I Wasn't Prepared For This

I think I'm sick of hearing myself, or maybe even seeing myself complain in my head. I think there are levels of contentment. I've felt the keenest level before and little did I know that stepping off that platform would create a deep plunge into grief and ridiculousness. Now that those two things are here, I look at myself and think, "what now?!" 

Ever since July of 2010, I've been at this heightened level of feeling behind. And I mean behind in everything: housework, emotions, school stuff, events, dinner. I said to my pastor a couple of years ago that I felt like I was a Flinstone with someone else moving the rock car and my feet were just dragging along with it, bleeding and dirty. I lost my sister, then I lost my mother-in-law, and then I just went through this season of time speckled with joys, heights, and lows of grief. I don't even know if I feel "poor me" at all. I feel more like, "I am never prepared. Life keeps going and I can't get to the finish. Is there even a finish?" And I get it. Friends around me are suffering things that I can't even place myself in. Some of them are completely gone, like they are erased forever. Some are barely hanging on, and I mean barely. 

The main thing I want to do: hide. I don't know why. I'm not ashamed of anything, I just want to be alone for a bit. I'm antsy, bored. And it's stupid. 

The recent loss I've had is my last church. Political ridiculousness I would prefer not to get into, but it has been painful. I left a great position as a lead musician, and I had created in God's work, a very fine tuned machine. But things I could not control and a heavy conscience weighed on me in the end, and when my pastor ended up taking another job out of state (which was completely unrelated), it was like being abandoned. Because my pastor left, I knew I had to leave, because the political stuff getting ironed out was not going to happen because he was the only one willing to do something about it. So yes, I have felt and still feel anger towards him. I especially feel that when I feel the isolation so acutely on Facebook. Not just from him, but from nearly every person I'm "friends" with from my former church. When they used to "like" things and comment (which is just a stupid thing to ever obsess about), very few now do. The contrast is so staggering that I feel like I somehow must have gone to the darkside without knowing it. I went to a baby shower a few weekends ago for a friend from my former music team, and my 13 year old daughter went with me. She said before we walked in, "Are you at all going to feel awkward?" I looked at her surprised and said, "No. Why whould I?" She said, "Because you don't go to their church anymore." I said, "These are my friends. Why would they treat me any differently? They know why I left and it had nothing to do with them. I don't feel awkward at all." 

Boy was that naive. Not only did very few engage with me, it was so awkward and uncomfortable that I left early. My daughter was right. 

I'm sure my former church feels the loss of me. I don't delight in it. I know I did a lot for them and frankly, they did a lot for me. Musically, it was the best thing I have ever put my heart into. And I am sure they don't know how to act, or what's appropriate, for example. I left because no one else was outraged enough. Complacency is an enemy. And I get it. No one wants to think about things they can't really change. They just want to live their lives and do what they do. Except I perhaps made them feel bad for it because my leaving meant that they in their complacency were doing nothing. So I guess that is why they don't "like" my post about my son graduating high school, or the happy celebration of my wedding anniversary. It is no matter that I told everyone it was nothing against THEM. I'm sure it's the hollow after the leaving that makes it harder to accept. Or perhaps it is what my husband says, that when you go, no one misses you. Out of sight, out of mind. 

And...they had two major people in leadership leave within two weeks. When meeting my pastor, I told him, "I have to leave the next week...I can't...I can't possibly be there for longer." I cried. There was a looming EMPTY waiting on the other end of the several weeks I thought about staying. This decision had been abandoned and set aside for well over a year. But what was I to them, really? I formed a great team. I made the music happen. What they never had to think about they suddenly had to start thinking about. I guess it's like when you break your right hand, you notice how much you really use it and need it, so you are forced to use your left hand, which is a little weaker and not quite the same. I think that's all I really was to any of them. The right hand, or the right foot, whatever. My family was essentially ignored. Several people never knew what my kids' names were. And we weren't a large church. My husband was treated terribly in the end. Well, in the end, he left with the kids because it was uncomfortable. Imagine the stress of that on my family. Everyone, I guess, wanted to believe that we left because my kids did not have a youth group. That's a nice cover story, but it is not the truth. No youth group certainly helped. 

So I am floating around doing interim work, filling in musical gaps for churches that are exactly in the position I left my last church in. And I feel exactly like that: floating. I don't know if it is in a good sense, really. I've never done it before. I'm tasting the reality of what is modern church: at least ten years behind musically (or 20!) and singing songs that are on the top songs list on CCLI. In many ways more than one it has humbled me. For some reason congregations actually sing these songs. And they sing them loud! I've been on one side of the spectrum where we sing these top 40 songs and play them so well it will knock you out and no one sings, to only singing hymns and modern retuned ones and everyone sings, to this weird middle ground (I'm not saying it is necessarily good...I'm not sure) where people sing this mix and it is not as well done. 

