisfaction."
And I hate to play the weight card, but I have to wonder as I look back on my experience, if I had not had one of those "fat hating" health care providers that I have heard about but never encountered. Really though, there is no telling. I have heard on the occasion that I rub folks wrong, and my daddy says that I do not suffer fools well. Perhaps she was just a lousy nurse, or a nurse having a lousy day. Who knows, but here is what happened:
Nurse calls my name and I walk back to the exam rooms with her. She indicates that I should get on the scales and then ushers me back to the room. Looking back on it now, I realize she has skipped the part where she is supposed to take my temperature. But if I noticed at the time I wouldn't have cared much. I never run a fever... as a matter of fact, my regular temp is exactly 97.5 and has been since my early twenties, so I never worry about it. I get strep and don't burn y'all... I just don't.
She takes my blood pressure and it's a little high. Then she sits down with the lap top to start taking notes.
"So, how long have you had this cold?"
"Oh, it's not a cold. I just started with a wheezing and a gurgling sound in my chest last Saturday, then I started feeling achy, supersensitive skin, and fatigued and sore joints yesterday."
"Ok... so you've had symptoms for five days?" She begins typing in.
"Nooooo.... it's been longer than five days."
She looks up and narrows her eyes, "you started with this cold last Saturday?"
"Yes, that's when it started, but it's not a cold. A cold comes with feeling like I have a cold."
"So five days." Resumes typing.
"Um, isn't today Friday?"
"Yes"
"So how is that five days?"
She holds up her hand like she is explaining math to a four year old.... yet again. "Well, you came down with symptoms on Saturday, so that's Sunday," holds up a finger, "Monday," another finger goes up. She continues counting till she get to six and then grudgingly says, "OK. Six then."
I really should let this drop, but I feel like crap and want to be taken seriously. Besides, why the heck is she trying to minimize my symptoms? Why won't she just listen to what I am saying? "So, if I started with symptoms on Saturday, don't you count Saturday?"
"Yes. I counted Saturday."
"Then that's seven days isn't it?" I watched her count again in her head. Her fingers twitch as she goes.
"Fine. Seven." She isn't even pretending to be nice nursie now.
"Yeah. Seven days. But I felt fine until yesterday."
She tippity taps for a few minutes, and then announces that the Doctor will be in in a minute, and leaves.
Y'all, I felt really sick and a little scared. I wasn't watching closely, so I am not sure what was going on with this woman... it could be that I pissed her off in a personal way. Who knows. But the nurse comes in with the doctor ten minutes later and the doc sits down with the lap top and asks the room in general "OK! What is going on with Mrs Chaos here?"
Nurse pipes up from the corner "she has had a cold for seven days."
I know myself well enough to guess that any "polite face" I may have had until that point is gone. I think she is an idiot and I am pretty sure it shows. "This is NOT a cold. I know what a cold is, this is something different."
More discussion and I am getting frustrated. I start to suspect that the doctor believes his nurse over his patient as he asks yet again if I am having any nasal congestion.
Finally he looks in my ears and down my throat and sees nothing. Listens to my lungs and now he starts to engage a little. "OK, well I am definitely hearing somemedicalterm in your left lung. What was her temperature nurse?"
"Um. I didn't take her temp."
"Please do that now," he snaps.
She jumps and the better part of 102 degrees later the doc is ordering influenza tests and a lung xray. This is the last I see of this nurse, and that's GOOD thing, because her replacement is the one who puts the shot in my caboose, and I am betting that could have gone worse than it did.
And now that I have written this whole post, I see how laughable I am. I am an easy target, and my daddy is sooooo right about me! MWahahahahahahaaaaaaa!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
All-Girl-Super-Fun-Dance-Party.
Saturday I got a funny gurgle in my chest, but other than that I felt fine.
Sunday I got a wild hair and decided it would be fun to throw a dance party for the girls, so I took aim at Thursday and we got to planning. We hand made some invitations, got some prizes at the dollar store, some treats, a couple packages of balloons and broke out the Christmas lights. Planning and preparing for the party was really fun, but I always forget how much work goes into the simplest of gigs. So Thursday found LaLa, Pearl, the next door neighbor girl and I blowing up balloons downstairs after morning Kindergarten. We put the final touches on the party but I was starting to feel just a little funky.
