Ok So Maybe I Died

I am so sick of blogging because since church people and general public people don't care about me and those I love (wah-wah-wah) I think my blog is a bloody failure and I am tired of attempting to write on it. Nonsense. It is all nonsense.

My Girl is going pee and playing her DS at the same time. Cool.

I took all the Christmas festivity garb down today and felt a twinge of sadness. What am I saying? I always feel a twinge of sadness! What is the flipping difference! I need meds! Must have meds!

Not only am I sad, I am insane. Just like I put the tree up on my own, I took it down on my own. My dearly beloved watched the Vikings game and was happy that they won. I gave him a kiss and congratulated him after closing up an ornament box. The man is from Minnesota and believe me, did we have lefse and meatballs for Christmas dinner! Thankfully I did not have to make it. My poor SIL pretty much made everything while I mixed up terrible drinks and made people drink them. I also skewered up little rolls of pb&j sandwiches and cheese with those little sword toothpicks so the kids would eat them. I also chopped up some fruit and whatnot and put that out there. 

The Professor looked at me gravely for a moment as he put away the vacuum (that I didn't use).

"Did you buy M&Ms?!"

I stared at him. I thought about how little time we had left until our guests would arrive. I dumbly looked at him straight in the face and I said, "Uh, I forgot."

"You FORGOT!? WHY YOU LITTLE...."

No. He actually just shook his head, turned down the hall, got his coat on, and went to the store. "We need more snacks," he said flatly in that Minnesotan voice of his. 

This is what I DID do:

Learned how to make paper snowflakes

Taught children how to do it

Made paper snowflakes

Glittered them up

Suspended them from the ceiling

Created two centerpieces

Strung lights and garlands

Put out a tablecloth

made meatballs

made cookies

made deviled eggs no one ate (and threw away today)

made mulling spice packets

cleaned up

did endless dishes

set up plates and silverware

and I can't remember what else

BTW----No one at the M&Ms either.

The Sick Dysfunctional Church

I have discovered once again that not many people care about anyone else but themselves. I can tend to do this myself, so I understand. 

What I don't understand is how the Church can be so unfriendly. So I sit next to you or behind you in the building. But you just sort of nod your head when you see me or you just scowl at me. Same difference. You don't want to talk to ME, the new person. In fact, it is not even so much as intimidation, which is more admirable. It is INDIFFERENCE. NO INTEREST:

I pretty much don't care about you, I have no clue what you do, I have no clue where you have been, and I don't want to know. Sure, we worship the same God, but you know, I am just glad He cares about you because I certainly don't worry about it. To me, you don't exist. You are just a warm body that sits in the seat behind me and because you make contact with my eyes I must nod at you slightly because you are in fact, a human. I even wave at my neighbor when they drive by. That's sort of the same thing.

Now I know what some of you may think. Why the heck do I not put myself forward? I don't know. Maybe it is some sick fascination with the whole lot of it. I want to see if anyone eventually will ignore the sign on my forehead that says don't talk to me, I am not worth it. I have actually thought about putting the sign on my forehead for fun. It would be perfect. I would walk into the building and there I would be, the sign on my head shining in the glow of the multi-purpose Christian bookstore-smelling room. I wonder what people would do. I have the guts to do it but my Minnesota born husband would be too polite to allow it. 

One of the ladies at church asked me if I ever went to the Sunday School (she is actually in a small group with me, so she talks to me--she is one of the only people who does). She mentioned that the Sunday School teacher is so gifted, I would really love it. She described the man and seemed shocked that I could not place his face, or even know who he was. 

"He sits in the back," she said to further my knowledge. 

"Oh, in the back of the whole building---over by the soundboard and all that---" I said, thinking of the blur of people that sit there and how weird it always seemed to me. "Well, I can't place him really," I continued, "In fact, I have never heard of him probably because no one talks to us."

She slightly jerked back, a little surprised at what I had said, but pulled it in just quickly enough so that I questioned my own thoughts on this. Maybe she wasn't surprised. 

"Oh," she said.

I don't know what the mature thing would be to do in this situation. Maybe ignore it or approach everyone and say, "Hello, I have been going here for four months or more now and I have never gotten to know you." You know, blame it on myself.

But that is easy for a person like me to do. Blame it on myself. I cut my teeth on horrendous emotions like that. I am sick of blaming things on myself all the time. For awhile it seems ok to do, but then again, it is unhealthy. Just as unhealthy as having no interest in people who seem like they must be nice, and hey, they are going to heaven where I am going and maybe I will get to know them there. How comforting. 

We went to a Christmas Party on Sunday to get to know people as a sort of last effort before we decide to do something drastic (like use signs) or perhaps just resort into our own selves. We sat at a table. No one sat next to us except the pastor and his wife who probably discovered that no one would sit next to us. 

When I went to the bathroom half-way through the thing I prayed to myself for something to happen where we would feel welcome. I am going to sound very charismatic right now but who cares at this point, I am not a looney tune, I just heard this or at least the thought, independent from myself: "Just enjoy your husband." 

I did. 

I encourage you all who feel lonely in a church full of people to enjoy your spouse especially in those things because by golly, that may be the only fellowship you ever get. Amen and amen.

Over-extending

I totally almost threw up. I put my treadmill on the incline of 11% and then ran that way for four minutes. That was a really bad idea and entirely awful. What was I thinking? 

Seriously, that is the first time that I have ever felt like lying on the floor and simply dying. Please promise me you all will never do that. I wouldn't wish that on Satan. 

The other night I was talking to an acquaintance about Christmas. We were talking about what we had to get done before the big day and I was telling her I had some baking to do. "Do you have any baking left to do?"

She looked at me a little blankly and shook her head like she thought I was crazy. She barely shook her head, actually. She lazily said, "No, I have no baking to do. I just...don't ever bake on Christmas...." she said it like that was a normal thing, like baking was the weirdo thing to do. I don't know, maybe it was just me. She continued, "But...I do other things like write a Christmas letter and mail it out to family..."

Oh WOW, really? I almost blurted. That is so intense. A Christmas letter. 

What the heck is wrong with ladies in my generation? They can't cook, they don't clean, they don't have any kids (although this lady does have kids). It is like bringing a batch of brownies to a cookie exchange. ---Or worse, bringing Chips Ahoy.

My mixer broke on Thanksgiving. I had forgotten about it, so yesterday when I needed it to whip up some whipped cream, I had to do it by hand. Most of these ladies would never know how to whip some cream by hand. 

I am not boasting here though. I really am not. I SHOULD know what I know. I've done my research, I have done my homework. It's my job, baby. I am just ashamed of all my fellow thirty-something year olds who don't know how to do squat in the house. AND---

I am tired of older ladies who have kids that are YOUNGER than mine thinking that I don't know what I am talking about when it comes to motherhood because I am younger. Um, hello, mine are older and in ONE PIECE so I have done SOMETHING right. Right? And um, I have them with me 24-7 so that gives me a heck of a lot more experience so the woman knows what she is talking about. 

I think 31 {gasp!} has newly given me some attitude. Stand back, I bite.

No One Will Eat My Chocolates

I just halfway finished my batch of chocolate covered cherries. I am making sixty of them. Who will eat them? I am not sure. The Professor's side of the family has an aversion to chocolate and fruit mixed together (I am probably the opposite---chocolate and chicken doesn't sound half bad, so I completely don't understand this madness), so I guess I will bring a good bit of them to the church Christmas party on Sunday, my dreaded day of all days, the day I become an old hag.

Moving on....

I have made some truffles, buckeyes, fudge, and I just don't feel in the mood for cookies. I like making candy. But no one eats it except the kids, but they would be happy with Palmer chocolate, if you catch my drift, so that doesn't count much. Chocolate with 75% wax is not chocolate, it is most likely wax, and if my children can tolerate it, they can tolerate just about anything with sugar in it. 

A customer a couple of weeks ago approached me and asked my opinion about two sets of boots. He wanted to know which ones I thought were better. He had one pair of tall black spike-heeled boots and another pair of ugly camel brown, chunky tall boots. 

"Black," I said, "they don't shout out at you as much."

He opened his eyes wide and jerked his head back in surprise. "I would think that the black spikey heel would be a bit of an attention-getter, if you ask me."

"Really?" I said, "I just assume black is pretty tame."

"But the heel...I bet you money if you walk around in these things every guy would turn his head. Now THESE" he held up the camel brown ones, "these won't get you one bit of attention."

I thought about how I rarely dress to get attention. I thought about how the Professor always thinks that I am ignorant about men and what they notice. I responded:

"I wouldn't ask me, I am an odd person. My opinion doesn't count."

"Odd as in how?"

"As in not usual."

