Thinking in the Heath

JRH is pretty cool to place upon me the Thinking Blogger Award. (Not that it is real, but I have never won anything before but a Bubblicious skateboard in the eighties, so I will act like it is real for fun).


"The rules for accepting said award, according to Jennifer's amazingly thoughtful site, are as follows (I copy this from JRH's blog, Turkey on Whole Wheat):

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think;
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote. "

So I am not worthy of this at all. All I make you people think about is unmentionables---my Room 101's and the maddening life of a woman who is playing house. It was only last year or the year before that I was continually drenched in urine and up to my ears in excrement. Life has gotten better. The kids have grown older and I am a big woman. Thank you, JRH, you never cease to crack me up and make me remember my old Southern California life. You people do live quite differently. But you are amazing, because you get that crisp, cool California breeze wafting through your windows in a path from the ocean when the sun goes down. And man, you must elaborate on the "chaotic writing style." What, in tarnation, does that mean? I am by no means insulted, if you are wondering.

So, here are the bloggers that make me think:

1. Shealyisnottheantichrist. Her dry and ridiculous wit confuses me and cracks me up. When she talks politics she gets the wheels turning in my head and I am not sure what I just read. She definitely is a unique individual and I wish she lived next door to me. She reads all the stuff I don't read and I read all the stuff she doesn't read. In short, she is a genius and I want her to rub off on me. She is also a very godly woman with a submission and godliness that I honor.

2. KingJaymz. I think that any guy that has a blog address of "life outside the bathroom" has to be up my alley. I love how in his writing he integrates godly principles and thoughts right alongside the humor of daily life. He is like the brother universal. The brother in the blog. I try to set a time just like with JRH's blog entries, to read his writing and enjoy it rather than skim it. This man will make an exceptional counselor.

3. As I See it Now. I have to say that this woman is a great example to me (as is Shealy). She is an empty nester who is so comfortable with it and glorifies God in all she does. I love reading about her life and I too will one day be an empty nester and see through her what it will be like. She reminds me of what I wish to be (as I am being sanctified)---a woman with a gentle and quiet spirit, as Saint Peter says. Ok, I don't know her very well, but what she writes is very keen and I have much to learn being a stupid twenty-nine year old.

4. C Outside the Box. Um, I just adore Carolanne. I love what she writes and I think it so awesome how encouraging her husband is to her on her blog. I love to read his comments. Their relationship is a great example to me of caring for one another. I love how she is this amazing teacher with faults just like everyone else and she just gives it all to the Lord. I am encouraged by how good her son is to her. Again, I want this godliness to seep into me and influence me greatly! She writes long posts (like every one I am mentioning) but you will find once you read them they are worth the read.

5. I want to say Dear Sir but he hates this stuff because he is too much of a thinker. Someone once asked me in stupefied wonderment, "How did you get him? I mean, he is so, like, smart, and I mean, you are smart, sort of, but he is like, really smart and uh, I mean, you read books, so that is good, but he.....?" I did not know whether to be insulted or to be complimented. I mean, if I were to try to talk theology with this man it would be sort of hard. I am intelligent enough to understand that I would have to know a lot of terms in order to know what the heck another term means. That is why we don't discuss it. C.S. Lewis is as far as it gets. Ok, the man is intimidating to me, I confess. It used to bother me, but now it doesn't. He is always kind about my lack of articulation. I always biff up idioms and I always say sentences inverted and twisted around. I am like a female Yoda that lacks a lot of sense. When I read, most of what I read leaves my brain within the hour. When Dear Sir reads, it stays in the brain. It swirls around in there making him ten times as smart. His kryptonite, however, is manual labor that involves some sort of mechanical usage, and this is where I step in. I am not at my full potential in this area by any means, but I am capable.

And so here is to all of you who make me think. I lift my Wonder Woman mug to you.

BTW--Happy Anniversary to my Clym Yeobright; I am forever your Eustacia watching for you from Rainbarrow with the heath poking in her dress. These nine years have been the only nine years.

Foof

At present I have five kids. They are all running around with swords, slashing things and calling out to one another. I have pledged to myself not to go insane, and so far it is working. Don't go insane, don't go insane, don't go insane. I think later they may be able to go outside even though it is windy like Chicago.

My little three year old nephew is a riot. I asked him if he liked macaroni and cheese and perhaps I would make that for lunch and he said to me, "I don't like macaroni and cheese you make. Only macaroni and cheese my mommy or daddy makes." I think it is funny his daddy makes anything. What a man.

I made him sit and finish his milk at breakfast because the price of milk is like four bucks a gallon, and he complained. "I will have a tummy ache if you make me drink this!" I dug my heels in and handed him a straw and said, "Keep drinking!" He tried to tell me it was terrible milk, but I would have none of it. The kid is terrified of beans so I used that. I told him that in a few minutes the rule in the house is that we put beans in the milk. He sipped pretty fast after that and smiled and let out a little whimper.

The kid keeps me on my toes because every time he goes to the bathroom he takes all of his clothes off from the waist down. He soon comes running at me saying, "Aunt Wachel! Aunt Wachel!" dangling his undies and pants in front of him. As I put on his undies for him, he says, "I wove tese tundies. Tey too toft." He's so particular, it cracks me up.

Today the Oldest turns eleven, and I quote him as he sat drinking his coffee, "I know, my turning eleven freaks you out. You don't have to say it."

"Yeah, it freaks me out! Your clothes fit me! Your shoes fit me!"

"You're a big woman."

"What?"

"You're a big woman."

"No."

"You are taller than the average woman."

"Well, sort of. I am slightly taller than the average woman, but in reality, I am a small woman. People say I'm small."

His eyes bugged out.

"You're a big strong woman."

"Whatever, a lot of women are taller than me."

His eyes bugged out. I really don't know what he is thinking.

I got a ticket last year for my inspection being expired and the cop wrote down that I have brown hair and brown eyes. This was when I had obvious blonde hair. When I got a ticket last week for speeding (cough, cough), I was pleased as punch that the cop still recorded that I had blonde hair and green eyes. FINALLY! He had my weight wrong though.

By the way, my nephew just passed some serious gas. He calls that "foof." If I think about that too much I will laugh until I cry.

Don't Waste Yer Time Reading This

I have not posted in a little bit and I am sorry I have not commented on many blogs. I have read most of your posts last night (I was really behind) on Dear Sir's little laptop, but he cut me off from commenting because I have a different account from him and I would biff up his whole system. Really, he told me I was welcome to, but then I did not want to trespass.

So---here I am again.

I have turned into a mediocre little woman with little to say. I may as well be truly mute. I am a bit sad because my friend that visited me this past week is gone and now I am left with a slight feeling of emptiness. I am not depressed by any means. "Life hurries on and the leaves that are green turn to brown. "

The highlight of her visit with me is when we decided once we got to my house (minus my children---my dear SIL watched them) to have a pot of coffee on my blessed patio. I topped it off with insisting that she eat a Cadbury Egg with me while out there---except she HAD to eat it with a spoon. She hugged me and hopped a little bit as she giggled and said, "Anything for you! I would love to!"

We were so excited to finally be together unhindered. I am just so thankful that God provided this for me. I really needed it.

We have the next couple of weeks of school off, which is nice. I don't know what I will do with myself. I have pretty much finished every stinking project. I even finished the horrid ironing that I let sit again in normal "R" fashion.

Now I just wasted your time. I wouldn't give this post to a monkey on a rock.

Furlough

I have a friend visiting so I am really busy. More on all that later. Check with me perhaps on Sunday or Monday (my ninth anniversary with Dear Sir is coming up, and then The Oldest's birthday is right before). April is full of chaos always.

I will be back in a bit.

Ridiculous Meme

LIST FOUR SENTENCES YOU'VE NEVER SAID BEFORE:
1. I think I'll have a baby by this time next year....
2. Ironing is the best
3. I think I will eat some cheese with coins on it (hack, hack, I can't believe I wrote that!)
4. I dunno (I HATE that)

LIST ANY NUMBER OF SONG TITLES THAT DESCRIBE HOW YOU'VE FELT THIS WEEK:
1. I'm So Tired by the Beatles
2. Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want by the Smiths
3. The More You Ignore Me, the Closer I Get by Morrissey
4. Silence is Easy by Starsailor (remember, I have been mute)

IMAGINE YOU'RE HAVING THE IDEAL PERFECT DAY. WHAT FOUR THINGS WOULD YOU BE DOING?
1. Eating a Cadbury Egg
2. Sitting on my patio with a glass of wine in perfectly sunny, WARM weather
3. Cuddling with Dear Sir for at least four hours
4. Eating a big Caesar Salad with purple onions, cucumbers and the like on top without the reaction

MAKE UP FIVE CREATIVE NAMES FOR A NEW ROCK BAND:
1. Coinage and Cheese
2. Fight For Yer Life
3. Gobblygook
4. The Pink Brains
5. The Einsteins of Love


CONGRATULATIONS! YOU GET TO GO BACK IN TIME AND ENSURE THAT THREE SONGS WERE NEVER WRITTEN, THUS SPARING HUMANITY FROM EVER HAVING TO HEAR THEM. WHAT THREE SONGS WOULD GET THE AXE?
1. I Love You by Paul Mc Cartney
2. Anything by Michael Bolton
3. I Love You by Martina McBride

(I really had a brain freeze over this one because I hate a lot of songs)

Better

I think the Oldest will eventually have some weird complex when he is older. My older brother convinced me that I had horribly ugly feet and if I touched him (on accident, or if he saw my bare feet at all) he would shudder and punch me saying in a high-pitched and disgusted voice, "Your feet are disgusting! If you value your life and do not want to lose the ability to walk, you will refrain from touching me!" He was at least 17 or 18 at the time. I have just discovered though that my feet are not ugly (thanks to Badoozer who values the beauty of her feet and they look somewhat similar to mine, to my utter shock) but have suffered my whole life thinking that my feet were the most ugliest on the planet (and I was ok with it).