I had had a hard time blowing up balloons, and actually had to put the smaller ones aside because I couldn't even get them started. During the party I started to sweat profusely, but I chalked that up to dancing around in the basement with a bunch of sweaty little girls. They tended to dance a little crazy and smack each other around like a good old fashioned mosh pit if not given a little direction.
"NOW let's dance the pogo!" demonstrate.
"NOW let's do the twist!" demonstrate.
"NOW a Congo line!" You get the picture.
Then they took turns picking the style of dance as I jiggled Henry on my hip, and then everyone got a turn doing a solo dance for the admiring crowd. A half an hour after the last girlee left I was barely able to stand. I washed the dishes, and tried to think up a dinner but when Dadguy got home he took one look at the mess that was me, and sent me to bed.
Two x-rays and a couple of shots in the caboose later, turns out I have pneumonia. Dang guys, I HATE pneumonia.
At least it isn't H1N1. I woulda felt all kinds of lousy about throwing an inadvertent Swine Flu party.
Whee!
Sunday I got a wild hair and decided it would be fun to throw a dance party for the girls, so I took aim at Thursday and we got to planning. We hand made some invitations, got some prizes at the dollar store, some treats, a couple packages of balloons and broke out the Christmas lights. Planning and preparing for the party was really fun, but I always forget how much work goes into the simplest of gigs. So Thursday found LaLa, Pearl, the next door neighbor girl and I blowing up balloons downstairs after morning Kindergarten. We put the final touches on the party but I was starting to feel just a little funky.
I had had a hard time blowing up balloons, and actually had to put the smaller ones aside because I couldn't even get them started. During the party I started to sweat profusely, but I chalked that up to dancing around in the basement with a bunch of sweaty little girls. They tended to dance a little crazy and smack each other around like a good old fashioned mosh pit if not given a little direction.
"NOW let's dance the pogo!" demonstrate.
"NOW let's do the twist!" demonstrate.
"NOW a Congo line!" You get the picture.
Then they took turns picking the style of dance as I jiggled Henry on my hip, and then everyone got a turn doing a solo dance for the admiring crowd. A half an hour after the last girlee left I was barely able to stand. I washed the dishes, and tried to think up a dinner but when Dadguy got home he took one look at the mess that was me, and sent me to bed.
Two x-rays and a couple of shots in the caboose later, turns out I have pneumonia. Dang guys, I HATE pneumonia.
At least it isn't H1N1. I woulda felt all kinds of lousy about throwing an inadvertent Swine Flu party.
Whee!Friday, September 11, 2009
And Yet Some More Pictures
It appears that all I am good for these days are pictures.
But what lovely pictures they are!
On Labor Day we went with Grandpa and a cousin to a little carnival that was a couple of towns away, and we dropped a small fortune on some rickety looking rides. After wandering through the various stalls of other ways to spend $$ we decided to just go home and make some popcorn and snow cones and get some homemade face painting done. Between the four girls getting butterflies on their faces and treats for their tummies, I am betting we saved more than forty bucks. It was do that or hit the ATM, and I feel comfortable with our choice.
Oh... and treats for the adults! Make that around $50 to $60!
She looks pretty comfortable with our choice too.
To say nothing of being downright, stinkin' CUTE!
The cousin looked great too.... but I don't know how her mama feels about her pic being on the internets... so ya get the Bird! Ta DA!
Last but not least, Tuesday was Pearls first day of her first year of Preschool. She picked this outfit at the store herself, and I think she did great. I think this is the first year I have taken pictures of the kids "first day of school" outfits... what a great way to mark the passage of time. Don't know why it took me so long to start doing it too. Am shmoe.Sunday, August 30, 2009
Redneck Too-tor-yul
Now, I b'lieve I promised y'all some foe-toe-bloggery. Guess now's a good-a time uz inny to give y'all a too-tor-yul on th'care an' maintenance of a ring stacker whatsit.
