My oldest hates insects. Well, he doesn't really hate them, he is completely frightened of them. I have probably already written about this. I will say again if I have not said it already, it is a hindrance and a problem. If he hates insects, he hates Spring and Summer. If he hates insects, he carefully avoids any flower, flowering tree, long grass, you get it. If he hates insects he screams when a bee comes anywhere near him. If he can see the bee from far away that means it is a large one and he will scream at that too. He will even scream if it is outside and he is inside, safe with the window screen in front of him. Sometimes I am stupid and thoughtless and want to get all "Ralph Waldo Emerson". I will try to take the kids to the park by walking there and it is a chore. I have to literally threaten them (mainly the oldest) by telling him that if he can not calm down and act normal on a walk without complaining and going crazy, he can just spend the rest of the afternoon in his room and enjoy the scenery there. So a dear friend gave me an idea that I would buy some "Off!" and keep him happy and protected with that. He read the label and saw that it didn't protect him from bees. He figures that wards off enough insects, so he does have me faithfully spray it on him anytime he needs to take a step outside---to get a paper, to play, to go to the car to get to the store, you know, when you need to go out. Outside. The horrors of OUTSIDE. Man of the House says that we need to just get him a "charm" (he was joking) to ward off the bees. A "bee taming charm".
Yesterday a kid saw that he had a scrape on his ankle and told him that he must have gotten bit by a black widow. He came inside very concerned (but under control) and had me look at it. I said, "It's a scrape. Spiders don't scrape you, they bite." He had a hard time believing me. He said, "Well, you ought to pull out the manual to make sure, Mom. You never can be too careful, you know. He told me that I will most likely feel very weary tonight----I don't want to die." He said something like that.
I try to convince him that bees don't hurt you unless you antagonize them, but he still does not care. If it buzzes, he freaks out. If it flies, he is flying. Dear Sir and I wonder how he would be like with the Cicada outbreak every 16 years. I am almost certain he would have a heart attack and kick the bucket. Thankfully we missed it. It would be his Twilight Zone episode.
So I have to take the kids somewhere today. The response from my oldest: "There are too many bees there, Mom, I am not going." See what I mean?


Snap Attack

Ok, so I almost lost it just now. It really depends on your point of view---I could have almost lost it, but then I could have totally lost it to some people. My oldest has not stopped snapping. It drives the Master out of his mind, I usually just ignore it, and so life goes on. Just a bit ago he was in a snapping frenzy. I kept telling him to cut it out but it was like he was trying to finish an overture or something. I sat down next to the pc and he starts creatively snapping in my ears--loud, annoying, cracking, and with great fervor, apparently in a snapping daze. I am serious, it was really in my ears, over my head around my face. I could have belted him over the head I was so annoyed, but I just told him to get away from my head and snap upstairs. What is the attraction? He doesn't have Turrets.

He has been screaming too, lately. The day before yesterday he got so angry at his brother he screamed, "NO!" at the top of his lungs in the house while the windows were open. Dear Sir was just outside about to walk in from work and saw all the neighbors look in the direction of our house sort of wonderingly. Our next door neighbors were really friendly when we first moved in. I think I let it slip once that we home school and that we are Christians and they haven't carried a conversation with us since. I go to the grocery store and she acts like she does not see me. She runs in her house every time I am outside. Now our kids scream. They caught me playing guitar outside once. To top things off, I must look like a freak because I have such a pale complexion that when I run I look like a crazy demon. I know I look like I am about to die but it is just that I have such light colored skin. All the foreign people that are walking on my running route laugh at me as I run by. Really, they do. I can see how they smile and then chuckle. I suppose I am the "red runner". So, sometimes when I come back from running a long while (and that means I am extra special in my ruddiness) those neighbors are out there and so I just look down hoping that they don't look at me. Thankfully, when we move in our new house my One and Only is going to buy me a treadmill so I won't have to scare the new neighbors.

Well, Scarface is needing my attention and she wants me to help her get dressed, so that ends my little speel for the day. Her lip is back to normal, so that is good. Maybe she can eat today like she couldn't yesterday. Poor thing. She couldn't even talk clearly, no one could understand her. She kept getting frustrated having to repeat herself.