He bellowed out a hearty laugh and put the black boots down.

I Love Them But I Hate Them

I put the tree up myself this year. I was at the store picking up a prescription and I saw that they were selling Christmas trees for thirty bucks. I don't know about you, but around here, that is a flippin' steal. I paid for it, refused the hauling help, and carried that gargantuan thing to the trunk of my Jetta rental car. Yes, I have a rental car but that is a long story. Someone smashed into me last week. No more heated seats for me. Boo-hoo.

Anyway, yes, I took the massive tree and hauled it to the trunk of my rental car. The kids were with me. The Girl got some plastic tie stuff from the ground. I used it to tie the lid of the trunk down. 

I had to be at work in forty-five minutes. 

I called the Professor when I got home.

"I got a tree," I said.

"What the heck?! Wow. How'd you do that?"

"I paid for it and got it in the trunk somehow and took it home."

"Cool," he said. 

"So---my question is this---I have to be at work in less than an hour. I am not sure if I have enough time to get the thing in the stand AND serve dinner before it gets dark. I will work tomorrow all day long. When you are home with the kids do you think you would put the tree up?"

"Fat chance," he said.

"That's what I thought."

"Better do it now," he said, "if you want us to decorate the thing when you get home. Just get the Oldest to hold the tree up although he will complain the whole time."

"Yep." 

I went out to the shed and got the saw. I got the stand. I sawed that stupid trunk until my muscles got horrendously sore. I prayed it would be over soon. I thought freakishly for a split second how much I hated Christmas. I put it up and I take it down every ridiculous year. For what? The delight of untangling lights and then taking them down again? So it will look all pretty in a window? I want Christmas to be every other year. I want Christmas to be over already. I hate shopping for presents and I hate how people act when they shop for presents and I hate the little drummer boy and I hate the Jackson Five seeing Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, and I hate Santa Claus. 

Meanwhile, the neighbor boy ran up. Eraser Eater bolted out of the house ready to meet him. 

"Can the Oldest and Eraser Eater play?" He looked rough. Really rough. One eye was about five times its usual size. 

"Did you get in a fight?" I asked him, looking up from my sawing work.

"No, I just came home like this, I don't know what's wrong with my eye."

I looked up at him again. Yep. Sure enough, his eye was oozing yellow crud. 

"You have conjunctivitis and you are highly contagious. You must get off my property and go on home." 

He moaned in disappointment. 

I just wanted to get this dumb tree hacked. Gee whiz.

Eraser Eater moved forward. "But Mom, we can just play a little ball outside, it won't hurt!" 

He grabbed a football from the yard and threw it at the oozing eye kid. The oozing eye kid threw it at him and pelted him straight in the nose. Eraser Eater bellowed out in pain, crying piteously and ran inside on the spot. 

"See ya later!" I said to the oozing eye kid. The kid turned and went home.

Finally the saw met the ground and declared it finished the job. For a split second I imagined my finger sawn off just for a stupid Christmas tree. I imagined rushing into an emergency room holding my severed finger in my hand begging them to put it back on. But then I halted in mid sentence and embraced my handicap. Perhaps if I lost a finger over this stupid Christmas tree the Professor would do it from now on. 

I stood the thing up. It was fairly tall. My Oldest tapped on his window to say hello from upstairs. I was freezing my ever-living butt off. With a cold nose and a hoarse voice I hollered,

"Get down here!"

He scrambled down and stood on the porch with no shoes on, only socks. This proved to me that he is as much of a twit as me.

"I need you to hold this thing up."

He stepped down from the porch and grabbed the tree trunk. 

"How long do I have to do this?!" He had one hand on his hip. 

"Until I am done."

"But my feet are cold! You have to hurry! How many screws do you have to twist in?"

"Four."

"Four? How am I going to do this! I will have to endure frost bite! I am getting colder by the second, I just don't know how this will work, Mom. How straight do you want this? Are you sure you know what you are doing? It is not twisting fast enough for me...I just, I have no coat on, I have no shoes on, my feet are blocks of ice..."

"Shut up."

He gasped. I am sure he clutched his chest in horror. 

Soon the tree was up and I moved it into the house. I put dinner on the table, got dressed and ran out the door. 

Out of Words (The Ancient Song)

This way I don't have to post any text if I don't want to. This song only takes a little above a minute. Well, almost two, but it is fun---if you can call anything I write fun.

I hope you all have a splendid weekend!!!!

Plugs

How many clogged toilets can you unclog during one week? I mean, I unclog one at least once a day. I greatly encourage the roughage, but gee whiz, I don't think it helps at all. I think my kids all hold it in until it turns into a baseball thus ending in the result of a clogged toilet. I did indeed use my specialized unclogging skills by using a plastic knife to slice the offending plugger in the past, but alas, I have run out of knives, and thankfully, the excreted matter has shrunk to a manageable size of just getting stuck in the pipes and I can not see it to wield my knife anyway if I had one. I need some serious plastic knives for future use.

This morning I had to unclog a toilet. It was 6:30. I knew it was clogged because I had been jolted awake by my daughter who declared that her bed was wet and I needed to change her sheets at 4:30. In my half-asleep state, I made her a new bed and went to her bathroom to empty my bladder. Upon turning around, I noticed that a gift was left there, possibly ignored for a good handful of hours. It was lurking and quite murky. In my unbalanced state of wretched sleepiness, I vowed that I would take care of it first thing in the morning and didn't flush. 

Six-thirty did indeed roll around quickly and I did not anticipate it. It seems that everyone woke up before me, using the bathroom. I jumped up with a start to prevent overflows, but someone went in the bathroom and flushed. Crap. I mean, no pun, uh, holy cow. I hurriedly put on my pajama bottoms and got the plunger. The turbo one that is blue. Thankfully the overflow did not occur and I just needed to fix it. 

First thing in the morning is not my forte. I almost threw up. 

Because I was half asleep I left the offending comet-doused plunger in the bucket I allotted for it next to the shower. I had to get out of the room otherwise I would be christening my just clean toilet (I clean it after I pump it) with whatever I did not finish digesting from dinner. 

And so once the morning really got rolling and I ordered all the crazies about, the Oldest declared from the bowels of the bathroom, "The plunger! It is in my way! What should I do with this thing!" He wandered around with it, holding the bucket handle, walking around in circles and ranting at the top of his lungs. He almost put the offensive thing on my bed. " I can't even get into the shower!" he hollered in great distress.

"You can't even get in the shower, " I repeated.

"Yes!!!!" he flamed, holding the bucket aloft, the blue plunger tilting slightly.

"Put that thing down!" I pointed, "In the hall!"

He circled around the little rug in the hall and decided to lean it against the door frame. He went back into the bathroom to start his shower. "And WHO is the one that keeps putting the inner curtain OUT of the shower because I have to remove it EVERYDAY and it is getting really annoying! I mean, what is this madness?"

"Someone took a bath, DUH!" shouted Eraser-Eater from the room down the hall.

"Well people should be taking SHOWERS!" he blasted. 

"You are not a parent!" I called through the closed bathroom door.

"Yes, Mom," he murmured. 

Project Spectrum

This is from a local boy.

Little Bubbles of Gold

Here they are, the crazy little rubber toys at the local Dollar General dispenser for a quarter each. I was an idiot. For months my kids have been begging to go to Dollar General for various things and lo and behold, they have been using ALL their freakin' quarters to buy these things. They have a small army. When the dispenser was once full, now it is almost empty not only because they have bought some, they have also gotten the neighborhood kids into them. I mean, the kidz in da `hood. 

They have made up their own names for them (because they have never seen THIS actual packaging) and have no idea that they are sort of ghetto Gumbys, so to speak. So they asked for more of these guys for Christmas. I could not picture myself going to the stupid Dollar General and wasting my quarters. Would I not look like a total RETARD getting ghetto rubber toys out of a dispenser? A grown woman? 

Loser Dollar General Guy to Loser Dollar General Gal: "Hey, check out that chick over there at the dispenser. Weird."

No way, man.

So I had the grand idea that they had to be purchased by some vender somewhere. I looked them up on our glorious net. They were listed as "Blockheadz: eight urban style figurines." I almost fell out of my chair laughing. 

Apparently you can buy them in bulk. 

So I did. 

I got two hundred fifty of them in little bubble packaging, just like I were going to waltz over to Dollar General myself and put them IN the dispenser. YES. 

Yesterday we were driving to the doctor. Stick with me, and bear with me here.