First off... y'all gotta take iss business perty serious-like, no jackin' round. You screw the pooch on iss baby, ain't NO stackin' goan be happenin', and that jiss ain't FUN.
Getcher self a grip on th' whatsit. Now some folks think y'all kin be jiss grabbin' atcher toys all willy-nilly in a one hander grip. M'self I don't recommend it. Naw. Y'all gonna wanna give this step some real consideration.
Jiss one thangs fer sure... Not. Like. Iss.
Take a good look y'all, this is what's known in th' business as "bass-ack-ward." Ain't nuthin' goan stack on a tumped over bit o' crazy like iss bad-boy here, and on top uh that? The yaller stick part come half unscrewed from the base of the whatsit, ever time ya grip it like iss.
Don't do it.
Take a good look y'all, this is what's known in th' business as "bass-ack-ward." Ain't nuthin' goan stack on a tumped over bit o' crazy like iss bad-boy here, and on top uh that? The yaller stick part come half unscrewed from the base of the whatsit, ever time ya grip it like iss.
Don't do it.
Now, if ya'll have loosened up yer yaller stick part from the base, jiss grab that sucker like iss and give 'er a righty-tighty. Don't be stingy with the torque now. I'll wait while ya git 'er done.
Once ya git that yaller stick all snug as a bug, ya shift yer grip and shaZAM! Y'all are good to go!
An at's whatcha call ring stack ready! This yere's my fav-rit grip, the two handed straight-up-n-down! And yer ready to stack.
An' that's what ya call a redneck too-tor-yul.Yee-haw!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
LaLa Goes To Kindy-garten
So wow, yeah... LaLa is at her first day (half day?) of Kindergarten right now. I dropped her off at school and then took Henry and Pearl in the double stroller for a walk. Finally.
It is so liberating to just have the two. I can just walk. And here I am, posting on the old bloggy; Pearl is downstairs getting reacquainted with Diego, and Henry is visiting the Sandman. And I am glad for these small mercies, but today they just underscore how low my standards have sunk. How little I expect from myself or for myself outside of the realm of motherhood and wifery.
A few of my favorite bloggers have posted recently and I find that I cannot even comment on their posts because everything I have to say is self-pity slop. And envy; envy when I know better than to compare my reality with the teeny slice of reality that I see of another's life.
I also recently read this really stupid feminist rant about an equally stupid anti-feminist article and the parts of it that stuck out to me (other than the fact that both sets of folks were giving us all a good view of their posteriors) was a bit about how babies give their mommies a sort of narcotic high. Oxytocin I believe was what the more scientific-minded called it. While I am as google-headed as the next mommy over my fat friar of a Henry-boy... I think I am getting gypped in the contact high department.
Have you seen Phoebe in Wonderland? It's a beautiful movie, thoughtful and well done, and well acted... there is a part though, that resonated in me so much that it hurt. The mom and the father are talking while raking leaves, and the mom character is explaining that she is angry that she isn't writing, and how she is afraid that when she is 70 that she will be going on endlessly about her children because she won't have anything else, because she won't have done anything important. And then she is mad because sometimes she isn't scared of that at all, because her children make her live.
Only my children don't make me live. I don't think so anyway.
I find myself with this carrot of "in six years" dangling in front of my mental nose... like some holy grail of motherhood. This "when they are all in school" fantasy that I will be able to do creative things again. That I will be able to write then. I tell myself that I cannot write now because I am so tired and distracted... that perhaps if I had the energy of a younger mother I could do it.
Sorry LaLa... don't mean to steal your thunder. I am so very proud of you, and you are so ready for this time in your life.
Just that some days I wish that I was ready for this time in my life.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Photobloggery?
Naw... this jist filler til the REAL photobloggin' starts. Purely infer-mational.
First off... TLC 9:00 PM on Sunday August 30th, for the "Your Kid Ate What?" thingy. Again, while I must be fair in stating that the story of what happened with the Pearl-girl really was pretty convoluted... what you will see has couple of facts glaringly wrong, so wrong in fact, that they (the production company) cannot even change them KNOWING that they are wrong. As in the footage is shot and cobbled together and they can't really tweak anything they have to fit the truth. Apparently they make heavy use of actors doing dramatizations of what happened. I can only surmise that the people who wrote the script, never got within five feet of my blog, any of the endless footage that I sent, OR the hours of taped interview of both Dadguy and myself re-hashing the details ad nauseum.
