Bad Breathicon

For those of you who think that Apple isn't so cool, I can take pictures of my own self sitting at the computer without a camera phone. It's pretty cool. Not that I want to all the time...I am a little bored but have lots to do. Gee whiz.

School got promplty flushed down the toilet today when the Oldest complained of a sore throat and sneezing up celery-looking mucus. I could have done without that. I have barely eaten today on account of it. Puke I can handle. Celery-looking snot? Nope. Not me. So, I had the nifty idea of taking a flashlight and looking down his sad little throat. There was a big white spot in the way back that alarmed me because it was pure white and gross looking, and then there was a cluster of little red spots on the roof of his mouth. I looked on the net at what strep looked like, and decided that I should call my nurse neighbor. The Oldest then told me simply that he "swallowed" that thing lodged in his throat (the white spot) and I felt a little queasy myself, if you ask me. I can't think about it. Why am I writing it? Ack. Anyway, I ended up taking him to the doctor and he does not have strep, but the doctor seems to think that it was probably food. Even grosser. I was glad though because I did not want to battle a sickness like strep with EVERYONE.

The Oldest is still sick. The doctor told me that food can get lodged in throats and it can stick up there for days causing bad breath. The Oldest always has bad breath. Bad Breathicon. That is what we call him sometimes, Dear Sir and I.

Which reminds me. I remember my sister would chew her cheeks and swallow the skin she bit off and it would all get stuck in her throat and the roof of her mouth. She would sit in the bathroom with tweezers, open her mouth wide, and manually pluck the skins all out. She would frequently gag and make strange noises during the process.

Writing just whatever is on the brain, don't mind me.

So, school is totally blown, I still don't know what is for dinner tonight, and clothes need to be ironed but I desperately hate ironing. I guess I will get my butt up there and do it once I stick my head in the freezer and pull out some meat.

Make sure you have a good remaining day, depending on when you scope out this page.



Gee whiz. For some reason I have been out of it today. I had all these plans to get this errand run and that errand run, but I took one step inside my boys' room and almost had a meltdown. Well, I thought about weeping, yet again, but decided against it. I was actually too tired. I lost a few hours sleep last night for who knows what reason (maybe getting up at two each night to take the girl to the bathroom?) and now my brain hurts.

I sat in that boy madness and organized everything that I could. I threw a lot of stuff away. I tell ya, the Oldest has the purge thing down. Eraser Eater doesn't. It drives me nuts. I had to toss some papers that he could not remember drawing on while he looked "over there". I then took our old computer and table and planted it in their room. The Oldest was dying to get on the pc so he could play Empire Earth.

"Mom, can we wait to put the computer in my room until Dad gets home? I want to play the computer right now."

"Why?" I say.

"Because you won't know how to unplug it and plug it back in and I want to play before tonight!"

How shameful. My kid knows me that well? I decided to be tricky though, and succeeded. I was almost afraid for a split minute or two that I annihilated the pc (which I don't think Dear Sir would have minded---it's the Apple that matters to him) by trying to unplug the monitor from the tower, but then I just kept it all plugged in and had a train effect going to get it all up the stairs at the same time. The Oldest held the speakers and the mouse and keyboard, and I juggled the monitor and the tower alternately (I would move the monitor, set it down, move the tower, set it down, etc.) all the way up the stairs until I got to the boys' room without unplugging a thing (except the power strip)! I am a genius.

The sad thing is that I bet there was an easier way to do it, but I am a dim-wit. I never do things easy.

So then when I was finished I felt all weary and sick and so I had a fainting fit on the couch and watched Oprah and Judge Judy, alternately.

Dear Sir is going to have a treat when he gets home---a wife who has not changed from her pj's! Don't you love it?

Gotta serve dinner...

Oh, the kids are watching Arthur, and you know the theme song says, "believe in yourself." (which is one of my particular pet peeves) My daughter scoffed at the song when it was playing, and said, "Believe in yourself?! Believe in Jesus!"

She does have a point. I had a good spell of loving myself today too by allowing myself to watch Oprah.



I feel like Ethel Mertz or something. You know Ethel. Lucy's best friend and neighbor? I am friends with my next door neighbor and she is a really nice woman. She has been working during the day lately and so she is gone when I am schooling the kids. She is the kind of neighbor who will call you up and say, "I am going into town, do you need anything?" She is totally thoughtful and sweet.