"Mom, can we stop at Dollar General?! I mean, I am getting that beetle poison on my rash again, so I should get a treat!" shouted Eraser Eater from the back seat. (I will fill you in on beetle poison later for those who are especially curious)

I thought about the Blockheadz just marinating in my closet, still in the box. I thought about the jingling quarters in their pockets and the $27.50 plus shipping I paid for the dang things. I thought for a second about charging them from my own stockpile but then thought better of it. I wanted to wow them. I wanted them to be in awe of my motherly power.

"So Oldest, " I said slyly, "if you could have any Blockhead you wanted, which one would it be?"

"Definitely a red "dude"," he said wide-eyed. He pulled out a spare blockhead from a pocket and showed me what it looked like. 

"Huh," I uttered, "What about you, Eraser-Eater?"

"I want a green "smiley" and I can show you what he looks like!" He pulled a blue one out to show me but I already knew what that one looked like.

"And you, Girl?" I asked. 

"I want a blue 'robot'!"

We went to the doctor. 

On the way home they asked to go to Dollar General.

"Out of the way guys, sorry."

They all whimpered and sighed. 

When we got home I went upstairs. I got the EXACT things they said they wanted and pulled them out of my stash. I put them in my pockets. 

I put one in the Oldest's pocket. He pulled it out and squealed with delight. "How did you DO this mom?! It's a miracle!"

Eraser Eater knew that he was next so he ran directly to me like he was on fire. "I don't care where you put it, put it in my pocket, put it anywhere you want," he stuck out his hand. I put it in his pocket as his eyes were closed ready to receive. He almost pooped his pants when it was the EXACT one he wanted.

The Girl knew better. She just looked at me and stuck her hand out, eyes open. "Thanks, Mom," she said. She yelled above them and declared how great it was they got what they wanted.

"Mom, how did you do that?" She asked, the wheels turning. I could see she knew the answer before she finished her question. 

"J-j-j-ust don't ask questions, Girl, you know when you do that she will change it...." the Oldest whispered.

This morning I wrote on the board that if they finished school diligently without ONE complaint, they can have another Blockhead for FREE.

School was finished by 10:00 a.m. And I mean, EVERYTHING, plus piano, chores, and co-op homework.

I took a bath.

The Girl asked me earlier this morning, "Mom, you got a box last week from the UPS guy. Can't you buy Blockheadz online?"

I put my finger over my lips. "Don't ask questions," I said, "and quit being so smart. They can't know."

The Oldest, the Drama King

Have I ever told you all that the Oldest is a fabulous pianist? Well, at least I think so. He's been playing for a long time and he also has an excellent teacher. 

I have decided, well, the Professor and I have decided to take all games away from the Oldest. In his heart, that is all he has been living for, no joke. It would be all he would think about. He has been off games for a good spell (a few weeks now) and he is doing better behaviorally. 

It is sad though because he is playing Mario and Sonic music on the piano as I type. Desperation. I guess he is still thinking about it. Wait. He has moved on to classical. Now the Girl and Eraser Eater are trying to throw out songs for him to play. 

When we were at the grocery store the other day I went in to buy some ice cream. "Are we ready to go yet?" pleaded the Oldest.

"No, I still have to go and get some waffles," I said.

"Waffles? What? You NEVER buy waffles!" 

"Can you grab those marshmallows?" I asked him.

"Are you kidding me? I LOVE marshmallows!!"

"Get two bags, please," I walked down the aisle.

"This is crazy," the Oldest said incredulously.

"And I think I want some Twinkies," I grabbed a box as I passed the bread aisle.

"What!!!??? I am in shock and I am going nuts here, Mom. Twinkies?!" 

I guess I never buy them.

"At this rate Mom, my luck is so great that I KNOW you are going to buy me an Archie when we get to the check out!" he cried in utter shock and drama.

"There's NO ARCHIE!!!!" the Oldest whispered in a faint yelp over the gum display.

I snapped my fingers in disappointment. "Missed your chance, dude."

The boys keep fighting. 

Eraser Eater just screamed. I mean, screamed at the top of his lungs. He roared out something like, "I am NOT A BABY!!!!"

I lost my mind trying to reason with them. Not only is it impossible to reason with them when reason comes to mind, it is impossible to grapple this task when it is 7:30 in the morning. The Professor said to me when I exited the bathroom from washing my face, "Why are you such a morning person?" Then he hugged me. 

As much as I love him I felt like slugging him. I just wake up full of hatred. The man wakes me up in the morning so I don't have to use the alarm clock. I am afraid of it. I wake up all night when I use it. Just the idea that sometime eventually it will start to make horrendous noise to wake me up keeps me awake. What usually happens is my body jolts awake a literal minute before it goes off so I can save myself the struggle of hearing the noise. 

A much better alarm clock is the Professor who hugs me awake and says not a word because he fears for his very life. 

I have had coffee but I am still struggling with constructing a sentence that starts with a capital letter, makes sense, and is finished with an end mark. 

And I have only run 12 miles this week. I am pathetic. I just don't feel like it lately. I don't know what it is. 

I make myself crazy.

Ten Things

I just don't have time to blog. Sorry.
So I will list.

Things learned and/or encountered this week:

1. Time lost by not saying "no" to people that want to talk my ear off.

2. I can homeschool four kids at one time but it takes awhile! :) My niece and nephew are here and the kids have had a great time. It has been fun combining school too.

3. Oobleck

4. Egyptians mummified insects.

5. I make great homemade pizza.

6. I was suffering indigestion but acidophilus took care of it.

7. My daughter has this swing she loves that is a yellow rope over a branch in the front yard. In his anger, my Oldest broke the little nubby branch to make my daughter mad. She came inside like her arm broke declaring, "I wish this day never came!" It truly was her main delight of going outside every day. I could have tied my Oldest to said tree and fed him sardines and put a dunce cap on his head, but instead I made him sit in the sunroom and read the Bible. I was so angry I did not want to truly torture the boy. I mean, I did, but I knew that it would be bad of me. So---while he sat in the sunroom, I went to the shed and CUT a new branch down and CARVED a groove into the thing so the Girl could have her swing back. I could think of nothing else to do.

8. Adulthood is thinking every bad name in the book to call someone you are angry at, but not doing it.

9. Skinny people can feel fat even when they hear that Tara Reid is only 105 pounds.

10. Conservatives don't gloat like Liberals, and that's a fact. Um, no offense.

Nothing is Perfect

Sadly, I think the eagles could have flown Frodo into Mordor to drop the Ring of Power in the cracks of Mt. Doom. 

We are What Jeremiah Lamented

I am bummed about the election. Not because I didn't think Obama would win; I did think he would. It is just sad when it finally happens. Not that I don't think about this regularly, but I am tired of the fact that no one talks about the unborn of our country. Having legal abortion is condoning it before God. This is a scary position that we have been in for a long time. And it looks as if nothing will be remedied at least as far as we can see. 

Sex without consequences. Instead of honoring and respecting the fruits of our love, we kill them so we don't have to be burdened with parenthood. And parenthood is burdensome because we value money and success over children. And we don't discipline our children because we don't want to obey the Bible, so we view them as hassles because we allow them to run wild. The best solution for us in America's estimation is to just chop our children up in the womb instead of letting them live and then disciplining them and loving them as God ordained. 

We will at some point really feel this loss of life that we are taking into our own hands now. 

And I am tired of hearing about how people worry so much about animals and preserving them and their natural habitats and malarkey like that when we slaughter our own children so we can have the pleasure of sex and not worry about remaining pregnant. I was pregnant in high school. I had my baby because abortion is not an option. And I hate to even use the word consequence when I speak of pregnancy. It is no consequence. It is a blessing. And I was one of the blessed girls who, in my sin, God chose to give me a child despite my disobedience. The grace of God is abundant! 

I am sickened that we have a country that will send a fire squad to rescue a dog drowning in a rapid river but will not rescue a child from being diced up within her mother's womb. I say God is giving us over to our sin as a country. If we so desire to be wretched, we will be and God will allow it. People have lost their minds.

Ode to Obama (It really sucks, but I am no poet)

My back hurts really bad. I don't know why. 

Obama is probably going to win and we will be socialists.

The lines at the polls were crazy long.

I was yelping out in pain and scaring all the localists.

I am unorganized.

Homeschoolers are not socialized.

Forced public school

and money free

Obama won't you marry me

Starbucks, Chick-fil-a, and Ben and Jerry's 

Give you free stuff if you vote

free ice cream, free coffee, free chicken burgs

is just the precursor

to lots of free stuff. Lots of it. 

Chores and Talk

Yesterday I did all manner of chores and laborious tasks. As Dear Sir, I mean, the Professor sat at the computer or read his B&C magazine, I scowled at him. 

"I need to go to bed," he said, as he was lying down on the bed, magazine in hand. I was folding clothes still and it was 10 o'clock. 

