Language

Eraser Eater finally got to go to Ikea to spend his gift card last weekend. Yes, he got an Ikea gift card. Is that not wild? He was so thrilled it was ridiculous. Yes, he is ten. He especially likes the modern design of home items. He got a rug to put under his modern chair (that I assembled with half a brain in tact, remember), a shelf to put his things on (the side table he really wanted was discontinued), and a pillow to put on his chair. A modern one. 

During morning prayer the kids and I use the BCP and then say our own petitions in the middle. After that, we go around and thank God for a few things each. Yesterday Eraser Eater said "Ikea."

The kids think it is fun because I always thank God for things like chocolate and Nutella. 

I have been teaching Fahrenheit 451 in my upper level lit class at the co-op. It has been a little bit of an issue since the book has a lot of mild language. I tried my best not to make it too much of an issue though. In class on Monday I went over the fact that people in this world use bad language and we as Christians are called not to do so. I quoted scripture and left it at that. 

The rest of the class went great---until I asked the kids what they thought of the society in the book. My son, the Oldest, raised his hand (yes, he is in my class). 

"I thought it was a hellish nightmare!" he hollered.

You Are As Big As Me

I just have to do something about my lazy kids. I HAVE to. Not only do they argue all day when put together, they intentionally annoy one another. Yesterday at Co-op I was in the quiet church office making copies for my classes. Eraser-Eater comes storming into the quiet room, silently weeping. 

"The Girl told me that I am in love with Avery." 

"So?"

He retreats to the corner of the little cramped room where he sticks his nose in the corner and weeps some more. A muffled "but I don't! And it's not funny! She's making fun of me!" comes out in a blurry wail. 

In comes the culprit. 

"What!?" she says with long eyes. 

"Get in my classroom RIGHT NOW!" I whisper.

Then the Girl wants to push the cart at Costco today and when I refuse to let her and the Oldest chides her about it, she whimpers, "I just don't feel a part of this family!" 

To make myself feel better I mentally grab an economy pack of duct tape, rip it open, and start taping. Hands bound together, feet---maybe just one big tape to the cart. But, the most important detail is the major slab of tape over the mouth. That is a MUST. Oh how stupid I was, I would think. I tried so hard to get them to talk and now all I want is for them to silence themselves. 

I clogged a toilet.  Forget that. They don't admit fault. More like: the toilet's clogged!

I'm really hungry. I know I just ate. I am starving!

You keep sitting in the middle seat! I want ROOM!

They even keep each other in line and then argue about that!

You are supposed to do the dishes! 

You ate all those chips! I thought you said yesterday you were going to watch what you ate!

Your room is a mess! 

Stop sitting in that bathroom forever and a day! You know you are going to clog it!

Quit banging the glasses!

You promised Mom you would time yourself when playing games! That's it...I'm setting the timer!

Mom said TWO HOURS of playing piano, you're playing it whether you like it or not!

Drink all your milk right now!

You are not getting dessert!

The list goes on and on. Then someone wails (usually the one being bossed around) and then I am the one, bound by the wrists, brought to the scene of the crime with my head all a muddle. 

It is the same song and dance every time and it doesn't stop. And it is all because they talk. 

On our way out of Costco this afternoon the kids and I battled our way to the car in the freezing air with frozen yogurts in our hands. I have Raynaud's disease, for those of you that don't know, and when I touch frozen stuff for too long or when I am just plain cold, my digits go numb and it can be painful and very uncomfortable. By the time we reached the car I was spent but I had to get those stupid purchases in the trunk. 

My twelve year old son, avoiding the whipping wind, stuck out his hand to jerk the door handle. 

"Can I get some help?!" I yelped, an icicle hanging from my nose as I was struggling to drop a big box of Costco junk in the trunk.

"Are you crazy? It's freezing outside!" And he opened the car door went inside. 

He of course, had the advantage as I did not want to leave the cart there (a big SUV was waiting for me to leave too) and get in the car and chew the boy out. I was so cold I was starting to burn but I knew I had to finish the whole job so I could get in the car and chase him down.