Eraser Eater has this ridiculous aversion to my Oldest when he is masticating his food at the breakfast table. Not only is the shirt off a no-no, but just the way the kid chews gets on his nerves and he plugs his ears in front of him and lets his cereal remain untouched until the Oldest is finished with his food. I do understand this problem, but I had a couple of gross brothers who did nasty things when eating or maybe even when not eating (like my oldest brother chasing us around the house with his toe jam) that one has to bear. Seeing your brother chew or hearing it, is the least of his petty little worries, but I do not wish to explain to him the vile things that I ever saw. Change was ever-present on every table in extra large piles in my childhood home, and I would make a point to find many receipts or various sheets of paper to cover it up so I could adequately stomach my morning or dinner fare. You know, you avert your eyes, pretend you can not hear, go to your happy place.

Gotta do something about that.

My voice is back, although the past few days I have continued to imagine myself yelling out, "Clark!" in a crackly, slightly sexy but annoying Lois Lane voice (and I mean Christopher Reeve Lois Lane). Yesterday was the ultimate Lois Lane day. My own voice was insulting to me. I hate watching Superman to this day (we own a copy for the boys) or even hearing it because it gets on my nerves, her voice. Like Melanie Griffith. But today is a little better. I only had a little bit of green stuff to hack up after I drank my coffee and now there is only a little bit of *something* preventing my voice box from getting out my true voice. Sadly, Dear Sir is contracting my disease, which I thought was allergies, and I feel terrible about it.

It was really sad yesterday when I was at church with my family. I could not sing worth a lick, and thankfully the music was loud enough so I could not hear myself crack and shamefully lack the ability to hit high notes at all. I could barely hit low notes. I now know how it feels to have no control over a singing voice, and I feel sorry for those who have no ability to sing well. It just comes naturally to me and I have always been able to do it. It is a little frightening when I can't, but I know it will pass. I hope. My Oldest sat next to me during the service and graced me with his solo-sounding Catholic Choir Boy voice (which shocked me) and he harmonized, when up and down octaves, and pretty much sang incredibly well in a classical sort of way. I was totally impressed. I have never heard him sing because he ALWAYS sits next to Dear Sir, his favorite parent. I just eventually gave up on singing and quit.

I don't yell too much, contrary to what I wrote before. I was only kidding. I got a lot of posters telling me not to yell so much; I am not doing my children any good. Let me defend myself. I hope some of you know that I am kidding on this blog. A LOT. So I am perfect, that's settled.

Well, I hope you all had a refreshing Easter. Ours was nice. The church we visited was small but kind and accommodating and it was cool to finally get the Eucharist (no offense to other protestant churches, but you just don't provide the Lord's Supper but once a quarter or something---whatever that means). And it was nice to have the Anglican liturgy.

This Easter I saw more the value of the Resurrection. As much as the Cross is important and the center of our faith because of what happened there, the Resurrection is the victory of conquering death. Without it, Jesus just would have died and there would be no hope. The emptiness of Holy Saturday makes us anticipate the new life and hope the Resurrection of our Lord brings.

Attack of the Mute

Once a dear friend told me that I ought to keep a pair of old sneakers in the trunk of the car cause you never know when you gotta run. One day the thought frightened me so badly that I decided that I had enough left over running shoes that I would put a pair in every trunk. You just never know, right?

I complain a lot. I have a screaming headache. Not only is it laborious to talk, I have this aching behind my eyes that will not dissipate.

I just got back from the library with the kids, hence the headache. It is hard enough to get them all rounded up when I do have a voice. Think of if you have hardly a voice and you have to go all Joan Rivers on them. A sick Joan Rivers. I find that my facial expressions have more meaning now, my pleading more involved because my voice can not keep up. Me, you. We have talk. There aren't very many words that can be said when you have to work so hard to say them, so you have to make it short and to the point.

In the scramble to get to the stinking library the headache started. I ran around the house searching for books to return and yelped at Eraser Eater a few times to get his butt in gear. That boy really does it to me, I tell ya. Once in the car he says to me, "Mom, it makes me so sad when you yell at me!" I reply in broken utterances and whispers, "I can't yell at you if I wanted to." The drive there was ok. We were cruising right along like normal. We were almost at the parking lot of the library and it hit me. I am wearing my slippers. I panicked for a split moment and then I thought, hey, I'll be thirty this year and I shouldn't care if people see me out in my slippers. I seriously was going to do it and then I remembered my "out." I sent the Oldest to the trunk to get my sneakers and I took off my first slipper. I almost retched when I saw a smashed Craisin at the bottom of it. I don't like thinking about stuff like that.

The Oldest said that I was saved from eternal embarrassment or something like that because of the sneakers in the trunk. I swear man, always keep a spare. (Thanks, Ann) That is a lesson learned for you.

So, being mute is not so bad. I mean, it is kind of bad. Last night Dear Sir and I just stared at each other over dinner. I think he can not bear to hear me talk. He kept making weird eyes whenever I would say something. He kept saying stuff like, "Can't you take medicine for that?!"
"That's messed up. You need to see a doctor or something." "Just don't talk." "It has to be more than allergies." I had him order our food. You know, I can't talk. I wanted some dessert once I was done eating and I went up to the counter to order an ice cream cone and the lady had me repeat it again because she could not hear me. Then she gave me the wrong thing. I guess she still couldn't hear me. Dear Sir was not enjoying his satanic shake because I guess it was just too good for him. Man, it was good. We ended up switching desserts and I woke up this morning, got on the scale and almost screamed when I gained a pound. Except a scream could not, still, come from my lips.

All lessons in life can be learned from The Little Mermaid (as my daughter clearly points out), so when I must answer 'yes' or 'no', I should just "nod 'yes' and shake 'no.' Just like Ariel." I do find that when communicating with no words the person who understands and can translate is my daughter. Boys, men, and the like can not figure a darn thing out (no offense). The Oldest can't ever hear a word I say as it is. For example"

"Get in the car." I even point to the car.

"Get in the char? What's a char? What did you say, mom?"
I know you would think that the kid is pulling my leg, but trust me, he is not. He sincerely does not understand and then comes up with the most ridiculous translation all on his own. Imagine not having a voice as it is and then trying to translate the right thing to the kid when he gets it wrong. Again and again. Our math lesson lasted about an hour (that is very bad) and I was about to take the Expo pen and eat it, I was so stinking frustrated.

Thankfully the girl understands me because, gee whiz, I would just melt down. Eraser Eater looks at me in terror as I approach speaking like a Rachael Ray mutated freak job. Please don't cook for me.

Pray I retrieve my voice tomorrow so screaming and yelling can again commence.

Mute

I just saw someone destroy a Mac.

Ok, moving on, I have lost my voice. It is completely gone. I get down to pick something up and a little hoarse squeak comes out, unlike my own voice, and it is driving me nuts. I can't speak to my kids so I have resorted to smacking my hand as hard as I can on the table. When I try to speak nothing comes. At times I am lucky and I am able to eek out a really bizarre sound like Joan Rivers and Rachael Ray combined. It is not pretty.

I keep having thoughts of The Piano, Harvey Kietel dusting a piano with no britches on, and stepping up to a microphone with no voice to back it up. I have called Dear Sir twice at work today and all I have for him is a ferocious whisper and he says, "Quit talking. You're scaring me." In other words, quit calling me. I actually got up the nerve to still do school this morning with the boys. We skipped dictation, but that is ok. When I would want one boy's attention I would slam my palm against the table and stare at him. They were a little freaked out. School went well.

The Oldest just looked up laryngitis in his medical manual so he can be assured that my voice comes back. He is a bit concerned, I guess. This has cropped up from allergies. It was all in my ear the other day and I was hating life, and now it is down in my voice box. It is better than pain in my ear, which is unbearable, so I guess I have to live with it for a bit. Dear Sir keeps saying, "Hot drinks, hot drinks."

The daughter told me this morning, "Now dad has a mute wife."

More on this later. I am about to go on a date with Dear Sir and I get to whisper to him the whole time.

I am happy to report that I am the fifth hit on Google for "holy anorexia green sick sickness."

Back-Up

Yesterday my head was a giant cotton ball and my thinking process was not very clear, as you may well imagine. It was one of those days when you know your body is not going to obey you, or if it does at all, it will be a very slow process.

I remember staring at the Oldest's lesson book for math and trying my hardest to find the area of an irregular shaped polygon. I had the answer but I did not have the method of doing it in front of my thick, cotton head. I had to give the Oldest a little break so I could figure the thing out. He was getting the wrong answer and then I was for some odd reason. No, it wasn't an odd reason. I had cotton in my head.

Finally I remembered how to find the area of a triangle (which was my problem) and then combined it with the area of the other shape of the polygon. It's been years since I did algebra and geometry and the rules fly out of my head or get lost in the cotton dwelling there.