Whatever.
We never had an ambulance come to our house.
And not that it matters (though obviously it matters to me)... you will never hear the phrase "Thank God" out of my mouth. As in, "everything turned out OK, thank God!" I am not saying there is anything wrong with saying it, only I am super, super careful about how I use the name of Deity. Is a personal choice that I have made, fueled by the many years that I was very care-LESS about what I said or how, and I just want to make that clear. Kinda like in the Book of Mormon how there was that batch of Lamanites who, when they were converted to Christianity and realized that murder was so wrong they buried their weapons of war and vowed never to take them up again... and then they didn't. Not even to defend their own lives, to the point of kneeling before those who would slay them and offering their lives, and then being slaughtered until not even their enemies could stomach it any longer. Like they went super extreme the other way. So yeah, it's kind of like that only not as dedicated, or meaningful or cool or anything.
Anyway, it's just this thing I have... and they have the gal who plays me say it at one point, and I would never say that.
I know, I know... get over it already woman!
Look at my beautiful Bird on her first day of second grade!
She is LOVING the Potter.
(I edited out her RL name that she had originally put into this drawing)
Grandpa sent the girls a book on How To Draw Baby Animals... this is LaLa's baby bunny. These kids! They KILL me!
This is pure Pearl... and if I know her, this bug is named either "Twilight" or "Sara-tee."
*Edited to add: I just asked Pearl what the human bugs name was, she floored me by replying "Eee-ook." There is a new name in town.
First off... TLC 9:00 PM on Sunday August 30th, for the "Your Kid Ate What?" thingy. Again, while I must be fair in stating that the story of what happened with the Pearl-girl really was pretty convoluted... what you will see has couple of facts glaringly wrong, so wrong in fact, that they (the production company) cannot even change them KNOWING that they are wrong. As in the footage is shot and cobbled together and they can't really tweak anything they have to fit the truth. Apparently they make heavy use of actors doing dramatizations of what happened. I can only surmise that the people who wrote the script, never got within five feet of my blog, any of the endless footage that I sent, OR the hours of taped interview of both Dadguy and myself re-hashing the details ad nauseum.
Whatever.
We never had an ambulance come to our house.
And not that it matters (though obviously it matters to me)... you will never hear the phrase "Thank God" out of my mouth. As in, "everything turned out OK, thank God!" I am not saying there is anything wrong with saying it, only I am super, super careful about how I use the name of Deity. Is a personal choice that I have made, fueled by the many years that I was very care-LESS about what I said or how, and I just want to make that clear. Kinda like in the Book of Mormon how there was that batch of Lamanites who, when they were converted to Christianity and realized that murder was so wrong they buried their weapons of war and vowed never to take them up again... and then they didn't. Not even to defend their own lives, to the point of kneeling before those who would slay them and offering their lives, and then being slaughtered until not even their enemies could stomach it any longer. Like they went super extreme the other way. So yeah, it's kind of like that only not as dedicated, or meaningful or cool or anything.
Anyway, it's just this thing I have... and they have the gal who plays me say it at one point, and I would never say that.
I know, I know... get over it already woman!
Look at my beautiful Bird on her first day of second grade!
She is LOVING the Potter.(I edited out her RL name that she had originally put into this drawing)
Grandpa sent the girls a book on How To Draw Baby Animals... this is LaLa's baby bunny. These kids! They KILL me!
This is pure Pearl... and if I know her, this bug is named either "Twilight" or "Sara-tee."*Edited to add: I just asked Pearl what the human bugs name was, she floored me by replying "Eee-ook." There is a new name in town.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The Bag
Walking home from the school playground this evening, Birdie and LaLa have ridden their two-wheelers on ahead and are waiting for us on the front lawn. I am pushing Henry and Pearl in the double stroller as Pearl and I chat companionably about the things we see. Pearl does a sharp intake of breath and turns around in the stroller to look me in the eye and says, "Mama! Today is the day that the earth worms DIE!"