Spellcheck is not working so hopefully I did not make too many errors. Bear with me.


Wipe Out, Dude

My almost five year old daughter biffed it on her Barbie big wheel. She was riding it as fast as she could down a decline. The neighborhood kids brought her to the door on a wagon. She was bleeding everywhere and whimpering. They rang the door bell. I carried her into the house and cleaned her up in my bathroom and noticed that she totally skinned her big toe. All the top skin flayed off. She also biffed up her face---she must have fallen on her mouth. Her lip is about double its size. She has skid marks below her nose and on her chin. She touched her upper lip and cried, "Mom, I don't like it this way!" She looks like she lost a fight to Mike Tyson. I showed her her face in a mirror (she insisted) and she said, "I hate it."

She is lamenting the fact that she is not playing with her friends but is happy that she can sit and watch Barbie in the Nutcracker while she ices her lip and drinks water. She was so brave!

My youngest son is so protective of her; he came up to the bathroom when he found she was hurt and took a look at her. Since she was bleeding quite a bit it scared him and he started to baby talk her and was crying piteously. What a good brother.

I think she looks kind of cute all dinged up.


Allright. So you know, I went to the dentist yesterday. The whole place is Asian---very clean---they are always early rather than late, and they never really know what I am saying. I think they get the idea, but I sure do know that they don't speak English as well as I do. I walk in and the dentist himself is behind the counter like he is the receptionist and he just jerks his head to the side as if to say, "we're ready for you now." The dental assistants are all ladies---really pretty ones---and they all wear pink uniforms. They always smile and never make sense to me. For some reason I trust this Asian dentist (not meaning to sound racist at all) more than some American dentist. I have had so many problems with dentists in my past and they have all been Americans. I have actually only had one really good American one and he was a Mormon (not that that matters, really). I have had dentists make me wait all day long as I am rolling around in pain, I have had that several times, actually. I have never in my life had a dentist waiting for me behind the counter completely ready for my arrival himself and so stinking prompt that he finishes early and does an outstanding job at that.

I tried yesterday to be completely calm and disciplined for their sake. How odd it is to be working in someone's mouth. I always loved pulling teeth when I was young---my best friend's mom used to tell me I would make an excellent dentist. I still think I would.

So, I just sat there and opened my mouth and let them do their thing. It was a bigger procedure than I thought. I have to go back in two weeks to get it finished! I couldn't understand him really, when he explained the procedure to me, but for now I have a temporary crown---and get this---he told me if it falls out for some reason to come back in and they will cement it in again! What fun! I am reluctant to chew on that side, as you may well imagine. The worst part of the whole thing was when he put gauze in my mouth. I hate gauze. It is another one of my Room 101's. He put the stuff in my mouth for some reason (I was numbed so I could not feel my ear even) and when I heard him say "bite down" I did not obey. Then he said it louder and I knew I had to do it because perhaps he had something really bleeding in there. It was horrible. It is worse than the needle with the novacaine, worse than that sharp pinch in your jaw, worse than accidentally feeling the drill. I think Dear Sir feels my pain. I tried to explain it to him yesterday as he was getting in the car to go back to work (he came to hold down the fort while I went---bless him!) and he just shook me off and drove away. You see the worst in people I guess, when you mention their Room 101's.


Gums and Gummies

I was going to write about dental work, but I thought better of it. For one thing, I love going to the dentist. I love to get my teeth cleaned. It is pretty awesome that people "clean" out your teeth for lots of money and then you get to go home feeling sore and fresh. I love feeling sore in my gums. It is a rare thing now, but when you are a faithful flosser it sort of feels good. I have to get a crown done today. I was going to write a funny story about my last visit, but alas, I am too vain and it would reveal too much about my mouth. No, I don't have dentures. I may as well have them though. Goodness. I just have bad teeth. As much as I say that I would love to live in England, I know that if I were raised there I would be in deep trouble. Not that any of the dental work I have had in my deep past has been any good for me. I would just be up the creek, if you know what I mean. Yeah, she looks nice, except when she smiles. Thankfully my teeth are straight and even so I can fool people. I really didn't mean to even write this much about dental work.