"Really?!" I said sharply, "please don't talk." I put down a folded washcloth. I was hoping to play maybe ONE chord on my guitar before hitting the pillow.

"What?!" he said behind his retro-cool glasses. 

I mumbled to myself.

"I got a running commentary on my songs today," I said, putting two socks together.

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

"And?"

"Well, apparently I shriek when I sing, but that is probably good because apparently Sarah McLachlan does the same thing in her estimation."

"What?! How do you shriek?" He nearly jumped out of the bed.

"Gee, I don't know. I sing high sometimes."

"Huh." 

"And that one song she doesn't like because she thought it was annoying how I repeated stuff over and over. It is a liturgical song, so that's the point. You do that, you know? But I expected her to not like it---I mean, the music itself, because.... she has questionable taste in music."

"What does she like?"

"Rod Stewart, Celtic Woman, Celine Dion, Michael Bolton..." I bent down to grab more lovely socks.

"So you rest your case then," he said, opening back up his Books and Culture then wiping his eyes behind his retro-cool glasses. 

Break The Night With Colour /Richard Ashcroft

I love this song! Richard is crazy, but I love his voice. I think he is more tolerable when he is not on drugs. :)

This Past Week and Other Mumblings

My Oldest weighs about as much as me. It is tripping me out. 

He eats more than me.

This Friday they are all going to dress up like clone troopers. Yes, even the Girl. But you knew this was not something abnormal for her. 

The Oldest looks RIDICULOUS in his clone trooper garb. He is HUGE and he wears a little mask. 

Thankfully this time if Eraser Eater has to go to the bathroom in the woods, I don't have to get his peter out for him. Gee whiz, that masking tape mummy costume last year was a bit high maintenance.

And to top things off this past week, Eraser Eater's October issue of Architectural Record was late. Instead of whining about it for the entire month he eventually forgot about it, so he was especially delighted when I hollered that it came in the mail on Friday. He ran down the gravel drive way with a look of pure haste and pleasure all mixed up as he stretched out his hands in anticipant greed. He looked at the cover and said in a loud voice, "A residential issue! My dream!!!"

I Am the Queen

I must say that I am addicted to the Professor since he got back. He did eventually call me on Sunday and I thought for a second about not answering the phone, but I decided to be nice and pick up. Whatever it was that he did wrong, he didn't mean to do it. 

Since he got back I:

1. Don't have to worry about the plants dying.

2. Don't have to monitor the temperature or worry about how to use the thermostat.

3. Don't have to drive to church.

4. Don't have to freeze in bed at night.

5. Don't have to worry about who is going to hand me a flashlight when I go back into the crawl space. 

The only thing that I did not enjoy when he got home was that he smelled like his mother. Everything he had smelled like her; sort of pastel, if that can describe it in any fashion worth mentioning. Finally I could not stand it a moment longer and I said:

"Yeah, you're going to have to get in the shower..." 

"Yeah, really?" The Prof. said, jovial as ever.

"Yep. And I am taking your clothes from your suitcase and putting them directly into the hamper," I winced and turned around with the clothes piled on my arm. 

By the time I turned around he was running the shower water in the bathroom. 

She (who must be obeyed), I thought. Girl power. Who can resist me? In the place of a Dark Lord you would have a Queen! Not dark but beautiful and terrible as the Morn! Treacherous as the Seas! Stronger than the foundations of the Earth! All will love me and despair!

I Used Bug Spray

So I just went into the crawl space. I put on my hoodie with sweats and socks and shoes, carrying bug spray. I anointed every cobweb in my path. I got to the first water knob in good time, but realized that it was really dark on the way corner of the house where I had to turn the other knob. I forgot the stupid flashlight. 

I went back in the house and got it. The kids thought I was done and were thankful that I made it alive. I told them that I still had to go down there AGAIN. Gee whiz, if one time wasn't enough! So I turned the flash light on, doused the cobweb beside me with more spray, and entered. I had to duck down once I got to the middle of the house, almost to my knees, but it was ok. No snakes. No little critters like mice or rats or anything. That stupid sink was still setting there like it was last year. I finally made it to the far beam in the corner but found a huge web with all manner of plump eggs dangling from it. I sprayed that sucker down and killed the mother spider. Spray got in my face a bit. I coughed. I got a little heavy on the spray, I think.

Finally once that was looking good, I inched my way in a squatting fashion to the way corner of the house past the final beam I was talking about. I found the mother of all spiders, Shelob herself. I whipped out my spray of Elendil. This spider was about as big as my hand, it was so huge. Just crawling up the wall like it ain't no thang. When I saw it was affected by the poison, I went forward and whispered, "righty, tighty" and turned the water off. I sprayed all the eggs I could find in my path. 

And I am alive.

Today and OK

So it's only 2:20 in the afternoon and the day has been sort of eventful. I am merely contemplating the horrendous trip to the underground with a stick or two and some Raid, and I just got back from church. 

Listen to me here. We all know that I am a tad bit moronic at times, but clearly I have a reason for my moronic behavior. If I had been able to talk to my husband last night instead of never getting ahold of him PERIOD I would have asked him how to get to church. The freeway way. He always takes some crazy back road way that is windy and consists of many roads that lead to I don't know where, but eventually we get to church. I know we pass something the kids call "the wrecked up house" and we pass many pastures and patches of trees and forest. I imagined myself trying to do this route but I found in my brain that I would get lost, run into a tree and kill myself because I would be so boiling mad that I have ended up in West Virginia. By that time it would be dark, I would run out of gas AGAIN, and I wouldn't be able to see because of my what? You guessed it, my cataracts. Yep, I actually have cataracts. Let's not get into it. 

So---I went the freeway way to get to church thinking I KNEW where it was, how to get there, etc. Of course, I made the wrong exit, went up the street I THOUGHT it was on, and then had to turn around and go where my second gut instinct was telling me. That made us miss the whole entirety of the music, once we got there, and I had to go to the bathroom really bad because I drank lots of coffee on the way and then I spilled it on myself. 

When finished with church I realized my kidneys hurt, or else just my lower back does and I sort of wished that I had kidney stones and I had to go to the doctor so that maybe the Prof. would feel really bad for ignoring me and not even giving me directions to church and then the house was so cold this morning because it was cold outside and I don't know how to run the thermostat and he talked about calling me to instruct me but he never did and I think I am going to restrict football for my men today because he is not home and I can do what I want. So I bought the boys a game and now they are on it. 

But---I had to stop at the store first. Boy was it busy. Apparently they had crazy store coupons given in the mail that saved you a million dollars if you bought half the store and I must have missed out on that. No one had spares, nothing was given to poor me. Coupons, shmoupons. 

So I bought the silent children some gum. Extra (classic bubble) and the Oldest flipped his open on the spot. He looked at what it said inside and yelped aloud in the parking lot, "'Fifteen sticks of unadulterated, mind numbing, euphoria-inducing, earth-shattering, long-lasting, and humble enjoyment!' Wow! Flashy!!" 

Then when we got into the car he asked, "Mom, what's a leisure suit?" 

30 Things I'd Say If Given the Chance

The Professor is not home. He hasn't been home since Thursday morning (4 a.m.) when I took him to the DC airport. We are never usually apart. And he is never usually the one leaving. The last time I talked to him was Thursday afternoon when he arrived. 

He has not called me or talked to me for two whole days. Actually, it has been longer. 53 hours. 

But I am glad he is having fun and all, I just wanted to tell him that:

1. I had a nervous breakdown last night when I saw how messy the boys' room was.

2. I threw a fit.

3. I had another nervous breakdown when I saw how messy the Girl's room was.

4. I threw a fit.

5. I threw away half of her toys.

6. I am not joking about #5. I really did it.

7. I was up until midnight last night having a nervous breakdown and throwing away toys and bits of paper, beads, unneeded bags, broken plastic things, ripped cards, boxes, trinkets, stuffed animals, puzzle pieces, boxes, broken crayons, naked barbies, McDonald's toys, rusty pennies, crusty whatnots, strings, dishes, dolphin harnessed chariots, and other various bits of rubbish that ruined my life and caused me to become unglued. 

8. I went to a couple vineyards with my friends today.

9. I had a great time.

10. I bought wine.

11. I saw a woman feeding a muffin to a horse.

12. When driving home I almost ran out of gas. 

13. I had to pump gas at a really weird backwoods gas station and it was dark and I was scared and they didn't have a card swiper thingy so I had to go IN the stupid station and tell them I wanted a couple gallons of gas but the lady kept asking me how much I wanted to pay and I kept telling her I just wanted two gallons so I could get home and she kept suggesting prices and I didn't get it because I guess I'm dumb and I barely ever pump gas and so I just gave her ten bucks and she looked relieved to be rid of me and then I pumped the gas and it stopped when the dollar amount hit ten and I thought that a very novel invention and then I got in the car and drove home. 