"They die?"
"Yes, they die and then they go up to worm heaven!"
"Worm heaven, huh? Is that a beautiful place for worms to go?"
"Yes. But the bad-guy worms... they go in the bag."
"They die?"
"Yes, they die and then they go up to worm heaven!"
"Worm heaven, huh? Is that a beautiful place for worms to go?"
"Yes. But the bad-guy worms... they go in the bag."
Friday, August 07, 2009
Stuff
With four kids, one of them a baby, ya own a lot of stuff.
Correction: We own a lot of stuff.
There are clothes, and toys, sparkly stickers, and dishes, and food of all the various sorts that all the various and bizarre eaters eat in this house. And then since we are LDS, there is also the food storage and 72 hour emergency kits. There are DVD's, bandaids, computers, tools, magazines and books. Artwork, pencils, rubber bands, papers, mail, bills, ribbons, documents, bedding, toiletries, cleaners, laundry, boxes, furniture...
THINGS.
And the incomprehensible little people of this house moving these things, all of these things all of the time, around in inexplicable patterns and for no knowable reasons. Things that it would never occur to my adult brain to do or to move or to use to play a rousing game of Power Puff Petshop Potter Menace.
It is this aspect, the stuff-management part of my job description; this aspect of being a mother of four children that is sitting on my brain and making my chutzpah scream "uncle!" Today I took LaLa and Pearl to the local department store sale to choose a new backpack each. Later this evening after enjoying being in the audience of our own "pajama/backpack fashion show," complete with catwalk soundtrack and much swishing and posing by three little girls, I gathered together the three backpacks in one place and looked around my front room for a good place to put them. These packs will, after all, be in play nearly every day this up coming school year. But they are pretty darn big, the backpacks... and I already have valuable space taken up by the coat rack and the shoe basket that will also be getting lots of action come cold weather and (gulp) the snow. Plus the paperwork; the blizzards of papers and art projects and flashcards and memos that I can count on from a second grader, a kindergartner and a pre-schooler, these storms of paperstuffs that are soon to grace this home.
Then it dawned on me... in three short years (and the years are getting shorter and shorter lemme TELL you!) I will have four backpacks to shuffle. Holy permission slips Batman, I am feeling dizzy.
S'cuze me a minute...
Correction: We own a lot of stuff.
There are clothes, and toys, sparkly stickers, and dishes, and food of all the various sorts that all the various and bizarre eaters eat in this house. And then since we are LDS, there is also the food storage and 72 hour emergency kits. There are DVD's, bandaids, computers, tools, magazines and books. Artwork, pencils, rubber bands, papers, mail, bills, ribbons, documents, bedding, toiletries, cleaners, laundry, boxes, furniture...
THINGS.
And the incomprehensible little people of this house moving these things, all of these things all of the time, around in inexplicable patterns and for no knowable reasons. Things that it would never occur to my adult brain to do or to move or to use to play a rousing game of Power Puff Petshop Potter Menace.
It is this aspect, the stuff-management part of my job description; this aspect of being a mother of four children that is sitting on my brain and making my chutzpah scream "uncle!" Today I took LaLa and Pearl to the local department store sale to choose a new backpack each. Later this evening after enjoying being in the audience of our own "pajama/backpack fashion show," complete with catwalk soundtrack and much swishing and posing by three little girls, I gathered together the three backpacks in one place and looked around my front room for a good place to put them. These packs will, after all, be in play nearly every day this up coming school year. But they are pretty darn big, the backpacks... and I already have valuable space taken up by the coat rack and the shoe basket that will also be getting lots of action come cold weather and (gulp) the snow. Plus the paperwork; the blizzards of papers and art projects and flashcards and memos that I can count on from a second grader, a kindergartner and a pre-schooler, these storms of paperstuffs that are soon to grace this home.
Then it dawned on me... in three short years (and the years are getting shorter and shorter lemme TELL you!) I will have four backpacks to shuffle. Holy permission slips Batman, I am feeling dizzy.
S'cuze me a minute...
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