I laughed inside when I thought of how I am teaching my son all this math stuff and sometimes I have issues with it! The boy is exceedingly patient with me though and still considers me the best teacher (which I am not, but I will take that)

Eraser Eater is back to writing songs again and making "CDs". When he is not schooling or eating or sleeping, he is writing songs. Dear Sir read off a few this morning that were right up his alley: "Back-up Batteries" and "There is Clutter Everywhere".

Back-up batteries? Dear Sir always emphasizes how important it is (solely to me) to have a "back-up". He has said that since his youthful days with me in our marriage. I remember when he grocery shopped for us when we were first married and thought it was the pits when the last of the toothpaste was used. I think he came up to me with a tube in his hand saying, "always have a back-up." I try now to do that. I fail in some areas because of the cotton in my head.

There is Clutter Everywhere is so very apropos to my Dear Sir. He can't walk into a place without picking up or dusting crumbs off a table carefully with his hand. He even has me doing it and I was sort of good at it before. He is so clean. If there is clutter he clutches his head and almost has a meltdown. I guess that is my reaction to coins and cheese. Unmentionables.

But let me get this straight. There is never coins and cheese. There is just coins. And then there is cheese with fingerprints on it. And then when someone has heard these two phobias they naturally combine them into one gigantic pool of horrendousness and I am left writhing in a vat of sickness. Because it is so odd it becomes quite silly and funny to them.

You could probably show Dear Sir pictures of clutter and he would feel a bit pale and green. You know what? I am getting myself in trouble here. Some of you have rotten minds and would torture me with needless information. I can not bare all to you, reader! You are my enemy. What is probably perfectly fine to you is not well with me and you know it. There. I looked up "coins and cheese" on google. Nothing too disturbing there. ---Except there was a page about "testing the dirtiness of coins" and you somehow use cheese bacteria to do this? Save me from this madness!!!!

How did I get to this subject again? Oh yes, there is clutter everywhere.

That is a profound statement. There is clutter everywhere. Chew on that for awhile.

Absence List

The good thing is that I did not go to D.C. on Friday. I am glad of it because it would have been too hard on my guests to help me entertain my kids during the whole thing. I was glad that they could experience the area unhindered.

I am again recovering from another serious allergy attack, so I am spending a day run-less. I actually got on the treadmill and ran for half a mile and just quit because I just had no energy or strength. What a way to feel like a failure. I am at the moment waiting for my meds to kick in so I can gather the ambition to go upstairs and clean myself up before Dear Sir comes home in a couple hours.

In celebration of a fellow blogger, I will now list a few things that I miss about this world:

1. New York Seltzer
2. Big Sticks (the ones from the eighties)
3. Hagan Daas Irish Cream Ice cream
4. Jello Pudding Pops
5. Three Musketeers when the chocolate was thicker on the outside
6. pre-cell phones
7. when Chuck E. Cheese's didn't taste like government cheese
8. Disneyland before it's 35 year anniversary (the Swiss Family Robinson Tree House)
9. being able to find a hard to find CD at a Best Buy
10. being able to eat a plate of french fries without caring about what it will do to me
11. not having to personally pay the bills! :)
12. Del Taco
13. the frozen yogurt craze of the eighties
14. a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone at Thrifty's
15. Cantaloupe flavored Snapple
16. eating Cadbury Eggs without feeling guilty
17. Trader Joes
18. paying 84 cents for gas
19. customer service people and/or receptionists that are actually nice
20. "the customer is always right"


My mind is a blank. I still feel like I have cotton in my head. And notice that most of my stupid memories and things I miss are either from California or some sort of food! It is very possible that I am hungry.

Put Me in a Straight Jacket

I have absolutely no time to read anything. All I am doing is home improvement and preparations for friends to come and all. Yikes. Yesterday I took the kids up north to the chaotic part of this state where most of the D.C. people live, and we happened to get home around nearly 7 o'clock because we hit traffic at 4. Four o'clock and traffic starts. And I am not talking about just a lot of cars. Bumper to bumper because every lobbyist and government worker is going home to the 'burbs. We went up north to see my sister in law and the cousins who will be in the area for six months. Good for me. I love my sister in law and we get along famously. For some reason she likes me. Who knew.

Our friends who are visiting this week are coming to our house tonight to pop open a few bottles of wine and partake of my fare (I am thinking of making an apple pie for dessert). Tomorrow we are supposed to go to D.C. to visit the mall, the Smithsonian, the monuments and all that junk. I don't think I can hack all that. I am a recluse and I bet I would freak out in front of people and start talking to myself. Just picture me, without Dear Sir, in D.C. with all three kids getting on the stinking metro. No way, man. I can meet them at some museum in the middle of the day and find parking in an over-priced garage instead. I don't know how to break the news to them that I am not mentally prepared to go husbandless. I am just not capable. Seriously. My kids, on the other hand, will drive me nuts saying they are endlessly hungry, thirsty, and their legs hurt. Remember, they have issues holding a stinking trash bag. They are talking about waking up probably at five in the morning to go visit the money making building (whatever that is called) to get tickets for it at 8, perhaps visiting the Capitol Building at 10, and then so on and so forth. I am breaking down right now just thinking about it. If tomorrow can just be over I will feel better.

Am I a wuss?

Gotta go chop up some apples. Oh, but first I have to run...

See you guys in a few days. I think I will be free by the Lord's Day.

Painting the Stinking Porch

Well, Dear Sir and I almost had each other's heads, but we got it done. I had the absolute pleasure of bagging the leaves I raked up on Friday today. The boys held the bag open while I filled it up. They complained the whole time. I have to put some good work ethic into these lads. My Oldest was convinced he was going to earn a hundred bucks for standing and holding a bag open while I kept telling him that he earned himself a tv show and a bag of popcorn. He seemed to think that he would then get half of a hundred with just that. At the tail end of the drag of leaves, I told them that if they held open two more bags for me I would throw in their very own Sprite. You would have thought I said a thousand dollars. They were willing with heartiness. I wished then I would have said five bags and I would have completed the whole drag, but you take what you can get. It is done enough, I say.

I am never a sight to behold when I am working like a dog. It was a little breezy so I was short with the boys and a little crazy with the rake. Friday I wore the skin off my thumb from raking so much. I always push it too far, that is my problem. The Oldest told me that he needed to stand back because my raking was "deadly." He was convinced that he "felt thinner" when he realized that he was carrying a bag that could contain 45 gallons of something back and forth. He lifted his shirt and patted his belly and said, "see"? I told him that he indeed looked thinner. I just wanted to get the job done and debates at those moments are never something I am up to. He just gained whatever calories he burned standing there when he put the Sprite to his lips.

To tell you the truth, I am so shocked he went outside, the boy. I tried to be nicer by the tail end of the job by not telling them in a very sharp way to "just hold the bag open" and "dip down a little more". I said a lot of things like, "lift it," "back up," "open up the mouth of the bag," "I don't think this is a lot of fun either!" "Come on! You are standing there holding a bag open," "go get a new bag," "help me out, here," "move up!" and stuff like that.

I am the worst mother, you don't have to tell me. I even poked Eraser Eater when he was so overcome with ennui that he stretched his finger through the bag and said, "look! I have a grey finger!" He recoiled and whined when I poked him but stood fast, holding the bag. Who knows what would have happened if he had failed at his task.

The Oldest said to me, "I don't ever want to see a brown leaf AGAIN!"

Oh please. And now I will have my little night cap and grill dinner.

Until we meet again...

Femina est Laborat

Yesterday I worked my butt off. I literally should have lost a few pounds, but when you are me you don't do that. It took me four years to lose all the weight I gained after children.

I switched all the clothes for each kid, organized a few closets (actually, more than a few), replaced the headlight bulbs in the VW, filled some black bags with leaves (I live in a forest), took out hoards of trash, organized my daughter's horrendously sickening room, swept the patio and put out the patio furniture, ran a few miles, and other things I can't remember because I am fried.

When Dear Sir got home last night he showed me a site he was lurking around on displaying a unique way in shelving your books: by color. I went upstairs and took a shower and played guitar for a spell while the kids put themselves to bed. I then went downstairs and found Dear Sir fiddling with his books. "I have a project," he beamed. Boy, do I like sorting things. I sat down and helped him sort the books by color in the office. I kind of got roped into it because once Dear Sir had all the green books on a shelf I was fascinated (you all know how I like green). It does look sort of cool:

The Soap Method

I had this vivid dream about buying some vehicle headlight bulbs and someone who shall not be named almost broke them and I picked them up. I remember in the dream looking at the bulb as it enlarged and I smoothed out a small crack with my thumb. It exploded in my hand and some sort of lava/plasma dripped and burned all over it and the only thing that would cure it was my running to the sink to use my very own soap. I had scars, but the plasma evaporated and I didn't even have the pain of burns.

The dream came from the fact that I washed Eraser Eater's mouth out with soap yesterday. I had had it. I swear. The whining was unbelievable. The boys would not stop arguing and fighting. Nothing was working. So I told them the next time I heard a whine or a vile word from their mouths I was going to wash them out----"and believe me, my soap doesn't taste good!" I warned them fair and square. I was almost jumpy, my ears were so thrashed with whining and antagonizing. It gets bad when you almost wish to say, "Don't call me 'mom' anymore!" because the sound of the word in a whining tone is much worse than using some assumed name instead. At least the association would not be there. Whining to me is like how coinage and cheese mingling together sounds. Ugh. I can't believe I just wrote that.