14. I ate really good peanut butter and chocolate frozen custard on my way out of town for dinner. 

15. It was really cold in the house this morning because I don't know how to turn on the heat and am not sure if I should or not even if I could turn it on. 

16. I watered the plants.

17. I'm glad you are having fun.

18. I wish I was there.

19. I am feeling selfish because I wish I was there A LOT. 

20. I'm jealous a bit.

21. But I am happy for you.

22. The kids miss you and wonder why you haven't called.

23. John McCain winked at me.

24. Everyone wants to be my friend. 

25. I have so many friends over here right now eating pizza and drinking wine with me, I can't believe it. In fact, it is getting a bit loud in here so I can't think too properly because I am busy with them and frankly, I just can't keep writing on here. 

26. Just joking. I am actually alone with nothing to do. And I'm writing on my stupid blog and there's probably nothing on tv and the kids are in bed. 

27. But even though you are a total blackguard for not calling me or probably not even thinking about me, I will let it slide this one time because I know you are having fun. And it ain't about me.

28. But it is a little.

29. I love you and I had a good day, did you?

30. Good night.

Getting Out

I just got back from visiting two vineyards in a semi-local college town. There was supposed to be a chocolate festival going on but it was relatively uninteresting as it seemed more like a bake sale than a CHOCOLATE festival. I was pretty disappointed. Plus, the music was so horrific (think Lawrence Welk but more boring) that leaving and going to a landfill sounded more interesting. Anything. My ears were bleeding.

So the five of us (I being the only married gal there---single women are just so cool) went on our little trip to the country vineyards instead. At the first one I ran into Eraser Eater's geography teacher (WHAT?!) and as I was tasting my cab she started asking me how I was liking the class. 

Finally we went to the last vineyard and walked the grounds for a bit to see the ruins there. It was a perfect day and quite beautiful. I almost fell over on the ground and laughed myself into a hole when a high-strung rich lady tried to feed a muffin to a country horse begging at the gate, but I muffled it and laughed at the picture one of the gals took of the scene instead. Wow, it's a real horse! I think I will feed it the rest of my muffin! I think some of the girls lost respect for me after that or thought I was drunk because I was the only one laughing. What made it more funny is that the muffin rolled to the ground, the horse sniffed it, and walked away. And this was after it pooped right there when we tried to pet it. 

Back to the hayride scenes though. I forgot to mention something particularly amazing about it. And you didn't think there could possibly be anything more amazing, did you? I had forgotten that at the semi-beginning of the ride we approached these two space ships. They were size-y enough, I guess, to fit a couple kids each. Suddenly we stopped and music started blaring. Loud Star Wars esque music. 

"That's fake Star Wars music!" shouted the Oldest. 

And shortly a guy, dressed up as an alien, came swooping out toward us with a cape on. He was purply-grey colored. The tractor started moving us along again and he followed us and gave us high-fives. He swirled from side to side and shook hands and waved until we were out of his reach, then as he stood far in the distance, a mere speck of an alien, he waved faintly as if to bid us a beautiful journey. 

"His hand felt weird," said the Oldest. I imagined how many germs could be on that weird hand. Here, touch my bacteria-infested hand!  I was just disturbed slightly by this whole let's entertain the kids with an alien guy that jumps out to fake Star Wars music. No one looked at the beauty of the scenery; they just looked at the various random garbage displayed behind bushes and whatnot. 

And they had free apple cider. In oak barrels. And it was hotter than blazes outside. The kids wanted the cider, but bees were crawling all up in the spouts so I had to battle the insects. When the Oldest approached he immediately saw the issue and jumped back. I shot a look at him, daggers in my eyes as if to say, "Don't you dare scream!" Instead, a weak, fluty little chirp came out from behind his teeth. His face was so ruddy and damp as he grabbed the cup I handed to him. 

Unlicensed Hayrides

I am avoiding my run. I shouldn't. It would help me out, I think. We dropped off the Professor yesterday morning at 4 a.m. in DC to fly to see his parents. To say the least, we were grumpy and tired all day, but it went well. I made us all go to bed at 8 and we woke up this morning at 8. Nice.

And I am not doing school today because I don't feel like it. 

The day before I took the kids to a pumpkin patch on crack. They had slides and rides and rope swings and anything you can think of besides Disneyland. It was a bit insane. The Oldest was obsessed with the rope swing. He could not straddle the thing at first (well, the first twenty times he got in line to do it) but he was determined to accomplish this task and eventually he could do it in some strange robotic way. 

They fed goats and went on a hayride that was unlike any hayride I have ever been on. We went through mud and lakes and a forest of trees and wooden characters from various movies and television shows. My Oldest even spotted "Waldo" by the lake, lurking around. He just hollered the entire time, declaring that he doubted this farm had the licensing to put up all these characters. We even passed George Bush at one point (behind a bush) and my Oldest yelped, "George Bush is even here! I doubt he would be very happy they have used his image without permission!!! Would YOU be happy about this law-breaking outrage?!" 

I tried to shut his mouth. Duct tape, dude, duct tape! I even said it. My sister in law, who was with us, laughed. She knew what I meant. So did he. Eventually he shut it. 

Eraser Eater said, "I would be very pleased if I were President, at seeing my image while going on a hayride. I think it's perfectly fine."

We did go to a corn maze, which was sort of fun. 

Goat City was not my style just because goats make me think of Satan, and then they also remind me of when I ate goat at an Indian restaurant and the bite didn't make it past the base of my tongue. It would not go down! My stomach jerked in rebellion. I had to spew it out. Thankfully, at the time, there was a piece of chocolate in my purse. I ate it happily. So--when at Goat City I started to sniffle. I think I am allergic. Which means, I could possibly be allergic to Satan. Goat meat is of the devil. 

Aspergian Child

It has been a bit tough lately dealing with my Aspergian boy, the Oldest (he is 12). I think it is because he is bigger than me, has a high energy level at times, and has increased hormone levels. I remember as a girl his age, crying at the drop of a hat over everything. My oldest brother used to tell me that I acted like I had a video camera following me around. Trust me, I didn't like that comment. But this is what I imagine he is feeling except that he is not necessarily crying, he just gets angry, I suppose. 

And I am indecisive, which is bad for an Aspergian boy to have to handle. It takes me awhile to come to a decision because hey, I just want to get away from any thoughts of conflict and turmoil. I just don't want to deal with it. But I do. And I hate the outcome. Fussing, crying over a lost gameboy or game system, weeping while sentences like "I will not hit my brother" are being written fifty times on a page. Like I have said before, I frequently just say the words "duct tape" to indicate that I want him to just shut his mouth because he doesn't have to comment on every single thing in this here United States of America! 

The day he scaled a wall at Co-op I found out that he chased a friend's van ( as it was driving away) to say goodbye. Maybe like the movies? Like a dog? This is also the same day he decided that it would be great fun to jump up and down and clap between jumps in a moving elevator. And then I found out that in his science class he refused that day to do his experiment because, I suppose, it was not working the way he anticipated. 

There are days I think this an easy task and then there are days I just want to cry uncle and clock out and go home. I am not complaining. He is a brilliant child. It would be just so easy to stick him in front of a television his whole life and let him just play video games. He would be fine then. Seriously. That is the element his brain wants to focus on. That is what he lives for right now and I don't allow him to have it---I push him hard to conform to this life, to the normalcy of his surroundings---to something that is in many ways alien to him---society. I've had to fight hard and work hard to get him where he is today. At one point in his life as he was in Kindergarten I thought that he would never live a normal life and probably work fast food if that. I grabbed everything I could to fight for him, the Professor and I both. 

And now I am tired. An Asperger's person is like a male times 100. What I mean by that is take a normal male and the way they think, and multiply that male by 100 and put it into one person. That is my kid. Hey, even just the other day the Oldest was sitting on the rocking chair in the living room saying to the Professor, "I will never understand 'woman.'"

"What do you mean, you will never understand woman?"

"THE WOMAN. I will never understand THE WOMAN in my life. They are way too complicated. All they care about is fashion and the latest styles. Life is more than styles, you know!" 

"And all you care about is a gameboy. I could dress you in underwear out in public and you wouldn't give a rip---you'd play a gameboy naked. How are you going to ever understand fashion? Of course you don't!" I roared pleasantly from the couch. 

He looked at me in a sort of shocked manner, rocking back and forth in the chair, "Well that's true!" He started laughing when the Professor couldn't hold it in any longer. 