She is also friendly and sweet to the neighbors across the street. Apparently they are really struggling because the husband just went through surgery and he is on Social Security. They also have many other vices that have to do with substance abuse and whatnot, and therefore they are often out of moolah. So there the across-the-street-neighbor goes, to my neighbor's house, gets the key in the hidden place, and makes herself at home. ---While my neighbor is gone. She comes out with an armful of groceries and high-tails it to her house. No moolah for groceries because I just bought some weed, so I am going to go and pilfer from the nice neighbor who is single and is raising a little girl. Wonderful.

My neighbor has told me this much about the situation. She has told me that sometimes she will go and get ready to cook up the meat she just bought the other day and "waa-laa!" it is gone. Happens frequently, she says. She has actually confronted the across-the-street-neighbor, but to no avail. She gets a simple, "I thought you wouldn't mind!" or something like that. So, when she notices that her eggs and a few other things are snatched and she tells me about it, I will suggest she just give me a house key or hide it somewhere else. What is with these people? Makes me mad.



I hate buying jeans because everyone has longer legs than me and when I go shopping I am constantly reminded. I have short legs and a normal sized torso. My dear friend L. said that I must be German but I am not (that I know of). Supposedly I am British and Welsh. And I have never had a crumpet, so there. Here is a site that quizzes you on how to find the perfect pair of jeans for your body and particular style. Give it a try, you ladies who hate shopping for jeans. And umm, if you wear jeans that go to your belly button or over, please do this quiz especially and buy some new ones. For me. For the world. For your own husband.

Which reminds me---almost a year ago I was driving down a one lane highway with a kid in the car with me. He was talking to me, I was distracted, and there was some traffic. I saw a young lady on the side of the road putting up a real estate sign and I was drawn to her somehow. I couldn't place it for a second and then I realized that I was staring incredulously at her horrid jeans. They looked like they were straight from the late eighties. Acid washed, right at the belly button, and tapered. I really almost threw up in repulsion. And I almost crashed because I could not stop looking at her. To add insult to injury her shirt was mercilessly tucked in and I think she wore a belt. What was so weird was that her hair was up to date and she looked young and pretty! Now, I am not the fashion police or anything. I have a few doosies in my own wardrobe. I am constantly freaked out that I look terrible or something, so I try to buy clothes that don't go out of style.

I will admit that after I got dressed and ready for the evening after my long run today Dear Sir busted in the room and looked at what I was wearing. He said, "I thought you got rid of that thing years ago! Here I am, thinking that old, tight shirt is long gone and here you are wearing it!"

"But I have had it since the ninth grade!" I said with a smile.

He winced in horror and went on the computer. And I am still wearing the thing as I type. The photo above proves it. It is as old as the hills and it has known me longer than Dear Sir has. If some of you will rid yourselves of your ugly eighties jeans that you still wear (please throw away your tapered legged ones especially), I will rid myself of the ancient shirt that cost four bucks. Deal or no deal?


Bacon Press

I have been frying a lot of bacon the past couple of days. Last night I made a BL (with no T) for Dear Sir's dinner, and this morning I made some along with some sausage for breakfast. It got me thinking to my cleaning days with Merry Maids.

I remember cleaning this lady's house. I don't even know if I would even call this lady a "lady." She was more like a man. Well, there were two of them actually. They were rather large and Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum like. They looked like twins but they very well could have been lovers for all I know. They spoke in gruff voices and wore flannel shirts with thin denim jeans with belts. Any femininity they had was stripped from them therefore making them look "Pat" like, if you know what I mean. They were also very dirty women. I mean, their house was dirty. The bedroom was so filthy I remember we were not even allowed to go in it. I distinctly remember stuff poking out the bottom of the door, it was apparently so bad.

I had the sheer pleasure of cleaning the bathroom and I almost ralphed a few times. It was very very vile. I won't get into details. I also had the wondrous job of cleaning the kitchen and this is what brings me to the bacon part. They ate a lot of bacon. Not only did the kitchen smell like vats of bacon or bacon grease, it LOOKED like bacon was cooked in there continually. What vividly stands out in my mind is this fancy little bacon contraption they had. It was a huge iron that said "Bacon Press" on it. It was grimy, dirty, and greasy. It was just sick. I tried to think of why a person would want a bacon press. It was a big mess. Clean the thing, you know? Ack.

So when I was frying some bacon I thought about the bacon press and how one would use such a thing and it made me feel a little sick. If you guys use bacon presses, sorry, I just think there is something wrong with that.