I got my oldest son Spy Gear for his birthday. He could care less about one of the items, but the other he thinks is the greatest. I knew it would be horrible when I saw it but stupidly I bought it anyway. I just knew he would love it. With that I also got him a huge tub of gummy worms. He keeps it in his room. I have caught his sister and brother helping themselves and I am faithful to inform them that the gummy worms are their brothers and they are not community gummy worms. My oldest has gotten so distressed with this he has facilitated his spy gear for this. The spy gear item that he loves the most actually records your voice and when you press a button you can set the dumb thing anywhere and apparently it has a motion sensor or something on it, which makes it more annoying. You walk by the thing and it talks to you. The idea is that you "think" so and so is right near you when you walk by but really they are hiding behind the stair case laughing at how they tricked you. Dumb, I know. So, my oldest son decides that I am a good keeper of the gummy worms and so he puts them on the floor near me. On top of that he puts his spy gear device.
"Walk by," my son says to his sister.
She walks by.
"I know you want my gummies! Get away from the gummies! E---! L---! Get away from the gummies! Uh, if it's you, mom, you can have one if you want."

I wouldn't run for President.



Yesterday my daughter (who is almost five) was lamenting her lack of friends playing with her outside. I don't let her go to the park with the boys (just across the way) because she is too young. She hates this. She says, "But Mom, they can be in charge of me...the boys. I swear I will obey them so please let me go to the park!" This obviously does not work with me. I get too afraid for her being there with boys that are not old enough to help her.

So, as Man of the House clipped the hedge and I read a book while she played out front, she said, "I know! I have a friend to play with me: Jesus! I knew it!"

For now I tell her stories at night about a "muddy kitten" who rolls in the mud, ruins her mothers flowers, and her sissy kitten catches her. Sissy kitten goes to mommy cat and brings her outside to tell on muddy kitten. Mommy cat catches muddy kitten in action. (And this is where the story gets like me) Mommy cat decides that since muddy kitten ruined her flowers she would proceed to get the hose and hose her down because she is not clean enough to go in the house. My daughter laughs and laughs at this.

Man of the House tells her stories of knights, toads, princesses and lances and stuff. I would have loved that. For some reason she wants to hear more about muddy kitten---even more than the princess stuff, which surprises me. But of course, she thinks I am the greatest thing because I am a girl.

Yesterday we went to that sorry Architectural Museum in D.C. It was ridiculously boring. Dear Sir and I decided that it would be better if we had gotten a book on architecture instead---we would have seen more pictures (not that we even wanted to see pictures--) and more interesting things. They had some cultural Jewish exhibit there that had nothing to do with architecture, a craft show, and pretty much nothing else. I saw some pictures of houses in California with dates on them and we looked at when the Metro started. That is about it. We walked up and down that building (all the floors) and found nothing but empty rooms and little break rooms with coffee makers in them. Completely useless. The one thing we wanted to do was to stand in the middle of the building with all the pillars and look up, etc, but the stupid craft show was taking all that room and we could not even get inside. Don't get me wrong, some of the Smithsonian Museums are good, but some are just terrible and worthless. Just a big room full of junk or thrown together ideas. I understand that the Architecture one is probably under construction. I understand that. I just would not deceive people and say the thing is open when it is pretty much empty. Totally empty.

I am in the mood to go to the Museum of American History. I am not a huge fan of America or it's history---although I should not say that altogether. I do love history, I just like reading NOVELS about it, not usually non-fiction. I have been interested in the Civil War a lot---I always have been---so it would be good to see some stuff about that, although I don't like the praising of Abraham Lincoln (please don't bite me people!)---it just makes me sick---sorry. I am interested in knowing more about him and the War though, so that would be worthwhile. We keep talking about going to Ford's Theatre, so maybe we will do that. I used to hate the south. I mean, I just hated the culture and the weather, and just anything to do with it. I really love it now. My bad memories of it had nothing to do with the South itself, but had all to do with my own bad experiences that the South can not take the blame for. I have some really fond memories there, really. I should not throw it all out. I also have read a lot of books on the South, so I understand the culture a little better now than I used to. Coming from a California type mindset, my sort of culture and theirs is almost like night and day in comparison. Anyway, I could go on forever on this and offend many people and compliment many people, but I won't. I see that the South is kind of a bad word as far as the Civil War goes (if we think about it that way). I will say no more so Big Brother will not hear me.