At least he got the joke! Gee whiz.

Rings

I found a guitar pick in the shower today when I was lathering up. That was interesting.

My ring is in better shape now. I mean, my wedding rings. Remember the betadine solution tarnished the gold? Yeah, well, I took some Comet like Doozie suggested and scrubbed them shiny and new. Thanks. I went for weeks "unmarried." The kids were worried I wasn't hitched to the Professor anymore. The Professor was deeply concerned about my loyalties. 

Before putting on my rings, I asked the Professor if he would like to put them on me. I gave him a fleeting look of romance, eyebrows raised slightly. We were standing in the stair way; he was trying to get by. 

He put up his hand. "Did it once and once only." He swept by me to go watch his football game. The blackguard. 

"You need to get bit!" I hollered, still standing on the stairs.

Why is it 'anathema' to put tomatoes in chili? Just thought I would ask. I've always wondered. I make rockin' chili and I put tomatoes in it. 

Daily Grind

The Girl's new self-deprecating thing she says now is "I'm a pile of dust."

When I ask, "How are you a pile of dust?"

"I just am," she says," I am truly just a pile of dust!" She says this with a smile. 

Age seven is a very random age, I think. I could be sitting down drinking coffee and reading a novel and my daughter could approach me and sing out of the blue, at the top of her lungs, "We can change the world, together!" She always has a look of glee on her face. 

And on another note, I know I have been all tough in the past and have gone and fixed things and battled the underground, but for some reason this year I am dreading going into the crawl space where I saw all those spider eggs this past spring, waiting to hatch. I thought all summer how I should have brought some Raid down there with me and sprayed it all down, just while I was down there, you know, turning the water on. Now I have to turn it off, and I just don't want to deal with spiders. I really hate them. I told the Professor I was not looking forward to it, hoping he would gird his loins and be a cowboy just for me. 

"Rach, we can just hire someone," he said. 

Here we go again. Hire someone. 

Hey, I'll pay you thirty bucks if you go down into my crawl space and turn the water off. 

I just can't have that. So---I guess I will do it. I will bring Raid and a few sticks. The sticks in case I run into a few snakes, which I am not too afraid of. Just the spiders. Do you think sticks would help me? I don't know. I blame it all on Shelob.

I am a wimp and I have been forced to turn into a nag. A nag. From this time forth I am going to be rewarded with the deeds of getting on my Oldest's back about the dishes. Every time I order it he acts surprised. Just now I remembered. I have called the order just now. The response? 

"Dishes?!" The incredulousness! (spell check is saying that is not a word. Hmm.)

I should try that out at lunch time and wait until two o'clock when they are all grabbing their bellies in hunger. "I want lunch mom," the Oldest would say. In fact, he would have said it at eleven o'clock, what am I thinking. That boy loves to eat. 

"Lunch?! What???!!! You expect me to make you lunch? Why ever would you think that?! I'm sick of making lunch, I ain't got no food, so go catch a squirrel and eat it."

This would be expected of a kid who has stood and eaten a truffle I have handed him and declared after one nibble, "Scandalous!"

Running and Sugar

For about a year and a half now I have been running solidly 30 miles a week. Lately I have been running close to forty, but this past week have slowed down. It is not that I am tired of it, I just think my legs have gotten bored. So I have been making myself run a little less. When I do run, I am doing running programs on my treadmill so I am going up and down, up and down. On other days I just speed it up and run a short distance---about three miles. I think a year and a half of running the same bland distances has hurt my back (in addition to the strange way I sit when I play guitar) so I have started doing pilates two times a week. We'll see how that goes.

And I have stopped eating sugar. I eat whole grains, but that is the only real "sugar" besides what I get from an apple or something. Everything tastes so much better this way! You should try it! Last night I rewarded myself and had half a glass of red wine and oh my goodness it was wonderful! The flavor was tremendous. I think sugar annihilates your taste buds. Plus, for the past two days(after overcoming the sugar withdrawal symptoms for several) and I have felt GREAT. Not tired at all. 

How's this for a boring post? 

I am feeling quite dank underneath my shirt (I just finished a run that whipped my rear end), so I better get this going. The kids don't sound like they are doing school either. 

I'm having the hardest time writing lately. Well, I have been just way too busy to write. Even to check email. The Professor thinks that's marvelous. He wants the computer to himself. 

Today the Oldest:

--scaled a wall

--jumped up and down and clapped his hands while an elevator was descending and he was in it

--ate hordes of candy (including Lemonheads)

--talked incessantly during my Lit class (he is in it)

--organized a football game in the yard and was so bossy and controlling that Eraser Eater ran in and wept

I am going to bed. 

Noel of Oasis ---Wonderwall

I can not WAIT to see Oasis in December! The Professor got us tickets---he rocks.

And Noel is my favourite guitarist. Love him, love him, love him.

Things Learned This Week

*I have discovered that Joseph Smith sort of scares me. His plaster face mask doesn't help matters.

*I am disappointed I guess that Palin is a fumbler and doesn't quite know what she is talking about. I guess I don't really care if people have enough experience to do the presidential job; I am sure Obama would do a great job (I just think he would make some horrible decisions that would change this country not for the good). I don't worry about his inexperience. I don't worry about Palin's either, although it does help that McCain seems to know what he is talking about. And it also helps that he winked at me in the Capitol Building. 

*I have been so tired in the middle of the day each day no matter what I do to change it that it worries me. Does every thirty year old mother get like this? I expected this to happen maybe when I was forty or fifty, but thirty? 

*I really like mineral make-up.

*I freeze up under pressure.

*I can tolerate college football.

*My coffee pot just biffed it today after nine years of service. Guess I am using the french press from now on! Things keep breaking down this year. I mean, seriously. It is depressing. I could name about twenty but won't bore you.

*Claritin is better than Zyrtec.

*People like to ignore me.

*It is really great when your car passes inspection.

*God loves me with a love untainted and strong. 

Ramblings of an Old Woman

It's really sad, but the past few weeks, especially this week, all I can think about during the day is going to bed at night. I have been so tired! 

And I have been walking around in public minus my wedding rings because I stained them with that stupid betadine solution (the red stuff) I have been washing myself with (doctor's orders) every day. I put the rings in some warm water with dish soap, but I don't think it helped too much. Any ideas? I guess I could buy jewelry cleaner. Nevermind, I'll call my neighbor. She knows everything. I would still welcome advice though. I am not a jewelry person. I do need to get this fixed though because the kids are afraid I am not married to the Professor anymore.

I went to the doctor for my cold intolerance issue the other day. Apparently I have Raynaud's or something like it. If any of you follow this blog at all you know that during the winter my fingers and toes go numb. Not all of them, just some random one. 

"This medicine would lower the blood pressure enough to get the blood to those extremities."

"What is my blood pressure now?"

She spouted off some number from my chart. I had no idea what it meant. 

"Is that low already?"

"Well, it is normal. " She rolled her eyes in a sort of non-committal way like a typical doctor.

"Is it on the high side, or the low side of normal?"

"The low side."

"That is what I thought. I am a runner."

"Yes, that is common for runners to have lower blood pressure."

"Um, I don't want my blood pressure so low from the medicine I will die or something."

"Yes, that is what I am afraid of. We will try low doses at first. But---I need to see a picture of a cold attack on your feet before I am comfortable prescribing you medication for this. When do you start getting really cold?"

"When it gets cold outside." Duh

"How about we schedule an appointment for the middle of winter?"

"You don't understand. This ruins my life. All I can think about is staying warm."

"When you have an attack, take a picture, and we will bump your appointment up."

There are lots of things that I think could possibly be in my mind. Crazy is one of them. But this I know is real. I used to panic when a toe went numb and I could not feel it for hours, but now I know what to do. Forget playing guitar or doing any task that requires fine motor skills. My digits are constantly cold. The second the thermostat hits seventy I am toast. There are times in the middle of the day when I am so cold I have to sit in bed fully clothed and the Professor has to come and hold me until I stop shaking from head to foot. 

I dread winter.

Infected

Somehow last week I got a staph infection. What fun. Joy of joys. 

Don't ask me how, good grief, I don't know how. All I know is that it appeared like I had a bug bite on my ankle, right next to my little patch of perpetual athlete's foot. Yes, I always have a small patch of athlete's foot. I run and sweat too much. 

So---my nurse/neighbor/friend stopped by for a little visit outside one of those days last week right after I decided to squeeze that "bug bite" to get all that poison out that was causing so much pain and stiffness underneath it. I about screamed as I did this. I poured alcohol on it and bandaged it up. My friend took a look at it. Well, my whole ankle and foot was turning beet red and blanching when touched. "Uh, I would stick that foot in a bucket of hot salt water, as hot as you can stand it," she said with a twinge of fear in her face. 