The boys were calm finally once I had my rant with them and the Oldest sat down to study math and Eraser Eater sat down to read. The girl grabbed one of Eraser Eater's books that was on the coffee table (that had nothing to do with school) and he freaked. He lifted his voice to all the whining gods within range to hear his supplication. My body tweaked in response and I calmly took his hand and led him to the bathroom. He at once knew his doom. I won't go into details, but I made him sit there for three minutes with a bar of my soap in his mouth. Afterwards, I told him to rinse and brush his teeth to take care of it. You would have thought the world ended. I tell you what though, he did not whine once the rest of the day!

Whenever I would detect a bit of whining, he would say, "But I wasn't whining, I was just explaining something....let me say it a bit better this time...." Ah, yes, that's the ticket (as Jennifer would say).

The second Dear Sir got home he got a full report. He almost spilled it out to his teacher in AWANA last night but then he said, "It is embarrassing for me, and besides, I wouldn't want to get Mom in trouble."

Everyone is so calm and full of brotherly love here lately. I don't get it.

Song

This song is about the harlotry of Israel in Ezekiel. It is also about my own harlotry by putting other things in front of God. This will do for a little light reading! :)

Placed in your heart
the stone and the carved image
I gave all you want
then you turn, a soul imprisoned
I drew you from the open field
where you were cast and abhorred
my garment from the cold, a shield
your body, full, adorned

I will stretch out My Hand
I will give to the fire
I will lay all bare
As you climb in the mire

How lovesick your heart
you built yourself a vaulted chamber
your beauty mirrored death
to run to another savior
twisted love, oh how you've strayed
affections turned, a lofty space
crooked bride, this price the grave
oh how will it be paid

I will stretch out My Hand
I will feed the fire
I will lay all bare
As you climb in the mire

I'll bring you back to Me
My vow sure, love still true
and all will see your shame
but I'll be atonement for you

Losing My Mind

Yesterday I got more done that I can remember in a long time. I will not bore you with the silly details, but part of my errands to be run had to do with taking a rod-iron chair and getting it welded. It cost only a shocking six dollars. I was totally floored. If you are wondering, I am used to milk costing oh, around four bucks a gallon. Well, maybe a little less, but if you rounded it---you get it. Anyway, I dropped the chair off at 10, and the lady (who was gruff, somewhat dirty, major hick-like, and very rude) told me that I could pick it up at 2. I hate going back home when I am "in town", so I took the opportunity to take the kids to lunch, go walk around the mall in search of new New Balance running shoes, and that is about it.

I certainly discovered what young mothers with small children do during the day. They don't stay home. They take the kids to the mall and let them play in the play land inside. My kids were ok for some of the time and terrible for most of it. I mean, they argued all stinking day long. I think yelling is wrong, and I have already done some major repenting, but once I got in the car with them I let them have it. The girl broke down when we got some frozen yogurt and cried like a baby over nothing, the boys kept pelting each other on the heads or knocking each other down, therefore knocking stacks of shoes down at the shoe store. I warned them to stay near me when we first got there and I described to them what happened to the America's Most Wanted guy's kid. I didn't even leave out the detail that his head was severed. The result: they fearfully stuck to me like glue and antagonized one another right within arms reach of me. At least I was not constantly trying to herd them in, which has been a problem in the past.

Now don't get me wrong. They were not being terrors. It was just that no one else had kids because everyone else's kids my age were in school. On my way out of the mall I held the door open for a lady and she looked at my kids and said, "School's out today?" (Why, oh why, do people do that?!) I said that I homeschool and she gave me that look of "yeah, that's nice. I bet you do." Then she said something like, "It's nice they have a day off" or something like that---like it is any of her business. Makes me feel like a criminal.

Yeah, they took the day off yesterday. Yep. I took the stinking day off yesterday and I bought some running shoes and I bought a dress. When I tried the dress on, my daughter was in the dressing room with me. She smacked my exposed belly before I pulled the dress on and said, "I love your fat belly. It wiggles when I smack it! All moms have fat bellys don't they?"

Well, not all mothers, I thought. I remember when I was five to seven pounds more than I am now a lady in a dressing room told me that I should do what she did and cut out the carbs and I would lose ten pounds. I thought that was a little bold. Kind of like the boldness of the lady who exclaimed how nice it is that my kids could have the day off.

For the record, my belly is not fat, it just wiggles when smacked. Ha ha.

Forgetting

I had something to blog about and I just now forgot. I remember sitting on our bed last night with Dear Sir, reading books, and saying, "I'm going to blog about that." But I am still getting a complete blank. I forget everything. I was telling Ann that yesterday.

I will be setting the table, everyone will be eating, and I stop in the middle of the kitchen and think hard. "Now what was I going to get?" I think. I even say it out loud while rubbing my chin. I look around desperately. I see the table and find that nothing "appears to be missing." I look to the cupboard for clues, I look in the fridge and I see the milk. "Ah, yes, the drinks." I say. Eventually though, I have done this enough times for Dear Sir to just get the drinks automatically because he knows that I will indeed forget them or the napkins. I do this continually in my small, cramped, little life. Dear Sir says it is because I can not multi-task and I try to do too many things at once, but come on, I have to at least TRY to multi-task. He often says to the kids (I hear it in the corner of my subconscious) "Don't try to talk to her while she is playing guitar. She won't hear you."

The man knows my faults. I know his too, but mine are more in your face, so to speak. "My toes are numb!" I would say to him. "Wear socks!" he would say.
Last night he said, "Heads up!" and threw the Neutrogena Norwegian formula in my hands. "Put that on your hands. You have to get in the habit of taking care of them."
"I don't feel too well," I would say. "Here is a drink," he would counter.
Here is the famous one---"You're chewing." And he would bump my offending hand in a swift whip.

I remember when we were first dating I had a terrible cold. I worked at a department store and did not even THINK to bring tissues with me. In fact, I would go to the bathroom (I have a small, cramped, little bladder that prevents me from living a normal life) and grab some rough, coarse paper towels and use them. The man came in to take me out to lunch and we sat in a restaurant and he saw the paper towel I grasped with my hand, all wet and harmful-looking.
"What is that?" he said. "Your poor nose! You can't wipe your nose with sandpaper!" Later that day I am almost sure he had gone out and bought me some tissues infused with aloe and lotion and brought them to my door.

This is a man who, when finding rough spots and rashes on me, will put cortisone cream there. This is a man who, when seeing that I am tired, will usher me to bed, tuck me in, and provide white noise so I will not hear the kids. This is a man who has adapted himself to making my life easier because I am indeed not a multi-tasker and in constant need, it appears, of someone who will care for me because I FORGET EVERYTHING, including myself.

Huh. I forgot to eat breakfast. Can't miss a meal. Gotta go.

Good Morning

I better write a little something before it all goes away or before the Oldest stomps downstairs to breathe wild energy into Eraser Eater and the girl. So far they are pretty tame.

I find regretfully that I sneak downstairs whenever they are supposedly still asleep in the morning and I am up. I want to have maybe just a few minutes of peace with my Wonder Woman mug and perhaps the computer. I laugh at myself inside my head when I find that I am slowly descending the stairs and wincing when I hear a little creak. What I am trying to avoid, or rather, delay, are the badgering questions like, "Are we going to eat Cookie Crisp for breakfast?!" "Are we going to eat?! I am hungry!" Sometimes they are not even questions. Sometimes the outbursts are something like, "He took my notebook and scribbled on it!" "He made fun of my song!" "He breathed his beaver breath in my face!" "She keeps following me!"
I have stressed many times that I am not a morning person. Nothing is worse than asking a morning person sundry questions.

I hate to even tell you that I have another minor running injury and I am forced to walk on my treadmill because I have nothing else that I can do that is low impact, like swimming, or cycling. I don't think I would do those anyway even if they were available. I keep living and learning and this time I think part of my problem is my stupid running shoes. I went to Costco a good handful of months ago and found some Adidas running shoes on sale and just bought them. Bad choice. Of course, I, being the semi-cheapskate that I am, decided once I put the suckers on, that I would ride them through. Bad choice. I should have returned them. But, being stupid, I just kept them because I wanted to run more than I wanted to go to Costco, return the shoes, and find another pair. I would like to publicly apologize to New Balance for my unfaithfulness to them. I don't think I have had one injury wearing New Balance shoes. What a twirp I am. New Balance shoes are like running on a trampoline. Adidas shoes are like running barefoot on jagged rocks. Big difference.

I just realized that I quoted a child asking about Cookie Crisp. Let me explain. I don't usually let them eat Cookie Crisp or Lucky Charms or any of that sort of stuff, usually they eat Koala Krisp, Gorilla Munch, and Panda Puffs (all organic and nutritious cereals). But I found a Barbie Fairytopia cereal down the cereal aisle the other day and saw there was a coupon for the next Barbie movie. I could foresee having to buy it at some point, so I bought the cereal. And to be fair (because everything is fair in life, eh?) I bought the boys a box of Cookie Crisp, each. They were buy one, get one free. The discovery in this is that I am in love with Double Chocolate Cookie Crisp, much like I am in love with Fruity Pebbles or Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch. This is a very dangerous position for me. I can't run, I crave sugary Double Chocolate Cookie Crisp, and on top of it all, I made chocolate covered peanuts that are incredibly good. Thankfully the cereal is Eraser-Eaters, so he would whine exceedingly if he found out I was chomping on his cereal, so that is a good thing to ward me off. To me, whining is like hell's demon screeching in the night---straight in my ear.