I went running last night and came home to Eleysium watching planes crash into the WTC over and over again. I thought, "Morbid" at first and then he wrote this. He really does have a point.


This prospective story by popular demand:

My daughter and I have the same small, cramped, little bladder. I remember as a child I would always fear being in traffic (I was raised in CA) and having to tell my father that I needed to go to the bathroom. I would avoid drinks before a trip, I would try to keep my mind off it, but once in a great while (taking all these precautions) I would have this tick in my brain saying, "Your bladder is a quarter full, it keeps filling....now it is half full...." I have only wet myself once (we are NOT counting when I was pregnant) and that was in the third grade.

I remember it well. How could I forget? My government school had earthquake drills. For these drills they closed the bathrooms by putting tape over the doors (don't ask me why) but all of us kids felt that it was a sign that we had to "hold it" if we had to go. My best friend Ann and I held it all day. I was pretty much seeing yellow, it was so terrible. We got out of the tail end of lessons to get to that now untaped door and relieve ourselves. The problems is that during drills they turn off the lights and in some huge public restroom it is hard for a third grader to find the lights. Especially in the dark. Ann and I knew this so as we hopped around trying to hold our pee, we discussed who would keep the door open and who would go in first. Ann, bless her heart forever, said that I looked like I needed to go first (I think she thought the wince on my face would not fade if I did not relieve myself as soon as possible) but being stupid, I said, "No, you go. I think I will be ok." She even said, "Are you sure?" By this time I was almost about to say I was not sure, we were stalling just talking about who was going to go, and I couldn't handle it. But I kept on by saying, "Just go." Or something like that. What happens next I will never forget for the rest of my life. Poor Ann, it is not her fault. Bless her soul, I say. As I heard her tinkle in the dark, dank, bathroom it got harder for me to hold it. I remember looking around trying to distract myself---at this office building, at the multi-purpose building--the sun was beating in my face. I think that was the point of no return. I did not realize that there was a point where the bladder hits "full capacity" and there is sharp pain and you know, heaven help you, but you lose it. There is no going back, there is no passing go and collecting $200, you have lost it. What gets me is at this state you can't even empty out "half a bladder". It just runs like the dam broke and it is over. I looked down and there was the puddle---a large puddle. Ann walked out of the bathroom. I can't even remember what she said. I know that she felt bad---she may have said something like, "You should have gone first. I didn't have to go that bad!" That sounds like Ann. My jeans (Yes! I was wearing jeans!) were soaked. The gentle California breeze made me cold---hey, I was warm for a little while, but soon you get cold, you know what I mean if you ever get your jeans wet in the ocean, or someone throws you in a pool for a good time. Everything else that happened until I got on the bus to go home is a blur. All I remember is that I was in line to sit down and I sat on the seat quickly to avoid anyone noticing. I don't remember if anyone did then. When I got off the bus was the worst. I got up and there was a pool of wetness on the seat. "Great," I thought. I thought that I could quickly get off the bus as quickly as I got on, but the person behind me wanting to get off accidentally swept past my pants with his hand and all I heard was, "Uh!!!" To say the least I was embarrassed and wanted once again for Scotty to beam me up.