Dear Sir, who is also called Elysium, is sick of blogs. There is nothing new under the sun?

Angela gave me a heads up that Catherine Claire, a dear friend of mine, is challenging everyone.
Speaking of challenges, Emma has a good one over in her neck of the woods---something having to do with short hair on top and long hair on the bottom. Ack.

Rick thinks that no one will read his long post, but he should take a look at Susie because you know, she is the long post Queen.

Des is making art out of Virgin Marys and----continuing with art, Grant Lee is coming out with a new album and I will be sure to see him when he comes around in the spring.

Molly is officially on myspace, and I am not.

And Alicat's repairman opened a box of her Krispy Kremes and helped himself without asking.


"Author" is the Word

So Eraser Eater won second place in the bee for his grade. He was eighth over all (which he was bummed about) but I was proud of him. He lost to the word "author." The words were getting progressively harder and I had no idea that they would throw out words that were not on his grade level (I have never been a part of something like this before) so we were not totally prepared. They were making big huge deals out of "sounds" and "utterances" and it was getting annoying and high strung. "What did he say before the "g"? Did he say a k sound? Huh?" It's like they are trying to find the cure for cancer or something. Finally they decided that it was just a "sound" and his word was valid. Give me a break. He did a good job though. He was also a good sport and I am proud of him. He got the red ribbon instead of the blue one, but he is happy with that! We will definitely do it again next year!

Dear Sir came along with and took the day off from work, so pretty much since we got home he has been playing gameboy with the boys. The Hobbit and Robotech. I remember watching Robotech when I was a kid. I have no idea why I liked it; maybe there were some pretty girl cartoons on it. I can't remember it very well. Dear Sir still remembers a few things. He has a great memory about junk like that.

Girly wants me to play memory with her (ugh) so I better go. Yes, my children rule my home (just kidding). It is just that she is so cute. She just asked Dear Sir to "pause" his game so she could have a hug. All she wants to do all day long is hug.

Have a good night and get wonderful sleep.



I am a bit downtrodden, if that could be the proper way to explain my feelings this evening. I went to a Homeschool Mom's meeting tonight and I was hoping to find someone that would want to be my friend. I mean, the ladies there are nice and all, but no one has actually asked me for my information. I had to ask people kind of like I want to date them or something and the depressing part is, I don't know if I have it in me to pursue anyone. I want friends, gee do I want them (because you know, I just moved here half a year ago) but do I want to stick myself out there vulnerably? To me it is vulnerability. And, trust me, I don't talk like I write. I mean, I kind of do, but I always biff up something. I notice when the ladies I talk to give me that side long stare like, "get on with it---spit it out" or "what the heck is she saying?" I find that what I want to say does not always come out the way I wish to say it. Maybe I am just slow. I suffer from being slow. I guess. I don't know. I can't make small talk, I don't like talking all that much, and I just feel like I have made all my friends---I was successful at one point and now to start from scratch again? Gee whiz. I have forgotten how to do it.

And then I realize that a lot of what I tell people they could really care less about. Keep it short and simple, huh? No one wants to hear me go on about the wonders of Latin derivatives. Who gives a rip? But you know, having a Mom's meeting at night is a bad idea. I am tired by the time I drag myself in there. I may as well just sleep at the table while the other Moms are talking about various curriculum (curricula?) and when to take time off. I am talking about homeschooling on my time off and frankly, I would rather be sleeping. And now I am just rambling. If you, dear reader, have made it this far you have much patience.

Eraser Eater is participating in his first spelling bee tomorrow, wish him luck. He is set to win.

Sorry I am such a downer.

Apparently last night some kids lit the car across the street on fire after pouring gasoline all over it and the whole fire crew and the king's horses and the king's men were here and we didn't even hear it. I say last night and it was two thirty in the morning. Huh. My neck hurts though. Good night.

New Old Song

Here on my music site you can hear an old song called "So Forgiving." Give it a listen and tell me what you think. If you have not heard my stuff at all, check out the site; there are a good handful of songs to incline your ear to.




So it was seventy last Saturday and now today it is freezing and there is snow everywhere. The kids are elated. And freezing their butts off out there, running around with frozen extremities. I was feeling a little motivated this morning after my coffee and one mile on the treadmill and I took a long run outside. This is of course, before it started to snow. I had no idea that it would be so stinking cold out. I battled it anyway. I kept thinking that snot was running down my nose, but it was actually the fact that the insides of my nose were numb. I kept wiping anyway though. When I got home I was a frozen wreck. One would think that I would have had enough hot blood coarsing through me to make me warm but alas, I was frozen everywhere. My stomach was frozen, if you could believe it. My hands were red with some sort of icy non-movement---and my arms were ridiculously tingly and wrong feeling. I immediately got a mug and drank some hot water from the tap and it was so difficult to grip the cup.