Tally-O.

Time to Rob the Bank

Here is my oven in all it's glory. I am not posting the inside because the outside is much more interesting and has a more interesting story with it.


If you look at the second knob, it has tape on it to keep it together. Unfortunately, it is the knob that tells what temperature the oven is at when you turn the dial. When I broke it, the thing spun around and snapped and I could not tell what temp I was at anymore. I twisted it around, but thankfully, I remembered what I set it to, and now I just sort of go by that. It's all a guessing game around here. It reminds me of that Mr. Bean episode where he goes to the dentist.

The day I broke the thing is the day I was to leave for the wedding I sang at last August. I was hopping on the plane in D.C. in a few hours. I was marking baking times ( with a sharpie pen) on pizzas and other things and tossing them in the freezer and I snapped the stupid thing somehow as I was baking something at the time; probably a pizza. For a moment I felt very alarmed. I thought, "How is Dear Sir going to feed anyone if the dial is broken?" (Remember, I was to be gone for a few days) I thought that we lacked the money to get a new oven and what terrible timing. Yeah, try finding a new dial for a discontinued (obviously) Montgomery Ward oven. Trust me, with my new house (new to me) I have many many things that are lovely in it. I think this is just about the only thing that is an eye sore.

My only solution monetarily and momentarily was to put some packing tape on it. Hey, I just moved in not too long ago---packing tape was everywhere. I was pleased as punch to see that it worked and hey, it still works to this very day. Thick folds of tape cover the 400 degree spot, but that is ok, I can read it a little still.


When I was uploading the picture of my ghetto oven, I stumbled upon this silly little picture one of my kids obviously made on the computer. In the caption the spindly, little, black, scary guy says, "Time to rob the bank."

The Calm After the Storm

They are all in the sunroom humming the tune to "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy" on their kazoos.
Believe me, it sounds interesting. I have been waking up near nine o clock every morning the past few days because I got two solid nights with hardly a wink of sleep because of that stupid allergic reaction. Thankfully, I am fine now. I just take an allergy pill at night and in the morning to keep it under control.

I actually took the kids to the park yesterday and read a book on a park bench. Of course, the Oldest refused to go because of the bugs, so I left him home (he is really old enough now---gee whiz, he is getting old) to save myself a little grief. We have a whole summer ahead to deal with this fear----again. But, it was nice to see that I could go to the warm, windy park and not sneeze once. Now that's progress.

You guys should check out Elysium's site and see the greatest band in the world. I was going to blog about it, but he did it first. I was too slow to act on my ideas. At least we are of the same mind.

Well, I am being slack and I really need to school the kids. It does not take but a couple hours anymore if we are really diligent, but I still feel slack. What is up with that?

I almost forgot. When the Oldest goes to AWANA he always comments on how he tries so hard to be "best boy" at the end of the class (they win a prize) and he never gets it. Mind, there are TONS of kids in his class to where half of the kids are sitting on the floor because the lack of desks. I always figured he would get his sometime. Last night when we picked him up he was holding his folder close to his body and telling us that he had a huge surprise for us when we got in the car. He waited until he got in his seatbelt to tell us that he "got best boy" as he held up a Snicker's bar. He was beaming. He opened up the candy bar immediately and ate it. When he was finished he folded his arms behind his head and basked in the mere pleasure of being best boy. He had this amazingly content smile on his face. It was hilarious. He didn't talk the rest of the way home, reliving his moment.

As We Forgive Those

This is a documentary trailer about reconciliation in Rwanda by my friend Laura Waters. It is amazing. I got a good heads up from Angela. Go check it out.---Then get some Land of a Thousand Hills Coffee (drink a cup and do good).

Pocketful of Hayfever

Yesterday I really made a mistake. I had decided on Sunday (since it was the Lord's Day) to take a rest from my long streak of running and run the next day (which would be yesterday). The weather was fine, the run kicked my butt, but all was well. About an hour later I started to sneeze and sniffle and the rest of the day was pretty much down the tubes health wise. Imagine the worst cold in the world, that was my allergic reaction. Now, I take Claritin daily, but this sudden intake of spring weather (near 70) was a bit much for my nose. It spazed out and died upon arrival of my front steps and of course I am a raving lunatic whenever this happens.

Dear Sir decided that we would go to the store to get him some clothes that he needs, and so I took another allergy pill and some DayQuil. That stuff does not work. I constantly had a wet napkin or tissue in my pocket and I was miserable. I did promise Dear Sir that I would attempt to maintain as good an attitude as possible and he kissed me on the cheek. The man knows how I get.

Once we got home I had really had it. The pulls of the evening such as putting kids to bed and looking on horrendous bedroom floors had me in an uproar. When someone would ask me a question I would have to stand there, hold up my forefinger with my left hand, and clutch my tissue with the other to catch my sneeze. I was bad off. I could see Dear Sir about to weep for me. But the vacuum was not working properly because Eraser Eater happened so suck up gobs of paper a week ago without my knowledge, and I was the only one who knew how to fix the thing if it could be fixed. I got down on my knees and worked on it with tissue in hand. I fixed things in the tubing and whatnot, and decided that I just needed to change the bag because it was full of paper. Upon handling the bag my hand slipped and I squeezed it. Dust and micro mites and lovelies poofed in my face and I sneezed. At the same moment Dear Sir asked me about diapers not being in the cupboard and I screamed "I FORGOT!!!!!!" And then I blew my nose. My own voice shocked me. I immediately thought, "now that was immature."

The man is a dream, I tell you. He bought me flowers yesterday, he was exceedingly patient with my moodiness, and he was so sympathetic. He jumped at any chance to serve me. And I screamed at him. I did tell him I was sorry and there was no excuse for me, but he said, "That was dumb of me, I should not have asked you about diapers."

I finally went to the pharmacy once things were under some control and I got some Sudafed at the pharmacy desk. Of course I slept poorly last night---I probably got about an hour of sleep, and the garbage man (dustman) woke me up. Six o'clock sharp. I tried to go back to sleep but then Dear Sir's alarm went off.

Now I am here, fueled by coffee and it's deceptive effects of alertness. Time to start good ol' school.

Telegraph

Dear Sir home.STOP.Busy bagging leaves in yard.STOP.Dear Sir taking all my time.STOP.He keeps making me go to Civil War sites.STOP.And when he is home I have to make real meals.STOP. So I am busy.STOP.I will be blogging as usual by Tuesday.STOP.When Dear Sir exits the premises.STOP.

(I caught a spare moment as he is blowing the leaves outside....)

I Eat Meat

I'm trying to be good to my cheeks and refrain from my present destruction of them in the form of cannibalism (by chewing them up) but it is hard. I am trying to quit cold turkey and I am afraid I am so far gone that it has turned into some sort of disease. Like alcoholism is a disease. Like starving yourself by anorexia is a disease. Like anything that is really not a disease, is a disease.

I am cutting myself some slack though. For me, it is a minute by minute process. I chew, realize after five seconds my blunder, then I say to myself, "I am starting to stop NOW!" Believe me, my mouth is less chewed off and is healing sort of nicely (I have tons of scar tissue in there) rather than it being a bloody massacre, which it usually is. I know, it is sick. THAT is how I can fill my whole entire mouth full of blood, run at innocent people, and freak them all out when I part my lips. No, I am not a vampire. And I haven't done that in years.

On another note, school is looking less grim because there are only forty and maybe two days left---I can not wait for summer. Well, just some warmer weather. I want to grill, get up in the morning and sit at my patio table and feel the cool breeze rustle through my now brownish red hair, and drink a glass of wine out there in the evenings. I don't look forward to, however, sweating on my black leather interior and dealing with the Oldest and his flying insect fear. I am bracing myself for that malarkey. There are pros and cons to everything, I guess.

I think I might try to iron at some point today before the pile gets any larger. Last time I procrastinated the pile got so huge that it took Dear Sir and I a full week of ironing several hours a day (in shifts) to get it all done. My man would make me iron the sheets but I bar my teeth at him whenever the idea crosses his mind and he keeps his distance. He even says weakly, "...I suppose maybe when the kids are out of the house and we have time...." Nice save. I say, if the kids are out of the house and we have less mouths to feed---if ironing the sheets is a priority, it can be done by the cleaners. But you know what? I am being a total nimrod. What a luxury it is to have someone iron things for you when the rest of the country lives on a little square of land and children sort through garbage in Africa to get food? This is totally not funny, and I guess I better iron my own sheets if Dear Sir so wishes it. As you can see, my whole life is ridden by guilt.

Dear Sir says I thrive on feeling guilty. I will probably die from feeling guilty that I live.

So do any of you guys (besides Martha Stewart, who ALWAYS reads this blog) iron your sheets? And Martha, you don't have to pipe up with your answer, I already KNOW you iron yours. Or your little peon does for you.

Irish Spring

Most of my readers will find this beginning part boring, but oh well. Skim away. I wrote it for nothing then.

I was switching out some batteries in the girl's little barn toy (that plays hokey farm music) and found a battery that had busted. I did not realize it busted until I had taken the old batteries out, put in new batteries, and scratched my lip when I had an itch. I felt a familiar zap and immediately thought of lye---sodium hydroxide, the chemical you use to make soap (NaOH). I did not realize that an alkali (duh---it says "alkali" on batteries!)---a caustic substance--- was inside a battery. I did not realize that an alkali could do this---power small toys and electronics.