So, my daughter, I think, inherited this. I feel bad for her, really I do. When it hits her she has to go immediately. There is no "tick" yet to tell her that her bladder is half full or at a fourth of its capacity. I have to coach her, literally. Usually it is on a long car ride and this weekend that is what happened. We were on our way to the park in Great Falls to have the picnic. We got lost, took a few wrong turns, and pretty soon the girl had to go. Thankfully, we found a CVS. I got her out of the car and she was dancing around. "You can do it!" I said. "You are so good! Be brave! You're the best!" I said further. I picked her up and took her in.
"Where is the bathroom?" I asked the cashier.
She looked at me dumbly like she was going to refuse me by saying that the bathroom is not public. I knew what she was going to say so I said, "Please!"
And she said, "Uh, over there!" and just pointed to some vague place (I had no idea where) at the other end of the store. I had put the girl down by this time and she was following me. "Mommy, I can't!" She cried.
I picked her up and said, "Yes, you can! You can do it! We will get there! Hold on!" And I proceeded to run frantically through the store wondering if my hip felt warm or not---looking for that stupid bathroom. I found a stock room. I went in even though it said "employees only." I looked around in that room for a bit and finally found a bathroom after trying a few doors. It was ridiculous. You know, when you have to worry you get frantic---you fumble, make mistakes, and just pray for the best. My daughter was in pain. She was crying. She was jyrating around like a madgirl using all the necessary power in her little body to hold the waters back. I remember hating her shorts when they wouldn't go down quick enough, but finally I got them. She was in agony. I threw her on the pot and a cascade followed. "Thank you, Mom!!!!!!" She said as she cried (literally cried) tears of joy. I praised her and praised her and told her she was the best daughter and no one could do what she just did. "Oh Mom, you're so kind," she said.

So yesterday we were getting an inspection done at the house we are buying (and it is a long drive) and we have to get to a place many miles away. We hit a traffic jam, so my "tick" says, "You are three-quarters full" and I am afraid. It finally gets really bad. Man of the House is breaking traffic rules, cutting people off, and just over all doing a great job to get me to our destination because he knows. My daughter catches wind of what is going on and says, "You can do it, Mommy! I know how you feel! I am so sorry! You can do it!"

When we safely got to our destination she took her hand in mine and told me she would escort me to the bathroom and that she was "so proud" of me.


It Just Figures

All week we have been planning a picnic in Great Falls for Saturday (today). Last night I made fried chicken, biscuits, cookies, etc for the occassion. Sunday would be Easter and maybe we could go to our favorite church and before that have a nice dinner of ham and all the other stuff that goes with it. I even made this oreo dessert thing that is some family tradition for it. It is all exciting. The man of the house took two days off next week: Monday and Tuesday, so he would have a four day weekend. Monday is my oldest son's birthday (he will be ten) and we would spend the day with him and go mini golfing, and have tiramisu (his favorite dessert) and watch Narnia (I got that for him for his birthday), and eat popcorn. On Tuesday, like it can't get any better, is my eight year anniversary married to the greatest man ever, Man of the House. Eight lovely, wonderful years. We have all kinds of things planned for that day, I assure you.

So, guess what happens this morning? My daughter wakes up throwing up.

I am PRAYING and PRAYING that no one else gets sick. I know that usually does not happen, but last time my youngest son was throwing up everything went fine, no one else got sick. Man of the House is convinced that it was the erasers he was eating that caused this. I am not so sure. Anyway, we are all taking Acidophilous pills and hopefully nature will destroy the virus. I hope.


Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum!

I hate how when I don't have a glass of wine before I perform I am a nervous mess. Last night I sang with my good friend Laura Waters and of course, in regular Jammin' Java fashion, I could not hear myself very well and so on top of that my mouth was dry and pasty and I just prayed I was hitting the notes. Frustrating. The more frustrating thing is that I was totally calm before I went on stage.

Laura and I did very well though, so that is good, eh? Maybe we are the next Indigo Girls.

It was actually quite hilarious. Laura and I were waiting our turn to go up to the stage and before we went on a crazy over weight guy with curly gray hair sort of gathered on top of his head like a mop crooned (quite out of breath-like) some really weird songs with a state of the art pink keyboard. Laura was really hopeful before he started playing, saying stuff like, "This is great, come on Rufus (whatever his name was), show us what you got." When she saw the keyboard she was laughing and light-hearted, ready to be entertained. I was greatly afraid, to be honest. I would say that when someone goes on stage (some random act) usually what happens is about 80% of the time or more they stink. And I mean STINK. Let me just tell you that when the guy started playing I got worried even more. The first song was just awful. And it kept going on forever. The guy could not sing really and he could barely breathe. The music was like Nine Inch Nails (don't ask me why I am familiar with them) on crackahol. It was insane. Sort of industrial breathless chaos. The place was almost packed. When his mad music started playing people started leaving in a crazy fashion. Laura and I looked at each other and could barely stand it. We needed to revolt but could not. I mean, the music was ridiculously loud already. We would look crazy to ask people to stay behind until we got up there---listening to this guy was torture, I tell you.