I cleaned the house like a mad woman yesterday because it had been some days since I had done it and therefore I had a lack of things to do today. I just slept for two and a half hours and had weird dreams about birthdays and other types of madness. When I woke up I stupidly ate an icecream cone and then regretted it once the last bite was swallowed. It was good but it felt wrong because #1 I just ran a ton and it was really difficult because of the hills and the cold. #2 I was hungry for real food. Let's just admit this now and say that I ran for nothing. Nada. All that numb nose feeling for NOTHING. I blew it. I think the scale needs to take another trip to the shed.

Whenever Led Zeppelin pops up on my ipod (I like to run to 'Rock n Roll' especially) I have a new-found appreciation for Condi Rice. I saw some show on her a few months ago and she works out to Led Zeppelin too. Who knew. Even I have an issue sometimes with listening to "Whole Lotta Love." Makes me wince, actually. Wonder how she copes with that song. She's not even married.


If You Hold Up Your Two Fingers it Forms a "V"

Disclaimer: Pretty much all I know about Richard Nixon is the word Watergate, "I am not a crook," and he RESIGNED (which means he was not impeached). Oh, and he was the President of course.

The kids and I were eating dinner last night and The Oldest was putting up his two fingers (the index and the middle) at the end of every sentence. Finally Eraser Eater asks, "Why do you keep doing that?"

"It's cool. Richard Nixon does it," says the Oldest with a smile and yet another lift of the two fingers. "What does it mean?" he turns to ask me.

I swallow my chicken and look at the Oldest. I remember all the times as a kid assembled in the auditorium at school and the Principal shushing with one hand and holding up her two fingers with the other in the air to encourage us to quiet down. "Peace," I say.

"Oh yes," says the Oldest. "'Peace and the spread of the gospel in Chechnya.'"

I almost spit out my food laughing so hard.

"What? Was that funny, Mom? You think I don't listen to the prayers at church?" And he gives me a wink.

He and I both know that this is the exact prayer that Dear Sir prays during the "prayers of the people" nearly every Sunday.

At this point Dear Sir is about to walk in the door from work and the Oldest looks at me. "Should I tell him what's so funny?"

"Nope," I say.


I tell Dear Sir the exact same story above.

Dear Sir shakes his head at me.

"What?!" I say.

"Richard Nixon was not some hippie, Rachel. He didn't go around shooting the peace sign off at people. His fingers formed a 'V' which meant 'victory'. It's famous. Winston Churchill did it too." He continues to try to read his book.

"Well---I---" I feebly explain the auditorium story to him. He smirks a little. "I know that I know nothing about Richard Nixon."

He just widens his eyes and continues to read his book.

I felt a shove was in order and it was executed accordingly.



I found a picture of myself with a Wonder Woman shirt on! Amazing.

Ok, so today I had a talk with someone I know about various things and somehow I got on the subject of the fact that my mother had a tubal ligation but later gave birth to me and my little brother and then had no more children. The person I was talking to immediately said, "I guess the tubal didn't take."

WHY, OH WHY, do people REFUSE to believe in miracles? Huh? My mother had a tubal, lost a child when he was two years old, and then PRAYED specifically for two more children in her grief. You know, I have told this story recently to a few people and they have all responded in that way lately. The fact of the matter is, if a very fertile woman gets a tubal and then has two more children afterwards and then has NO MORE children after that, is that not a miracle? Does that not prove that God is certainly the one who opens and closes wombs?

If miracles don't exist---if the Divine does not intervene, forget it. A world without miracles is like a world without hope. I know that people are like this everywhere and I am sort of acting like I have lived in a dark shed my whole life, but come on. I can hardly bear it. For some reason I really got irritated with that. Even the most atheist relatives of mine believed in a miracle and called the pregnancies that---and still do. Can the human heart be so enclosed in blackness that absolutely no light can shine through? Nothing? Yes, I believe this and yet I am incredulous when I see it. Would it not be a miracle to see hearts like this turned from their blackness into gleaming brightness? I believe in miracles and I believe that can happen. It is a lot harder in that case than for a woman with a tubal to conceive.