I immediately washed my face and looked up batteries on Wikipedia. I know, I like that site. It is helpful. I had forgotten that potassium hydroxide is also used in soapmaking---but in making soft soap. And it is in batteries. Very interesting.

Potassium hydroxide is a natural product of burned wood ash (called potash). During animal sacrifices the fat would be exposed and burned, and what would trickle down would be sudsy bubbles. Or so I have read somewhere (not Wikipedia). It would make sense---the "potash" would saponify with the rendered animal fat, making soap. And an animal sacrifice would result in sins cleansed away. Makes complete sense. Soap is Biblical and necessary.

So---imagine my shock when after spraying some Febreeze Anti Microbial, I smell Irish Spring, therefore resulting in Dear Sir saying, "I really wish you would buy me some Irish Spring. I haven't had real soap in so long, Rachel. It's been years!"

Listen to me. I LOVE Dear Sir. I absolutely go bonkers over the guy and he knows it, otherwise he would not feel so comfortable as to say something so ridiculous.

"I am NOT buying Irish Spring!" I cried. "Do you realize that your skin is the most sensitive organ on your body and you want to put terrible itchy, unnatural, detergent soap on it?"

"Oh, come on." Was all he said as he shook his head.

"I tell you what," I said, "I will go online tomorrow and see if I can find Irish Spring fragrance oil and I will make you my version of Irish Spring."

And that is what I did.

And it is stinking up the whole house and making my head spin. Hey, it's kind of perfect for Saint Patrick's Day, and I didn't even time it. Cool.

Hair

Ok, so um, my hair soaked up all that color big time, eh? It's pretty dark but I think I like it. I got the red in it like I said I was tempted to do. I am looking brunette although the hair stylist said I am now a "medium blonde"! Give me a break!

Gotta turn over some chicken.

Have a great weekend.

Bah.

Last night we took the kids out to dinner at a local place. I remember telling Dear Sir how much I hate going to a restaurant because when you walk in as the hostess is guiding you to your table,everyone stares at you. I think it is because I hate being the center of attention---I love taking Communion, but when we walk up to take it I feel like I am the only one standing in the room.

So, last night over dinner we found out that Eraser Eater not only eats erasers, he eats wooden furniture. Dear Sir called it "bizarre" and asked him, once we got home, to demonstrate what he does. It was ridiculous. I had to go to the other room because it was sort of funny (I have a strange sense of humor) to see him biting down on my wooden stool. He was scolded and sent soundly to bed.

I told Dear Sir that I used to pick gum off the street and eat it. Kids do weird things. I finally convinced him that I turned out ok---right? After admitting that I turned out alright I think he felt better.

The really funny thing is that when we were getting into the car Dear Sir called the boy "Eraser Eater". Eraser Eater said, "Hey!" like he was going to be mad. "Well, you eat erasers!" Dear Sir said, "And furniture!"

When the man got cozy in his seat I said, "Tryin' to rip me off?"

"Yep. And he's not going to like it when he finds out that's what you call him."

Bah.

This is Music

Only Dear Sir will understand the title to this post.
(I stole this meme from Lisa---how U2--Helter Skelter of me---see Rattle and Hum)

Favorite Song From Childhood: Probably "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House, but anything from the 80's that isn't too cheesy is great.

Favorite High School Dance Song: Never went to the dances but once and then I didn't dance. I hate it.

Senior Class Song: Man, I really don't know and I don't care!

Favorite Rock & Roll Song: How about "Rock n Roll" by Led Zeppelin?

Favorite Disco Song: Don't like disco.

Favorite Country Western Song: Don't like country, but I do like that "You Move Me" song by Garth.

Favorite Pop Song: Nothing by the King of Pop, that is for sure---wait----I like "Billy Jean"

Favorite All Time Love Song: "Ice Cream" by Sarah McLachlan---but I can't think of anything else.

Favorite Break Up Song: "Honey Don't Think" by Grant Lee Buffalo

Favorite Slow Dance Song: Slow dancing is probably just as bad as fast dancing.

Song That Always Makes You Cry: "Breathe On Me" by Jennifer Knapp

Songs About Your Kids: Whenever I hear "Uncle Albert" by Paul McCartney (and Wings) I think of the kids. They LOVE that song...

Song That Reminds You Of Your Husband: There are tons. How about "Hey Bulldog" by the Beatles, or "Waa-Waa" by George Harrison, or "Killing a Dead Man" by Grant Lee Phillips or anything by Enya because we listened to her full blast on the way to the Oregon Coast for our honeymoon. It was raining and delightful. There's tons more. Anything by the Verve, Oasis (namely Masterplan). How about "Battle of Evermore" by Led Zep. "Say to My Soul" by me. (he is famous for loving that song--now isn't that nice?)

Favorite Christmas Song: "In the Bleak Midwinter"

Favorite Gospel/Praise Song: "Hear My Cry O God", "Holy is the Lord", "Humble Thyself", "I Will Glory in My Redeemer".

Hospital

I took my daughter to the hospital this morning to get a procedure done and I had to take the boys with. They were really good, I was shocked. My daughter had to get sedated and take what she called "loopy" medicine, and we were on our way to harmless medical work. She kept lulling around like a drunken sailor minus the cuss words, and bubbled out laughter and said, "This is a nice place!" She was really drugged. She had all the medical staff splitting their sides. Near the end of the procedure though, she started to cry, saying that she did not like how she could not walk straight and to put it shortly, she was like the crying drunk who is no fun. I had to CARRY her out of the hospital, Eraser Eater had to hold my purse, and the Oldest WOULD NOT STOP COMPLAINING AND TALKING. I finally had had it because my girl was flopping around in my arms (and she weighs a good fifty pounds) and the Oldest was running his mouth about I don't know what. Just junk that was irritating. He was saying his usual dirgy, negative stuff about how the girl was going to die or something and we would all have a funeral soon. I'm exaggerating here, really. But I do mean that it was complete chaos. I was about to tell him that if he did not shut it I would twist his lips off, but then I remembered the nurse was trying to guide me out and I had to behave myself.

The procedure went well and she is over the hurdle, which is great news, so that is something I should stop griping for!

I got really hot under the collar too because I lacked some sleep (I got up really early obviously) and I don't do well. I am not a morning person. The Oldest plopped down on the floor when we were about to go and completely knocked over Dear Sir's little shelving unit, thus breaking it in a million pieces. Don't even ask me how that happened. I lost it and picked up all the papers and whatnot and put them in a stack. Then I realized how spoiled I am when I had to scrape the ice off the windshield in my rush to get us all there. I was freezing, my hands were numb (you know how intolerable to cold I am), and I was whining about it incessantly. I realized that many of you guys and other ladies on this soil go to work every morning and battle the same stuff. I get to stumble out of bed, wear my lounge clothes all day and sip coffee while the kids do school. I even can order them around a bit and slack off and do nothing if I so desired. Which reminds me, I should teach that boy to iron. Good plan. So sorry you ladies that scrape ice off windshields, I am a wimp and hats off to you.

When we got home I took the girl upstairs with me and made her sleep and I got a bit of that too, so that helped. I took them to Target after that and dropped too much money, but I had to buy another shelving unit and purchase another set of blinds that the Oldest, again, destroyed last week. The Oldest, however, was excellent with his sister when she was all weepy by giving her his gameboy and helping her get her mind off her despair by rubbing her on her shoulder or patting her head. She was so drugged she said, "Who are you?"

I'm Lazy Links

I just finished reading a novel called Martin Dressler, which was really sort of strange, but for some reason I liked it. The author, Steven Millhauser, is the same guy that wrote the story that the movie the Illusionist is loosely based on. Give him a try if you will. I think he is a good modern writer. I know a lot of you could care less in a way.

I also finished reading the Gobhole Banter's Club read of the month called "Miss or Mrs.?" by my own dear Wilkie Collins. He writes great short stories and great novels. I can't wait to get into more. You guys missed out, who did not read it.

I am also loving Yo-Gos, (Anne will probably fall over at how un-nutritious they are) Fruitabus (this is great for a person like me who can not eat raw fruit or veggies), and Land of a Thousand Hills Coffee (from Rwanda).

My favorite type of running shoe is this, I think I will read this next, and maybe if I am good and he has time, this guy will go out with me at some point this week.

I am supposed to color my hair darker (it will look brown to most people that don't know how to classify various shades of blonde) this weekend, so wish me luck (I am getting it done BTW). I am going to go for either light blonde highlights or red cinnamon highlights. What do you think? I am leaning toward the cinnamon color.

Merry Christmas

Note to Dear Sir: I am getting you back---don't kill me when I do. (I wince as I say this)Ha ha.

Dear Sir was in his prime mood last night. He had a tough work week and I think he was relieved to be home, so he was in one of those moods when he antagonizes everyone with jokes the whole night. We had to all go and pick up our VW at the shop and he had the kids convinced that tomorrow is Christmas and we were on our way to get a tree. The Oldest usually gets sucked in quick because he is so literal, but then he looks over at me while I am shaking my head and looking down and thinks, "Mom doesn't even believe it."

Eraser Eater said, "But we didn't even finish an Advent Calendar!"

Dear Sir just said, "Yes you did."

They spew objections and then Dear Sir somehow convinces them of his little plot.