"I'd watch it with all that staph going around."

Oh great, I thought. Just great.  

She left and I called the kids in to finish up school. I sat at the table, scalding hot bucket of water at my feet, ready to put the wounded ankle in. The water was hot. She said to soak the foot for, gee whiz, I don't know, ten-fifteen minutes? I put my foot in. I almost screamed. I kept it in there though because by golly, I think I could withstand this hot of water. Yes, I can stand it. I'll live. I put my head on the school table and beat down with my fists. 

"It hurts Mom," the Girl said.

"She's in pain," Eraser Eater said.

I could hear pencils moving when I ceased pounding. The clock could not tick fast enough. 

"How long do you have to do that?" Eraser Eater asked.

"I think ten minutes, but I'm going to do fifteen!" I almost yelled. I felt like a burn victim. I could see my foot in the bucket, beet red. 

"Your foot is red."

"Yeah, I know, I know."

Eventually I did go to the doctor that day because my calf started tingling, and when that madness starts happening, I don't mess with my legs. They have to run the next morning!

So---for a good few hours I was cherry red from the ankle down. 

The doctor: "I don't know if this culture is going to come back positive or not because you did some great homeopathic care!" 

Deep Thoughts During School

My kids got deep today and realized that if other things had not happened to me (in the past) they would not be alive. At least, Eraser Eater and the Girl were talking about it. The Oldest was doing a math problem and listening in. 

"I mean, if you hadn't met Dad, we wouldn't even exist!" Eraser Eater scratched his head, "That's pretty scary!"

"Yeah," mouthed the Girl, dotting an "i". 

The Oldest looked up, "It's not too scary. I would still exist and that is what's most important."

"Oh good grief," I said.

"What?! It wouldn't be scary. Eraser Eater and the Girl would not even exist, so I would have no knowledge of them to mourn!"

We all rolled our eyes. 

"Just get back to work."

Crashes

The second time this year our iMac has biffed it. I may have lost pretty much everything, who knows. Well, I am sure the Professor has lost more, but pretty much all of my songs could be gone, so that is a great batch of loveliness. Not that your listening pleasure is lessened by this---I don't think anyone else cares too much, I just worked hard on that crap. Oh well. What I have is probably what is on my podcast, that's it. 

I got an infection over the weekend (maybe the computer caught it) so that was a fun ride. 

I also have athlete's foot. Of course.

And I am ready to bite. Anyone want to try to tackle me? You would be totally up the river. I mean, up the creek. Those blasted idioms.

Walkie Talkies

I think I got bit by something a couple of days ago. When at the apple orchard, I wanted to scratch my ankle and noticed a blushed spot on it and a zit looking thing. It really hurts, but has not really changed much. 

We went to an apple orchard in a college town about an hour away on Wednesday. I went with the friend who went with me to the pumpkin patch last year and the Girl broke her boy's arm. No arms were broken this time, thankfully. My friend has four kids (she is also the one I went to the Renwick Gallery with---Smithsonian) and does so well with them. I am always impressed. I about lose my top whenever the Oldest and I are in the same enclosed space, but it helped that we were out in the open picking apples with a huge pole with a net on it. Eraser Eater kept whining too. At one point he stomped away and whimpered something, I can't remember, and I almost took a huge apple and pelted him with it. If I could aim. If I could actually hit my target, which is never something I am so fortunate to accomplish. 

But the coolest thing EVER was that my friend just deals with the fact that I don't have a cell phone. I know. Aren't I just totally not with it? I feel like a baby boomer staring at an ipod whenever I put a cell phone in my hands. "Here," someone says to me, "just use my cell phone." 

Just use your cell phone? You are assuming I know how to use it? I don't know how to use squat. So---imagine my hearty laughter when my friend pulls out her walkie-talkies. "Here," she said without flinching, "we can use them up to five miles apart." Roger. 

During the hour drive I followed her van all the way to the orchard. I had the walkie talkie on my passenger's seat. We passed a winery. "We may need to stop there," the walkie-talkie croaked from the seat. 

I picked it up. "Why?" I said, while pushing the button I was supposed to push if I wanted to talk, feeling highly ridiculous.

"On the way back," it said back to me surrounded in distortion,"they would have to give us a lot of samples!"

The other day my friend was telling me that only white people wear New Balance shoes (which is my sneaker of choice for running) and it struck me suddenly when we drove by a New Balance store. I had never seen one before. I picked up the walkie-talkie to tell her that we just passed a white people store but the stupid contraption just kept beeping at me so I threw it away from me in horror, back on to the passenger's seat. I felt like a caveman struck by the fear of seeing fire for the first time. It is a flipping walkie-talkie. I picked it up. I threw it in the back seat. 

"Here," I shouted at the Oldest, playing his intendo, "you figure this thing out."

Phil Wickham - True Love

Here is the best male singer on the planet----listen and love it!

I Will Post Something Later

If your computers allow it, give my music site a try again---I have "finished" "You Watch Me" and "Come by Hasting". I think they sound decent. I added more stuff. I wish I had real strings and cellos, which are what plays in my head, but I can't have everything when I am just a piddly musician. If you enjoy the songs for what they are, great, but in my mind they are bigger than what they sound like, more that I could do and am capable of, but have no means to do. 

---Anyone rich and want to donate money so that I can hire studio musicians? Or just lots of studio time so that I could get friends and friends of friends to do it? :)

Thank you ahead of time.

Enough is Enough

I have a new recorded song to share. This song is like a raw wound. A dear friend has been badgering me to put this one together for months and I have been avoiding it. Strangely, it has helped me heal. Or cope, I am not sure what. So, here's to you, Laura.

We are Eccentric Now

Last night for Family Fun Night we had a poetry reading. The Professor got so sick of watching movies every time, so I suggested I have the kids write poems and read them instead. The prospect was presented during school yesterday morning, but no one was enthused. 

"That's stupid," said the Oldest. 

So finally when the time came, I sat us all down and had the kids pick out poems instead. The boys chose Shel Silverstein poems (of course), and the Girl chose a few poems from her little primer for school. I chose Sonnet 56 by Michael Drayton, and the Professor bored us all with "Kublah Khan." Then he pulled out some other story/poem thing that had to do with a warrior who lost his king. The kids were interested, but didn't understand the story. 

The Professor and I watched a movie from Netflix last night; Mountains of the Moon, or something like that. It was about Sir Richard Burton and John Speke (who originally discovered Lake Victoria, the Nile's source). The Professor just finished a biography about Burton and was unsatisfied at the many liberties in the plot of the movie, as is the usual dilemma with films. 

Since school started I have been feeling better about life. During the summer I typically lament not having a reason for living, but then once fall hits I realize my reason. Come winter I am freezing so badly (you know my condition) that it ruins my life and keeping warm is all I can think about. 

So, on a lighter note, when you die, do you want to be in a pine box or a coffin? I think it would make the miracle of resurrection greater if the worm eats me and I have truly merged into the dust. What do you all think about that?

Halloween Costumes

Halloween, in a way, is just around the corner. The Girl has been thinking about her costume already. Sadly, I will refrain from putting photos on my blog (I deleted some already) because a creep from the northwest has decided to take that liberty from me. Yes, it is either delete my blog or just simply stop putting pictures up. I don't really want to delete my blog, but we will see what happens.

Anyway, Halloween. Oh yes. As I was saying. The Girl. She said, "I want to be a unicorn!"

"How are you going to be a unicorn?" I asked her.

"You will make the costume, like you made Eraser Eater's last year!" {Remember the mummy made out of masking tape?}

"Oh, I know," piped in Eraser Eater, "you could just use a party hat and cover it up with paper for the horn!"

"I already just thought of that," I said in a mumble.

I can't make costumes. I can't sew. 

"You'd need hooves," I said to the Girl, "think of something else."

"How about a tree? You could cut a tree down, hollow it out, and wrap it around me!" 

For goodness' sake, who does she think I am? She has seen me cut wood, check, she has seen me kill a mole brutally, check, she has seen me make Eraser Eater into a mummy out of masking tape, check. 

"There's no way," I said.

"She could be an egg," Eraser Eater said.

"That doesn't help much," I said.

"I know what I could be!" yelped the Oldest in his high-pitched Mickey Mouse voice.

Oh here it comes, I thought.

"I could be a jack-o-lantern guy. What you would do, mom, is you would hollow out a pumpkin, cut out the jack-o-lantern eyes and mouth, and put it on my head!"

"That would be heavier than sin!" I spat.