You know, you can't see your brain, but you know it's in there.


That's It

Last night I had the pleasure of recording a few songs of mine at my friend Ken's house (the wonderful guitarist for the Einsteins) and I think in a couple of months we will have them up on the site. We had fun putting the stuff together and I am sure Ken thought I was being incredibly silly about the background vocal tracks. I had a hard time singing to my own voice. I usually don't sing with myself (really, who ever does?) and the times that I have recorded I have had the best background vocalist I know right by my side. Someone told the both of us one time that our voices have the same tamber. Ken's beautiful daughter also asked me if I would sing at her wedding in June (which I thought she would never ask!) and paid me a huge compliment by asking! So, I look forward to that very much. I love weddings. It also helps that by June I will have two weddings under my belt to balance out the two funerals I have sang at. I have a real determination to get that accomplished.

Today was a difficult day at school and I almost resorted to the bottle, but alas, I stood fast and resisted the temptation. I should probably stop teaching school in my pajamas and slippers. Teaching and breathing coffee breath on their sweet little faces doesn't help much I suppose either. There are way too many things to fix, I must say. Too many. Sin corrupts my heart so much that nearly everything I feel inclined to do is wicked, wicked, wicked. Isn't that the truth. I almost tossed my cookies when my daughter could not figure out the number that comes before 30. I kept thinking, "Have I slacked off this much to where I have not taught her how to count?" Finally she got to the point where she would whisper the answer because she said, "Mom, I just don't want you to get mad at me." The beast was tamed by a sentence, and I gave her a sniff and we giggled a bit. So I have to teach her to count again. So what. Soon enough she had it again and had just forgotten. The joys of teaching children.

So, I survived my Oldest today even though I almost wept and threw in the towel. I had to give him the "education is important" speech for the billionth time and then even added a few measures of extra spiciness in the process, so maybe it penetrated. Who knows. I just feel snappy tonight. Don't walk by, got it?



I was walking on the treadmill the other day reading Surprised By Joy by C.S. Lewis. This quote is amazing about education:

"...the greatest service we can do to education today is to teach fewer subjects. No one has time to do more than a very few things well before he is twenty, and when we force a boy to be a mediocrity in a dozen subjects we destroy his standards, perhaps for life. "

This struck me because here I am teaching my own children a bit of everything and feeling spread very thin. Now, I have realized this truth in the quote above for a handful of years now, and have been focusing on some subjects more than others and I think this is good. I think at some point I have to realize that my Oldest needs to focus more on how to form himself into the profession that he would like to take part in as an adult, say, like architecture. He has voiced that he would like to do this. So, naturally, I have been focusing on math. Knowing the basics of math will make it easier to handle geometry and algebra later, so forming that foundation is crucial for him if indeed he is really going that direction.

It is still difficult to figure out what Eraser Eater will want to do as of yet so I will look at that within the next couple of years.

This quote also brings to life the fact that one can not be good at everything, which is what I always say. I sing well, but it does not mean that I can play guitar well! I have a handle on Victorian novels to some degree, but it does not mean that I have a handle on Victorian poetry. Frankly, poetry does not interest me much. I can make lots of chocolate confections, but I can not bake bread especially well. I have just come to the conclusion that even though some people appear to be good at many things, it does not mean that they really are. They are probably accomplished at a few things instead of fifteen things. They are in reality probably accomplished in one thing instead of ten. We only have time for so much and then that is it. Life is short. I can't go around stressing myself out because I want to be good at everything. I can't be jealous because this person plays guitar exceptionally well, or this person bakes tremendously good bread or can sew herself up an outfit.

Stick to the things that you are good at, people, and keep it to a minimum.


Getting Up at Night For a Star-Filled Chart

I am way too into my book (The Moonstone) to post anything. Sorry. Not that you are waiting with bated breath or anything. I have a site meter and it tells me stories if I bother to look at it! :)

I have been getting up at 2:30 each morning to get my daughter out of night diapers. It has been ok. It takes me a bit to fall asleep again, but it is sort of like having a baby and getting up to nurse it. It is not so bad. And the weird thing is that I wake up pretty much at 2:30 on the dot without any help, I just rise, look at the clock and lo, it is 2:30. I know God is on my side with this business. She does, however, wake up dry (at least for the past three mornings now) so it is worth it to me.