My daughter started to paw at me and say, "Are we really getting a tree!? This is SO EXCITING!"

Finally I told her no, Dad is being crazy.

Even on the way we passed a restaurant with little lights on the roof and he said, "Look! Christmas lights!" They all "oohed and ahhed".

He turned up a country music station (we don't listen to country) and started singing loudly over it with words like "Noel" and "Happy Jolly". "Listen to the Christmas music!" he yelped.

So when we finally got to the shop to get the car, I made sure that I was the one leaving HIM with the kids. He could take care of that madness and I don't have to be in the car when he tells them it is all a joke.

Once Eraser Eater and the daughter were put to bed, I crawled under the covers and read my book. Dear Sir decided to come up and work on his laptop. The Oldest came up as well to read his Bible. Dear Sir started to talk about Christmas or something again with the Oldest. I can't even remember what it was. By this time I was so annoyed that he came in the room with his jokes while I was peacefully reading! I threatened to toss him out of the room and he laughed at me heartily. That boy loves making me mad.

He also informed me that TWO people at work notified him that he looks just like Keifer Sutherland. He finally believes me now, the freak.

Nothing to Shout About

Ok, here are my keys. Someone said that they tell a lot about a person. First of all, you see, I have a little card for Petsmart on my ring. I have a fish named Tolstoy. That is typically where I buy his stuff. The one you can not see is for a grocery store I go to in town. Then of course, I have a Borders rewards card. Two keys are for the house and one key is for the shed. The black key is for the Saturn and the VW key is for the guess what---the VW. Pretty plain jane if you ask me.

Maybe it tells you how simple I am? I have not even bothered to get a key chain. Why don't I have a Wonder Woman one? Now that is an idea....or Alice in Wonderland. Hmm...maybe I will go shopping for a keychain.

Busted

I am often jerked from some present thing I am doing because the sound of Eraser Eater whining and crying is such an irritation that I tend to go a bit ballistic. This thing happened this morning. The boys were sitting at the table antagonizing each other; the Oldest jabbed Eraser Eater with his green pencil in the groin and then in the arm somewhere. When asked why he did this thing he said,

"He kept calling me 'beaver breath'!"

The straight face I was trying to keep was slowly but swiftly turning into bubbling laughter, so I took Eraser Eater's book (the closest thing to me), opened it up, and gently placed my face in it. I turned around as well. This is how literal my Oldest son is:

"What's so funny? {Eraser Eater's} book?"

I quickly pulled the book down, tore out a page, and placed it in front of Eraser Eater. "Looks pretty funny," I said stupidly. I wondered how the heck he buys whatever I say.

"That must be some book!" he said.

I then went to the bathroom, walked out, went to the sink to get a glass of water and beaver breath echoed in my head, making its reappearance. The visage of the Narnian beaver floated before my eyes. I imagined him exhaling out rank air from eating whatever it is beavers eat. Bark, maybe.

I busted out laughing.

"You seem to be laughy lady today, Mom." Was all he said.

Hum

The Oldest is always humming incessantly. My daughter had to read a few words for her phonics lesson last week and one of the words was "hum". With each word she pronounced, I made her think of an example and tell me what she thought of. For "hum" she thought of her oldest brother humming all the time.

Sometimes getting on my Oldest son's nerves is the little chuckle of my life. If I can get him to laugh at himself (because he takes himself so seriously) it is even better. While doing his math this morning I started to violently hum like he does so often around the house. I, of course, added a little more pep into it to make it noticeable. He sat there with the Expo pen in hand, brows furrowed, and gave me a "are you for real?" look.

"What are you doing, mom?"

"Just humming. It sounds GREAT. It sounds just like yours."

"No, it doesn't." He slammed the pen down at the injustice.

"And why not?"

"Mine sounds so much better if you heard the whole of it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I have other music that goes to it that you can't hear. I am humming to it. I have a little jukebox in my mind."

Various Hints of Malarkey

Dear Sir and I took the kids to Borders yesterday for a little outing. I love books, but I get so overwhelmed of late because there are so many books I do want that I don't ever buy anything. I mean, I think about all the books that I do have and it depresses me to buy yet another book to add to the ever-increasing collection of books not read.

Dear Sir got a bargain book about the Saints (it is really cool and I am glad he got it---good home school book!), the girl got a princess magazine, Eraser Eater got an art book on Escher, and the Oldest got a gargantuan book on Ancient Rome. I think the thing is about eight pounds. Since I had to go to Target to pick up some anti-microbial febreeze spray (to disinfect a wet mattress after a good scrubbing---at least to help with the smell) I went by the clearance Valentine's section and found some truffles by Choxie and had a glimmer of delight. That won't sit on the shelf and collect dust.

The day prior the Oldest approached Dear Sir about dating and told him that when he is a teenager, he will not be interested because he is not "the emotional type."

And, to make bedtime a more laborious task, I was in the bathroom with the girl about to administer her medicine and grabbed the Milk of Magnesia bottle to shake it. The rage in my face probably showed when the white, minty fluid splashed all over the bathroom mirror, myself, and the connecting walls. "CRAP!" I yelled. The girl laughed with glee. I looked at her incredulously, with beet red face. "Less for me!" cried the little blond smarty-pants with a giggle. "I hate that stuff!"

(the little voice in my brain said---"then quit holding your poop!")

Martin Luther on Yoga

If yesterday's entry was ever read, I think the problem of my frozen toes was solved, in my estimation. Sure, they were cold, but that is not normal for me. I realized last night when I was taking a HOT bath (because I was so cold) that I had marks on my ankles from my socks cutting off my circulation. That'll do it.

I am going to keep going on ailments because people love reading about that. The other day I decided since I strained my calf (maybe running ten miles was not so smart?) that I would pick up a Pilates video and do pilates. I have never done it before and my friend swears by it---says it is great and all. I am always a little leery of Yoga because I think it is wrong (and maybe that is an ignorant statement) but anything that is spiritual and not MY kind of spiritual, I am not ok with. Anyway, I think there was a little bit of Yogaish moves going on with this video and it was actually fine----it just kicked my butt. I mean, I was not out of breath and dying or anything, I just really felt it the next day. And with every exercise video, the ladies on there start doing all these moves you can't keep up with, and you end up feeling embarrassed even though no one is around to see you biff it all up.

My daughter even said while she was doing the moves with me, "This is so WEIRD, Mom!" No, it's not your typical Kathy Smith stuff. Sucking in air in spurts and puffing it out the same way. OK. I do realize that breathing is what actually burns calories, not the action you are doing. I know, sounds weird, but the action and the breathing actually work together to get the calories burned. If you get that heart pumping, you need to breathe MORE, is what I am saying. I guess that is why I have seen people selling video collections on how to "breathe to burn calories and get thin" without doing a stitch of exercise. Amazing how the body works.

But I did get through the video. In robotic fashion, but I got through it. My Oldest son, who sometimes Dear Sir and I like to call "Martin Luther", said in the middle of the video, "Did she say 'meditate'? That's not good mom."

She didn't say meditate, although I am sure she would. It is weird how he always picks up on that stuff. When she said, "Here is a common Yoga stretch that...." he quickly blurted out, "YOGA! Don't do it! What are you doing, MOM?!"

So, I refrained from doing the stretch for our Martin Luther. Besides, he might throw an inkwell at me or something.

In the Frozen Deep

So I went to Costco today and took the sick kids with me. We were severely running out of goods, so we had to go. I had a mind to spend hundreds. When you do that, upon getting home, hundreds of muscles ache because you are the one stuck loading it, unloading it, and putting it away. It was especially scary because the snow here is just pure ice, like walking on a frozen lake. Eraser Eater took a turn outside without my knowing it and when I went to get the mail, I turned to see him racing toward me, skidding on the ice in his boots, and biffing it flat on his face. It reminded me of A Christmas Story. He cried and I had no sympathy as usual. He was fine though, thankfully enough.

As I was walking around with the cart though, I noticed that my toes were numb. I couldn't even feel them even slightly. I have been so cold lately that my fingers are purple quite a bit.

I think I am a hypochondriac because my son is standing here right now complaining of a mysterious pain when he coughs, and he wishes for me to look up his symptoms in the medical manual. He always diagnoses himself with various little things. Dear Sir always shakes his head and says, "I think you will die in your sleep tonight." The oldest is very literal, so he always gets this deer caught in headlights look on his face and falls for it every time.

He also got the deer caught in headlights look the other night when he discovered a fly in his bedroom. Why the flies are not dead when it is so cold, I don't know. He flipped out like usual, cried for a decent spell, and I had to save the day with a magazine because go figure, I don't have a fly swatter anymore. Lost it in the move. That fly was meaty and intrepid too. I had to HACK at it to get it to die. It would sit there stupidly and then crawl a little in a crack and there I was, blowing death upon it with a folded Economist Magazine in a downward jabbing motion.

Now he is running around with his new dollar store gun, clicking away, driving me crazy. He dared to pull the thing out at Costco and grace us with the lovely sound directly in the ear. I was quick to confiscate it.

My daughter is at the moment wearing her little halter under shirt with Cinderella on it while donning a Hello Kitty pillowcase as her mermaid tail. She is squirming around the floor and that means I have to go and take care of this. I am freezing.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

And that is all I have to say.

Ten Reasons Why I love Dear Sir

I have to post this because last year I saw someone do this same thing and I thought it was nice:

1. He is considerate and patient. He never intrudes while I am in the bathroom brushing my teeth or washing my face, for example; he patiently waits until I am done.