The next song was absolutely over the top horrible. All I remember is that the main words were "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!" The place got down to about 25 people. You know, I blame this guy for part of my nervousness. It was such stress to see all of these people leave like this. My nerves were just blown---it was over. I had to just submit. I mean, it is great to go up after a terrible act and sort of smooth things over, but this guy had left a literal battlefield of dead men. Not even we could coax the freshly dead men from their graves. He literally slaughtered the whole drove of them.

We told the waiter that he was awful and he said, "Well, he is not so bad, I guess. See that camera over there? Someone is doing a documentary of him!" Great.

So basically after all that mess I did the usual Rachel thing and did not sleep until 2 ish this morning---even after taking a sleeping pill. That guy messed with me man.

We sang "Further and Further Away" (Laura lead, I bgv) by Cheryl Wheeler and "Possession" (I lead and Laura bgv) by Sarah McLachlan. I think we did really well. The host said "wow" after we were done, I heard, and Laura and I can be happy that perhaps we were good just because maybe we are---not because the bottle of rum guy was ahead of us.


Nutrition Facts

My oldest son is obsessed with nutrition facts lately. You know the labels on the boxes of cereal and stuff. He looks at all the vitamins and minerals, looks at what in the ingredients is healthy and declares whether it is healthy or junk. He learned this from a book he has been reading called Food Rules.

So I let them eat cake this morning after breakfast for dessert.


There is a Lion Outside

My friend and I were on the phone the other day and she informed me that an inside joke that everyone shares in her family is something she witnessed in my home a few years ago.

She comes over to discuss our soap business and here my youngest boy (the eraser-eater) is stil eating his lunch and it has been about an hour since lunch started. His favorite thing to do back then (and is still a temptation now) is to throw himself on the floor and whine or at least whine while making himself go limp wherever he happens to be. So he pulls this malarkey. She looks at me wide-eyed (this look that she and I give each other when we are giving the situation a little more time before we start covering our mouths to muffle our laughter) and then turns and positions herself face to face with him. She is so good with kids, I tell you. She sees that he (obviously) does not want to eat and she says to him, "Now, L--m, this is good food. Do you think you could take a few more bites?"

He looks at her despondently and says, "But I am so tired! I am tired of eating and I have lifted my fork thousands and thousands of times!" (whimper, whimper, whine)

So whenever she, her husband, or any of her kids are tired of something, they complain and wail, "but I have done this or that thousands and thousands of times!"

The man of the house, when he heard about our child's level of laziness, was mortified. When I was first married to the man we used to laugh at the passages of the lazy fool in Proverbs who can not lift his food to his mouth or who does not want to go out (to work) because there is "a lion outside". You can imagine. This is not an inside joke in my home. I am glad others recieve joy from it though.

When my oldest (the ten year old) was little he used to do crazy things. I remember one time when the man of the house was working nights I would go and check on the little boy before I went to bed. I remember this one time he demolished his room. It was just awful. What made it especially interesting was that he was sleeping smack in the middle of it. I turned on the light and took a picture.

Another picture worthy is when Eraser-Eater was little (the youngest one who has lifted his fork thousands and thousands of times) he had this great walker. My oldest loved it. He thought it was so cool. I think maybe because it used to be his. Anyway, I heard him hollering and crying from the other side of the house and I ran to him wondering what the heck could be wrong. I thought maybe he broke a limb or something. Nope. He was stuck in the walker trying desperately to get out---his legs were too fat, the walker started to collapse, and he was panicking. I went and I got the camera, of course, and took a picture.