I remember back in the day when I had this same struggle as a little girl my mother made me a chart too. I think it was red, but I can't remember clearly. All I know is that when the thing was filled with stars, I was able to get Wonder Woman underoos. Once I got those things you could never get them off me. It all started with Linda Carter, but it kind of REALLY started with the Underoos. I think I have posted about this before, but it has always been a vivid memory for me of my playing on the monkey bars during recess and showing off my Underoos under my sweater. Plenty of "ohhs and ahhs" emitted from the lookers on. Now I stupidly wear Wonder Woman shirts because I can't stop myself and hey, it brings me back to that place. And I DON'T CARE IF I LOOK RIDICULOUS. Wearing that means more to me than the average reason of just liking it.

So when I made my daughter's chart I tried to convince her to get some Wonder Woman underoos if she filled it. Then I realized, what am I thinking? She doesn't care so much about Wonder Woman like I do! In fact, she likes Batgirl. She tries to convince the boys that Batman's "true" sidekick is Batgirl, not Robin. I am not a feminist by any stretch of the imagination, but I like this gender related Super hero stuff. I think Batgirl IS Batman's real sidekick. Go Batgirl!

I should post a toothbrush picture, but I will just have to wait. That would mean grabbing the camera and going UPSTAIRS. Batgirl can fly, Wonder Woman needs her invisible jet. Sorry, it's in the shop.


Odds and Ends

I got a call right when I was making the french toast this morning for breakfast from the credit card company about some late payment (which I sent out and it is totally the company's fault). I got really nasty for no reason (probably because I pride myself on being timely with finances and I felt insulted) and but I got it all ironed out an hour later. The kids had to dish out their own breakfast while I sat on the phone with the bank and a number of customer service representatives. No wonder the credit card company kept calling me and leaving a message saying, "Rachel....Rachel?...." and then hanging up. Why do they do that? Like they know me and I am listening to the message as it is being recorded biting my nails? Insane.

Someone from France just called me right now and asked for Richard. I have never had more wrong phone calls in my life since we moved here. First we were getting calls for Brett (which we still get them a lot). Then about a couple of weeks ago for a number of days we had calls for a "ford bronco for sale". Everyone was calling about that bronco, I tell ya. What, did someone print OUR number in the paper on accident? How the heck did that happen? What are the odds it would be US? We get no phone calls at all (it is rare) and the only ones we get are from wrong numbers. On our machine some receptionist will leave a message for Brett and how he didn't show up for his dental appointment. Well he's not getting the calls, that is for sure! Last night a telemarketer called here, left a message by just BREATHING in the phone, then hung up. Nice.

So, my whole school morning was blown, so I called it off. How am I going to do school when half the time has been taken already? The kids were playing nice anyway so they are all outside in their coats (it is actually freezing outside right now, which is a shocker) having a good time.

It has been a good morning despite all that junk, so I am grateful. It was pretty cool because about a half hour ago my Oldest called me to the back yard and showed me a woodpecker on the top of one of the trees. There Woody was, pecking away. It is really neat to me because my son can recognize many birds---we have a homeschooling goldmine right in our back yard. He loves Cardinals and whenever he sees one he goes crazy. So, since he loves Cardinals he thinks that the baseball team and the football team are awesome. He is a big fan (even though they stink). He claims that "someone" has to be a fan.

Well, the coffee ran out of my Wonder Woman mug and that means I should get dressed or something. Have a good day!



So I was finally able to get back to running again today without my leg having some tingly, nervy, crampy attack. So far so good. I didn't push it, so I should be fine to go again on Wednesday.

Last night I played Risk with the men. It was horrible. I thought I was going to be all slick and dominate North America and just ease my way on through to dominating everything. I had a plan in my head, I guess you would say. Then Dear Sir decided to spread his misery all over Asia and battle me through Alaska. I have to say, usually I am a good sport about this kind of stuff, but I was so angry. I had a plan, you know? So I said, "I'm sorry, I am done. I can't play this anymore. I am really pissed off."

"Really?" Dear Sir said, a bit shocked.

I sat there for a minute and thought about how ridiculous I was being. I stared at the board for a bit. I looked at Dear Sir. He had the attack dice in hand. I would not be able to handle it if he were to start attacking Canada next.

"Yep, I am done."

"Well, I guess we're all done with the game then," he said, a bit relieved. I think he wanted to read a book anyway.

Instead of reading a book he cut the Oldest's hair (he now looks like he is in the Army) because he will soon have glasses and frankly, the hair he had before would have been horrendous. I call it hair of steel. It is insane trying to cut that stuff.