2. He takes care of me. When I need a break or need rest when I am ill, he will part waters to come to my aid.

3. He never complains about my hatred for ironing. In fact, he will iron himself before mentioning that he needs a shirt ironed.
This of course goes for other things as well.

4. He is the most amazing father. He is an example to me of how our Father is to us. He tucks the kids in, reads them stories, prays with them, plays games with them, has meaningful discussions with them, laughs with them, and many more things---it is impossible to list them all.

5. He is incredibly smart and is humble about it.

6. He loves me.

7. He loves books and many other things I love.

8. He always thanks me for everything I do for him.

9. He has a great sense of humor and is exceptionally jovial in crowds.

10. He is smashing in a suit and is entirely handsome.

There really is more, but I don't want to keep going forever. Blogger would break down and then it would be the ruin for everyone.

p.s.---I hate Valentine's Day, but thought this would be perfect for it. :)

Unknown

I got this from Susie and I won't gripe. Here are ten things you may not know about me because I am too tired to think of writing material:

1. I lost thirty pounds in one month after the birth of my Oldest by walking to and from work every day, rain, snow, sleet, or shine.

2. I sang in Carnegie Hall. The Beatles sang there too---which is unrelated, but cool.

3. I ate sushi one time and it tasted like aspirin.

4. I had a thyroglossal duct cyst in my neck (obviously), which turned out to be a part of my thyroid, but for some reason when I had the thing removed, my thyroid function remained normal. Who knew.

5. I went to a baseball game for the second time (in my life) and wondered what everyone was doing when they were getting up for the "seventh innng stretch"?

6. I have never run a race or a marathon and don't plan to.

7. I had a big huge fat grey worm crawl up my leg in the middle of the night when Dear Sir used to work nights. I remember it was pitch dark in the room and I grabbed it with my fingers and held it up to see what it was. I kept squishing it and saying in my head (half-asleep), "what IS this?!" I decided to chuck it in the bathroom and run over and turn the light on to see what it was. A HUGE worm. I flushed the thing down the toilet (after protecting my hands with toilet paper---I had already touched it with my bare hands, but you know, knowledge is power) and tore the bed apart to search for more. There were none but it took me forever to fall asleep again.

8. I suffer from severe eczema and I have the ugliest hands on this here earth. My feet are a close second. Unlike Susie who boasts of beautiful feet.

9. I have the power to draw vast amounts of blood from my mouth and frighten people with it. I have since discovered that it is against God's law for me to do this when I read Leviticus. Ooops.

10. I am double-jointed, can raise one eyebrow, but can not whistle to save my life. Dear Sir says I am pathetic, which I am. I will not argue there.

I'm Every Woman

Dear Sir and I went to get our taxes done. Hopefully that is the last time we are going to set ourselves back four hundred bucks. I know, Turbotax and all that. We just had complicated stuff this year, allright? Give it a rest.

So, we had the appointment at ten and the neighbor came and held down the fort a little early so I suggested that Dear Sir stop at Dunkin Donuts for fun. I have never been to one (nor have I been to a Krispy Kreme) so I was a little excited. Well, not really. I don't get excited about anything. I just wanted a donut because I have them about once a year. We walk in the place and there is a guy taking the orders and handing out the goods. There is also a woman manning the register. I told the guy my order two times because he didn't get it the first time (we were only ordering two donuts and a milk). Finally the lady rings me up, I hand her my card, and she just swipes it through. The guy breathes down her neck and says really softly, "Umm.." and she looks over at him, like she knew what he was going to say. She says, "That's allright. I know FACES, and they in here all the time!" She looks at me and chuckles as I take my receipt.

Yep, we go into Dunkin Donuts ALL the time. I had never stepped foot in one before in my life. Neither has Dear Sir, for that matter. I just smiled at the lady and walked out. Dear Sir had a good laugh.

Maybe Dear Sir goes in there with another lady that looks a lot like me---there's a thought. But when would he have time? Hmm..never. Maybe I drive there in my sleep and get donuts early in the morning. No---maybe "I'm every woman." I am the typical caucasian woman? Lots of people do tell me that I look like someone they know...Hmm...

Beats me. I got her out of a bind, is what I did. Swiped that card too fast.

Build My Coffin

Everyone feel sorry for me. I have been breaking up fights all day. Does it wear any of you out who have more than one kid? It wears me down to where I feel like I have been embalmed. I know I am complaining. I suppose that I could be grateful that my children can speak? Eraser Eater is the whiny one, the daughter cries at the drop of a hat, and the Oldest flares out in anger over everything. The most common thing I say (I have found) is: "I am done." I even say it to Dear Sir at times. It does not end with children. Dear Sir usually says to me in response, "You always say that, but then you still keep going."

Keep going.

For fun, I will post the most recent search words that made my blog a hit:

1. green cathedral
2. "went to the store wearing"
3. "black stuff* throat"
4. walter wick fan
5. "had to hold it" pee in traffic

I don't have many. During Christmas I think I was one of the main hits for Manheim Steamroller. Amazing. I hate them.

The kids are outside playing in the snow and keep coming in over and over crying over their frigid hands. CRYING. They keep grabbing the snow like it won't happen again.

I am weak and I need major calories.

I actually made granola bars today and a pie. And just for Leslee, I will paint the house again this weekend. I have to do it for "little ol'" her.

Gotta go break up another fight----

Me, Myself, and I

I just feel really grateful this morning. It totally helped to read Jennifer's post. It is amazing how faithful God is to us as we struggle. I am reminded more and more that His promise to us is sure, His love true. It is hard for us as people corrupted to see beyond our sin-sick hearts. We think of God in a way that WE would be if we were God. That is what makes redemption so incredible. It is beyond who we are, unlike anything we could fully be. And if we were perfect, we would not need Jesus. Our imperfection, our state of sin, is the very thing that can either keep us completely away from Him, or keep us safely tucked away with Him.

I realize that this is probably no-brainer material. But to be honest, I forget all the time. I get busy with life and my own little idols and do not recall. It is in my nature. That is why Jesus tells us to "love your neighbor as yourself." I already love myself. It is a given. I am asked to reach out beyond myself to love others. The idea is for every Christian to get their minds OFF themselves. Our complete preoccupation is hopelessly ourselves. Self-loathing is indeed self-love. Oprah teaches us the opposite though. ---Love yourself and then you will be fit to love others. A lie.

And how did I get to that? My point is, WE are our own little idols. WE keep ourselves away from God. WE do not deny ourselves. When we get our minds off ourselves, we find that we are in a better place. I am my own worst enemy.

Visiting the Workforce

Mr. President will be at Dear Sir's work tomorrow. I told him to tell him "hi" for me. He doubts he will see him though. Bush has been a traffic issue for our family two times now. I hope he isn't again tomorrow. First we got in a jam going past Dulles Airport (why was he not on Marine Corps One?---or whatever it is called) and then the next time we got stuck by the Pentagon on our way to the National Gallery of Art. On the way back there he was in the parking lot of the Pentagon saying some speech. He was up on a huge screen and people were everywhere. We see him a lot around here.

In that picture is Dirk Kempthorne---the Senator for Susie's neck of the woods. I don't miss that guy for some reason. Don't like his hair among other things.

I ran like a mad woman today to see if I could do it and I ran ten miles! My feet hurt, but that is it so far. I have not done that in about a year.

Among other news, Chess Club is tonight and my house is a disaster. I also painted all day yesterday. I went nuts and even painted a closet. I have lots of painting to do because people are going to come and visit me in the spring and my house has to be finished as far as paint goes. I can stand it no longer.

And I didn't watch the SuperBowl so there. I don't even know who was playing. I heard Colts but that is all I know. I made Dear Sir and the boys popcorn and then went to bed. Painting makes you tired.

I remembered just now---the Bears?

After I ran, I promised my daughter that I would play Memory with her. I lost miserably, so she gave me a few matches to make us even. I gave them back because I refused to be a bad sport.

And now I must make dinner, which I have no idea what that will be.

Have a good evening.

Kazoo Madness

The kids have been playing "band" lately. You know, Eraser Eater has the "Helmet Breakers" and the Oldest has the "Speeding Tickets". My daughter participates in this stuff too; she bangs on a pot or something in their room as they have a "jam" of sorts.

For some reason one of them has been asking me if kazoos were available because they thought it would give them the quality of sound like no other. And they are cheap, accessible. So, being the dope that I can tend to be, I took them to a party supply store (that happens to be near the grocery store I go to) and bought a pack of cheap kazoos. Big mistake. I mean, my friend, when I told her this story said, "Did you not know as you had the stupid things in hand, that you were about to make the conscious choice to get annoyed and lose your mind?!"

Yes, I did know what I was doing. I figured that they would continue the band thing upstairs, room door closed, with just a little more added pep because of the kazoos. Nothing more. I did not dream of the Oldest kazooing it out during Latin chants at school (he would just pull one from some pocket on his clothing and go to town), or the Oldest running by people and yelping a kazoo blast in someone's ear. That always puts me in such a good mood in the morning. But for the most part, I knew I was in trouble when, on the way home in the car, all three of them pulled out their kazoos and kazooed "The Imperial March" at the top of their vocal capacity. I sat at that red light, closed my eyes, and said to myself, "I deserve this."

*note for those who are Star Wars illiterate--the "Imperial March" is the song that Darth Vader always comes out to.