First, I got in the car and rubbed my hands together as I winced and almost cried, head down on the steering wheel for a few moments.

"I am starting to wish I helped you," he began.

I put on my gloves. (It would have helped if they had been on before, what a dork I am)

My beginning sentence started with, "You are as big as me...you are HUGE..........!!!!!"

This is Funny

I have never heard an animal sound like this before! What a riot!

School Last Week

Last week I had one horrendous day with school (the first day) and then it was better after that. Suddenly the Oldest knew how to isolate X and the Girl knew how to stay on task, and Eraser Eater stopped whimpering from the floor. There were a few times I almost wept openly, crying out to the homeschool gods to release me of this painful task, but because I have a pea brain, I forget about my sorrows once I go to the bathroom or get myself a drink of water, and I start all this malarkey up again, like it is brand spankin' new.

Like things could not have gotten worse, Eraser Eater's chair came in the mail. The smallish sort of box was placed in his chubby hands and he hastily ripped the thing open. It was nearly five o'clock in the evening and I was sitting next to the Oldest at the table, helping him isolate X and gingerly pulling out my teeth, one by one, and pelting them at his nose when things got a bit difficult.

"Mom! Can you help me put this chair together?!" yelped Eraser Eater in an over-excited manner. The Girl and the Neighbor Girl were sitting on the floor helping him rip open the box. The whole idea of putting a chair together was a bit too much for me at that moment. You see, when the mind is freshest it can think clearly and work as expected. But as the day goes on and pressure is applied, soon the brain gives way and soon you have soup once you hit exactly five o' clock. I had about two brain cells left to use floating in that boiled mass of liquid thinking material, and I didn't want to use it on putting a chair together. But then the pieces....

The pieces the girls decided to scatter about in their great haste----it seemed that they were scattering all over the walls and hair and everything scatterable. It was a wretched thought. The next thing you know, I have gathered up all my teeth, put them back in their sockets, and high-tailed it to the scattered pieces. Screws and little do-hickeys. Two arm rests. A pad. Various other pieces of chair like material. I grabbed the instructions. They were unreadable, and they didn't even have any words. Pictures of nonsense. Nothing made sense. Pounding the skull does not work, it just rattles the soup.

When the brain is freshest it can take two seconds to figure out how to put four pieces of chair together. It took me probably forty minutes. I read the instructions backwards, sideways, then finally not at all. I studied the pieces. I put it together wrong then I put it together right. Eventually a very smaller-than-I-thought-it-would-be chair emerged before my eyes.

"It's perfect!" squealed Eraser Eater. "It's modern and perfect!" He sat in it. The Girl sat in it. The Neighbor Girl sat in it.

I turned around. No Oldest at the table. "Oldest!" I yelled.

He peeped from around the corner. "I took a little break...."

Ejected soup on the floor.

Doozie Was Almost Right

Putting the smack down is a bit tiring. That is what I have had to do since the Professor went back to work after his two week vacation.

This past year:

Wrinkles have developed on my forehead
a number of things have died or given up years of service including my ghetto oven and my coffee maker
And the rest is a blur.

The Girl was caught last week eating the contents of her nose while I was reading a book to her out loud. I could not believe it. In fact, it made me so angry because I remember the countless times I have struggled to get her to eat something she doesn't like the taste or texture of. Granted, she is not overly picky, but to be semi-picky and then to be PICKY (if you catch my drift) on top of it sent me over the edge.

I made her oatmeal, her meal of non-choice.
"Why did you put a banana in it?" she winced, holding a spoonful of her punishment at bay.
"To make it extra gooey---like a booger!" I hollered.
"Mom!!!"she gasped, surprised at me.
"What?" I said, "you can't eat actual food, but you can eat the taint from your nose---the accumulation of various germs piled on one another over and over...."
"Mom! Please!" she begged, looking helplessly at her spoonful of gooey, booger-like stuff.

It took her two hours to eat it. Aren't I wretched?

And now I must go get tires on my car. Ugh. Perhaps that is my "toll house" of purgatory-like punishment. Perhaps.

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.