The Oldest does look a lot better. The daughter (who is five) noticed it this morning.
She yelped at the breakfast table. "Your hair!"
"Yep, Dad cut it."
"How does it feel on your pillow? Nice?" she asked.

I thought that an odd question. I guess my kids don't get out much.

I played Memory with the daughter just a minute ago and first she beat the tar out of me. She was freely telling me how she is the master and would giggle and taunt me. By the second game I finished her off and slammed my huge pile of matches in front of her while telling her that I was the master this time. She laughed and then she took her own stack and flung it all over my treadmill and the floor around it. She started weeping.

I guess we are all poor sports.



I am frightening myself a little. Today it has been 76 degrees or something crazy like that and I am in such a chipper mood. It has been slightly breezy, and sunny, and just overall wonderful. I hate to even say it. What is wrong with me. Wonderful? The sun? I hate the sun! What is happening to me?

I feel like grilling and I have this insatiable desire to run for an hour in nature--but alas, Dear Sir has been gone all day at some meeting and I can't get myself outside with the kids. A wasp landed on the screen outside and the Oldest almost had a heart attack. There is no way I can get that kid to go out there. I walked on my street for a bit hoping the man of the house would come home and free me from my ties by holding down the fort while I get my running shoes on, but I guess it is not happening. It is steadily getting darker and I must slither back into my dank dungeon and let the feeling pass. Being spontaneous is sometimes fun. I'll just spontaneously grill our dinner to night. `Tis a pity.

I wonder if I have SADD. I wonder if I am just a hypochondriac. SADD isn't REAL. (Don't kill me you people that suffer from SAD) Well, at any rate, night is falling and I must bid farewell. Please congratulate me. I haven't done squat today!

Till tomorrow.



This is the view from the office to outside. I think it looks pretty cool. It has been raining all day today and of course, has been unusually warm. I love the rain, hate the warm. Oh well.

The stray/neighborhood cats keep pooping in our gravel driveway. It is so nasty. I stepped in it the other night when it was dark and of course it got all over the porch and there I was, hours later, cleaning the stuff up. We all try to avoid the poop when we get out of the cars, but you know, I should just go out there in a minute and scoop it up. You know, that sort of makes me mad because hey, I don't have any cats. Its like we have to keep a poop scope on our heads when taking a step outside. It gets ridiculous.

Dear Sir read my post from yesterday and had a little talk with Eraser Eater. Everyone heard it of course, and so I guess that got some curiosity up. Not too much later my Oldest (who is ten) comes up to me eating his ice cream with eyes blod-shot.
"Been crying?" I asked.
"Yeah, it was stupid. Don't worry about it. I got over it."
"What's up?"
"Mom, please, I am fine now."
Dear Sir heard this.
"What's the matter? Crying for what?"
"Well, Dad, it is just that my eraser on my new Mickey Mouse pencil almost broke off," the Oldest whimpered.
"What? Did you try to eat it?"
"Yes," he said in a little tweak.



So the Oldest and I were playing Skip-Bo on my bed and Dear Sir came in. "Did you write your sentences yet?"

"No, I forgot," the Oldest winced.

"You will be writing 'I will not eat erasers' twenty five times when you are done with that game."

Dear Sir left the room.

"So did the eraser taste good or something?" I asked.

"No, it was terrible."

"What did it taste like?"

"Rubbery grit. I don't want to talk about it."

"So did you try to see what it tasted like because [Eraser Eater] likes them so much?"


"Yeah, right," I laughed. He started laughing too and then I pelted his butt at Skip-Bo.


Erase the Sign On My Forehead

This is Eraser-Eater for the record.

Yesterday I took the oldest to the eye doctor. It gets a little alarming when you see that the doctor is your own age or round abouts. I could have gone to medical school and graduated by now, is what that tells me.

Anyway, we found that the boy needs glasses (imagine a ten year old kid with glasses screaming at bugs in the summer---that is my future). Dear Sir said that it is imperative that the kid gets a better haircut et al so that he doesn't look so much the part---of you know, what can I say? A highly intelligent individual that lacks social skills and enjoys science? Thankfully he doesn't snort, have an annoying laugh, or drool a bit. I do all of those things and I am not considered a ___________.

To add to my dire situation here, the girl just informed me that Eraser Eater just indeed ate a whole eraser off the top of his new Mickey Mouse pencil. "Did you eat that eraser?!" I barked.
"No, uh, I erased with it."
"You can't erase with that! It is not humanly possible to erase with that eraser!" (the pencil is shaped like Mickey's head so the eraser is placed in a useless position.) "So you ATE it?!!"