"I'd be fine. I'd bear it well---I would be the envy of all the people who never thought of it. No plastic for me! I would have the real thing! And I would wear a black cape and say, 'ah-ha-ha-ha!' No one would stop me! I would never buy a costume ever again!"

I swallowed hard. 

"I can't even hollow out pumpkins anymore," I said, "they make me break out."

"You could totally do it," said the Oldest. 

No more minimum requirement of a plastic toy gun to be an army man third year in a row. No more princess or Batgirl or whatever it is she used to aspire to. Now it is this idea of impossible things to wow everyone like the mummy costume. That was the greatest, grandest thing I could think of, and the only thing I could think of. 

"How about a couple of white sheets so you can be ghosts?" I asked.

"Someone on Charlie Brown thought of that already," they all said in defense. 

I'm doomed.

I Didn't Get a Ticket

Somehow I got out of it. 

My Girl is Seven

So I walked out the front door to take the Girl and her friend to the library. They had been playing outside like usual. As I was holding a gargantuan stack of books, the Girl bounds over to me and says, "I just ate DIRT!" 

"What?!"

This was too much bad information for me to process while holding a large stack of books. I forgot about it soon after but she approached the subject again:

"I ate dirt and it was bitter."

"Why would you eat dirt? You know, there's something wrong there," I said. Thinking pica. 

"Why would something be wrong, Mom?"

"No one just goes out and eats dirt. Do you need minerals or something? More vitamins? You even wet yourself a little today. Are you ok?"

"What Mom, do you think I am retarded or something? Do you think I am crazy?"

I looked at her with one eye (I was driving) and one eyebrow raised. "Well..."

"Well what? You just called me a retarded child! "

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

"I didn't."

"Mom!"

"Really, she didn't," said the friend.

"What?!" my daughter yelped.

"I tried dirt too," said the friend, "but I spit it out. It was icky. But {Girl}, didn't you actually eat it?"

The Girl lamented and went prostrate on the instant. 

On the way home she remained this way. I played "Bridge Over Troubled Water" as loud as I could, sang as loud as I could with Mr. Garfunkel, and reached my hand behind my seat to grasp my Girl's leg. A cop pulled me over.

After I handed him my license and registration and he walked off, the Girl said, "Do you think he will give you a ticket?"

"I don't know," I said, annoyed that I just blew $150. 

"You know," the Girl said knowingly to her friend, "last time Mom got out of it because she cri--"

"Hey, enough!" 

Incarnation

Here is my new song. I have labored greatly on this so don't make me labor for naught. My guilt trips always sound like a chain letter! I crack myself up. No---this song is a lot of multi-layered fun in minor keys. Go for it. 

Fear of Man

In my greatly adventurous life, I find that going to the grocery store with all three kids can be the most trying to my patience (even over schooling). About a year ago I used to sort of scoff at the poor mothers who had to deal with whining, crying kids clutching a Dorito bag or a box of Trix cereal, but now I dare not. Things have changed for me. God has His little (or big) ways of teaching me a lesson. 

They don't run down the aisles. They don't beg for stuff continually. They don't jump in one place or two places and make tons of noise. They argue. No longer is the strain physical like when they were two, but the strain is mental. "No, I wanna push the cart!" "No, Mom said that I can get the romaine lettuce!" "He won't stop antagonizing me!" "She keeps poking me to get me in trouble! See! Now I AM in trouble!" "He ate the last sample!" "Here! He can have the last sample, I saved it for him! See, he doesn't even want it! He is seeking some sort of revenge on me! I can see it in his eyes!" 

The quotes go on and on. 

And I will admit there is a sort of begging that happens with Eraser Eater at times. Every time we pass a sugar cane or a coconut, he wants me to buy it. When I just ignore his request, he wanders behind the oranges and sort of sulks, but he tries not to look like he is sulking because he is petrified at what people think of him. 

I remember during the summer months he was under water when the lifeguard blew the whistle for "adult swim." When this happens, all the kids have to file out of the pool. Eraser Eater did not hear the whistle so he kept swimming once his head popped up to the surface. Once he saw that I was calling him and asking him what in 'tarnation' he was doing disobeying "adult swim" he looked at me wide-eyed, about to cry. He suppresses it well, I must say. Once in the car he wept silently at how mortified he was. Whenever it was mentioned he cried openly. 

When at the beach and digging that huge sand hole a mentally challenged boy (who could use a few meals missed) jumped right on in and his fist landed in Eraser Eaters side. Eraser Eater barely made a sound but his face looked like he was about to poop his pants. He crawled out of the hole the best he could and scrambled behind the Professor's beach chair. And you know the rest. He wept silently. That kid rammed into him good. The big kid in the hole had no idea any of this happened.

So here's to my second day of school, successfully done, and another coming tomorrow and the next day. Ok, I will not think that far ahead, I am getting depressed.

Whatnots

I successfully completed the first day of school with the kids. It was pulling teeth when the Oldest pulled out the math book, but other than that, it went well. 

All night I dreamed of hobbits and Mordor. I remember some time in the night the Professor said to me, "Are you ok?" 

In addition to reading the Letters of Tolkien and The Hobbit, I read a chapter in a book on Lincoln I bought the Professor. It was about why Lincoln didn't join a church. It was relatively uninteresting. I think Lincoln's reasons for not liking the Church as a whole were immature, but that is just me. I am just not a big fan of Lincoln. But I could stand to learn more about him.

And, by the way, I forgot "F x of = is" today and made a complete fool of myself.

Let There Be Love

This is for the Professor who is turning 35 tomorrow. What better than to sing and play an Oasis song?

Note to Professor: I love you.

I Am More Machine Than Man Now

I got all manner of springs and tightening tools in my mouth. It feels GREAT. To those who have criticized me for my complaints about how bad it felt to have my mouth practically sawn in half with that screw thing, you can eat this for lunch: apparently I had a bad reaction to the numbing medication they gave me and it unnaturally tore up my mouth. In addition to that, the immense pain of the screw they "screwed" in there made it all worse. For days. So I wasn't insane. The orthodontist thought I was nuts for not tearing down the house for pain medication.

But now I am fine. It hurts a little because of tightening issues, but it is nothing like the last painful bout of orthodontic care. 

I am happy to report I can play guitar now and my sliced up finger is painless too. 

I sound like an old woman!!! 

Tomorrow is the Professor's birthday. Any ideas on what to get him? Come on, I know you have some ideas!!!!

ABBA Zabba

My sister in law brought ABBA into my house about a month ago after she saw Mama Mia at the theater. She made me suffer through it as I made dinner. She would totally laugh at this-- I guess it is not so bad. Well, I am trying to be nice, but I hate any type of disco-esque stuff---the Bee Gees are worse. I tend to think that if a guy sounds like a high-pitched alien when he sings, it is unnatural and should not be played. As for ABBA, I just have a slight aversion, although I can understand the attraction. Like rap. I really do not like rap at all, but I can understand how attractive it can be when I hear some decent artists mix a good beat with some fun loops. 

Well, every time I get off the treadmill ABBA is blasting in the house. The Girl puts it on nearly every day and listens to particular songs over and over. "Chiquitita?" Don't make me blow chunks.

Save Me

Go listen to my song here. I know, it is just what you have been searching for all your life.

Post Traumatic Stress & Kissing Serious Butt

Yesterday the kids down the street decided to all pile in my house. I almost wept openly when I saw that they were in my bedroom jumping on my bed. Someone had picked up my guitar and carelessly placed it over my night stand. I completely became unglued. 

So I went downstairs, made more sugar scrub and drank some wine. Well, first I banished all the children from my house and made my own kids read. 

The Oldest is really milking it lately. The other day he discovered that I am the reason he is not getting his gameboy back just yet. His eyes widened upon the news.

"Are you serious? Usually it is the other way around!" He was shocked.

"Yeah, well Dad was just saying to me that he thinks you could get your gameboy back but I told him I was not so sure and so he said for me to make the final decision."

He turned to me (we were in the car and he was in the passenger's seat) and said, "Mom, do you know how much I love you?"

"Nice try," I said flatly.

"No, really. And if I didn't have to come with you to the post office like you ordered I would have done the dishes without your telling me! Really! It was on my mind to do!"

"Yep, I bet."

The rest of the day he decided to help me with everything. Oh here let me get this for you, and let me handle that, kind of stuff. As he was putting cut potatoes in a bowl for me he said, "You know, if you give me my gameboy now you know I will lose it in a matter of days and I will do your bidding for it again anyway." 

"True," I said. 

He doesn't realize that I take it away because he is obsessed with it, not because I want him to do things for me. He has to do that anyway whether he likes it or not. 

The Professor and I should give it back to him soon though so that we can now quit rolling our eyes whenever he says, "I love you!!!!"