Those pictures are still in the photo album and everytime (it never fails) my Dear Sir sees it, he shakes his head and says, "Turn the page."


Everytime I make pancakes the kids yell, "Panda Cakes"!

We are off school for a full month (we homeschool). I decided to make them do one day of school a week so that once the month is over I am not pulling my hair out like I always am. It is amazing to see the kind of time I have if school is a non-event. It shocks me, really.

I better go do a bunch of nothing.


Toy Sentiment

Last night my youngest boy (the anti-rude, eraser eating maniac) was looking through some old photo albums. For some reason the kids love this. They love it, not usually because they want to see themselves or just memories themselves, they want to look at all their old toys that they opened up at Christmas or something.

When I put the boy to bed he said to me, "Mom, do you know that when I was looking at the pictures that I almost cried?"

"Oh, why?" I thought maybe he was sentimental about seeing me and himself in the early days, which would not surprise me but it would make me feel nice.

"Oh, because I saw all those toys that I used to have that I still love and I forgot about and I am sure you threw them away!"

If it were up to him, we would keep every fragment of every broken toy so that his room would be a huge trash heap, we would eat candy for dinner, and we would allow him to continue to eat erasers and rock himself to sleep (he wakes up the whole house creaking the bed so loudly and singing like he is a Native American).

Rude Mood

I am reminded on a consistent basis about my rudeness. This is a typical example that happens just about every day:

"Thank you Mom, for the wonderful dinner," says my youngest boy.

"Uh-huh," I say, which means you're welcome but I just am too lazy to say it.

Lately my youngest son will have none of it. He says, "Mom, you just say 'uh-huh'! You have to say 'you're welcome'! I don't know what 'uh-huh' means!"

I try to explain the 'uh-huh' to him. The next time I end up saying 'uh-huh' he says, "I think I know what uh-huh' means, but I would prefer it if you would say 'you're welcome'.

I am now trying to say 'you're welcome'.

The man of the house told me that I also forget to say "bless you" when people sneeze. I used to be so good about it. Lately I just let it go though, because hey, I am reading or I am busy cleaning something. The longer the time passes (the seconds between a sneeze and an acceptable 'bless you') I am in deep trouble. "Man, do you care that I just sneezed?" I soon hear. So, naturally, I am working on it.

I have found that I can be a moody person. There are times I just don't want to speak. Hearing my own voice in the stillness would jolt me out of my peace. I can't explain it any better than that. So, when I am peacefully reading, to interrupt and say "bless you" and shock my body with the loudness of my own voice would be so annoying. So really, it is a sacrifice for me, oh, man of the house.


Helmet Breakers Drama

Yesterday my youngest son started wailing. He had actually been good all day long---he only had this one mishap. Apparently my daughter told him (in her anger) that she was quitting the band (the future band called the Helmet Breakers). She was going to sing and everything---it was going to be perfect, you know? Anyone would yelp in despair. She had informed me only a week prior that she was going to reserve Fridays and possibly Tuesdays to this endeavor. Losing a lead singer is really a downer. Sometimes you have to pull a "Well, I guess we have to hire Sammy Hagar now", sort of stunt to stay alive. It's kind of good that they are getting all this serious stuff over with before the band really starts.

There is always drama, ridiculous drama in a house with children. I was just talking to a friend last night about how her granddaughter and her son were eating breakfast together (they are five years apart) and how they were fighting over who is going to look at the cereal box or tilt it this way or that way. Oh man. I have this fight almost EVERY morning with these little gnomes. I find myself putting up with it (stupidly) and then I come to my senses and just take the box. I can not even believe that I let someone have a turn and what not. I think, what would the man of the house do in this situation? He would take away the box. He would ban them from the box every time they ate. The box would not be in this situation at all. The box is silly. I learn too much from him.

Fights really are, "He is looking at me!" "She is touching me!" "He took my paper!" "He told me I was a nutcase!" "She didn't give me my vitamin!" "She is standing in front of the TV!" "He took my stick!" "He has a bigger stick than me!" "He told me my Neopet card is dumb!" My favorite one has to be, "Mom, she is quitting the band! She is quitting the band! AHHHH!"