Lovely. Glad he can live up to his name. The punk.

Oh, back to my point about the eye doctor. So the doctor directs my oldest and I to this lady who was to "help" us find some frames. She had a desk in the way back of the room and what do you know, all the frames from my PLAN were behind it. She just placed herself between the desk and the rotating thing of frames and talked ONLY TO MY SON. It was like she refused to acknowledge that I existed. I told her what I was looking for in a frame for the Oldest and she just sort of brushed me off and said, "I have the perfect pair for you," and gave the glasses to my boy. I tried to interact a bit with the whole thing seeing as how I was paying for it and I didn't want my son to look more like the G word, but this lady would not listen to me. I guess I could have planted my behind over where she was at but since she was there already there wasn't much room. She ignored me and continued to do so.

I didn't even bother to seethe. What can I do if some lady refuses to acknowledge my existence? And why is this junk always happening to me? I get so tired of it. When I did interject about something she said something to the effect of, "Don't you have another little one around here somewhere?" as if to tell me to get lost. I am losing it here because something in my recent past happened nearly the same and I can't remember who or what it was. Oh yes, I remember. The neighbor's sister. She came into the house to see my daughter's newly painted room. I was talking to her and she would only respond to my daughter and would only answer the questions I asked or responses I made to my daughter! Like for instance I would say, "Thank you for allowing me to borrow the room decor book. I got some good ideas and the room turned out well."
She would say: "I am so glad, E--- , that your Mommy was able to make such a pretty room for you!" as if she were responding to me but refusing to acknowledge my existence. It kept happening too.

I wonder if I have some sign on my head much like Cain did on his forehead that says: "Please treat me like crap and refuse to acknowledge me."

I don't get it.


Various Pieces of Rubbish

We just encountered Eraser Eater's birthday. He got a gameboy and a few games and so I suppose that I won't see him or the Oldest all day today.

By a slip of the tongue I called my husband "Dear Sir" when beckoning him to the dinner table and he said, "Please, don't ever call me that." When reading the Moonstone (the GobholeBookBanters book choice this month) I have read "dear sir" a great many times and I think it is a fine thing to call someone---if you are a sir, I guess. I have been known to turn into "victorian woman" in dire situations (mainly an argument) and so anything that sounds slightly like the 1800's doesn't work well for my dear sir.

I actually burned the midnight oil with none other than Dear Sir and watched the BSU/Oklahoma game (Fiesta Bowl). I *think* I am getting the hang of football and I *think* I am liking it about fifty percent. Even though Dear Sir was pulling for OK, we were both secretly wishing that BSU would win just because, I don't know, we hate their orange pants so much. We did scope the clips of the crowd to maybe see if we could find our family out there, but no one looked crazy enough with wild hats and painted faces that I could see. `Tis a pity.

Yesterday we took Eraser Eater to IHOP for his birthday. It was his choice. He wanted to order pancakes and bacon. The place was packed. I mean really packed. I am actually shocked that Dear Sir did not have a nervous breakdown (he is a changed man, I tell you) it was so crowded. There is always this little evil lady that laughs inside me when Dear Sir is placed in situations that he can't stand. Not because I want him to suffer, but because I don't know how he will handle it. He always handles things in the most perfect manner though. I just know the guy so well it is scary. He thoroughly shocked me yesterday though because he said, "Man, this place is so crowded it is like a cafeteria. My Dad would go nuts!" That is all he had to say to sweep me off my feet.

During our pleasantly loud time at IHOP it got even louder. The whole crew of the restaurant approached the table behind us and clapped their hands red to a loud, silly song wishing some poor person a happy birthday. Eraser Eater looked at us scared out of his wits. When they all disassembled and scattered about, Eraser Eater whispered to us, "I was ABOUT to say that I wanted to go to Borders for my shhhh---birthday----but I didn't want THEM to hear that." I think he was convinced that if it slipped out that it was indeed his birthday too, he would be prevailed upon with a clamorous birthday song. We laughed with him and then continued to masticate our fare.

Masticate. I dreamt about that word the night of New Years Eve. Last night I dreamt of collecting all of my children's jackets barefoot in the snow after walking from England on my way to the other side of the pond. An old church building full of cobwebs blocked my way from my destination and a spider with a rat's face loomed above me. I think that means that my feet were cold.