Floating only for five months has left me wishing to land somewhere already, but then again, I don't know if I even have the strength to land just yet. Floating means that I can shy away from commitment and exist very hands-off. I can just ride along and no one expects that much of me. I can appear, sing somewhere, and before any one knows it, I can be gone and people would just think after a few weeks of my absence "I wonder where that girl went." I want to minister to people. And God has me floating and ministering in little chunks, and maybe that is ok. It would be nice to be in charge. When I do what God has gifted me to do in the leadership He created in me, it works out well. It sounds good. When I'm not in charge, it's easy, but it doesn't sound as good. Maybe that sounds narcissistic! Oh well. To be fair, I'm not at all a natural born leader, and had to learn that I am good at it through God's strength. This is just my experience. 

And today I'm bemoaning my lost "time off" and such. Summer is here and I should be drinking cocktails by the pool and reading all my favorite books. This is not the case. All of my teenagers have plans and things they do and I am, what it seems like to me in my sinfulness, the slave who does everyone's bidding. And my mind is full of fears about whether or not I have done well by my kids, or will do well. When I used to stay awake at night fretting about a kid couging, now I fret about whether or not they have done their homework or had enough driving hours for their license. After I get over one hurdle, there is always, and I mean always, another one. When I have two seconds to worry about the new wrinkle on my face, I have another two staring me down wanting my time. Which brings me back to feeling behind. I think I'm behind because I am not prepared. 

Transition

I've read some of the past posts on here amazed at the changes in my family life. The Oldest is no longer afraid of flying insects, Eraser Eater no longer eats erasers (but does eat napkins on occasion), and the Girl no longer finds things as well as she used to. Her room is the typical pre-teen tornado that all we girls had at her age.

I find that I have to wake up the two boys more than they have to wake me up anymore. Eraser Eater, who is now 13, sleeps far into the morning, often just before lunch on the weekends. The Oldest somehow wakes up when he smells breakfast in his dreams but blames it on the impending doom he feels on feeling he has slept the day away.

This transition is strange. Since I am on the young side for having kids my kids' age, I find that I am overlooked quite often by most. They forget that I have kids. Heck, they read so much I forget I have kids. I can take naps, I can make stuff, I can run to the store. I can even make the Oldest go to Costco with me and deal with all the heavy lifting. Mind, I still have to suffer through all the complaining. Well, it is funny, but if the young man has plenty of samples, he won't complain. So we do these things on Fridays. Fridays provide plenty of sampling.

But they argue. Arguing is the spice in my life. But not a good spice. More like chile powder dumped on my chocolate cake or chocolate frosting spread all over my roasted chicken. Duct tape only gets you so far. They rip it off and keep arguing. You can preach Jesus to them and put up posters about love, but they keep arguing. I ask the Oldest things like,
"Do you want people to like you?"

And he responds with, "I don't really think much about people."

And when they are almost sixteen you can do absolutely NOTHING that really hurts that much. Nothing. It's painful for a mom who seeks revenge. You know, when you are really frustrated in the moment and you want to get at them where it counts, where it hurts, so they learn their lesson and all you can come up with is: "That's it! Say goodbye to your gameboy!"

"It's a DS. But again, mom? Really? You took that away yesterday. You can't take it away again."

You see, when you have a handful of homeschooled, Christian nerds, there is not much to draw from in the discipline department. Since we barely watch TV, go outside, engage in social settings and we are entirely completely sheltered, what can I possibly take away? Now honey, hand me that robot you have been working on.

I have had to get creative. "You have that much energy to argue continually with your sister, you have that much energy to run on the treadmill for a few miles. Go get your shoes on and drink 32 ounces of water."

That's all I've got, people. And you know what the funny thing is? People ask, "Now does he do it?"

Yes, he does. Why? I don't know. The fear of the Lord? The fear of an extra writing assignment? Beats me.

Nothing of Substance

So I have nothing of any substance to say. It is funny how when you are happy you learn to be quiet. When misery strikes, you find you are making pains to find the humor in all the misfortune. Well, in anything, really. At least that's how I do things.

So happiness means I shut my mouth. And usually it means I stop writing. As I get older I find it harder to create complicated sentences. Well, it is hard to speak in English, actually. I can't keep my children's names straight, I can't tell them what cupboard the pasta can be found in. I can't think of the word 'cupboard.' It's very sad when you think about it. I usually just sort of point in the object-to-be found's general direction and moan some half word that I hope at least one of my kids understand. Usually the girl gets it OK. The boys are hopeless. It's actually very irritating. When I can't think of 'cupboard' and I am lingering on an unintelligible half-sentence by saying, "the..the...the...uh..uh.." they INSIST I remember what it is and tell them clearly. And there is a point when my own forgetfulness is so embarrassing that I decide in my mind that digging for the word 'cupboard' is quite useless, I'd like to stop now and so I tell the boys this. It is really of no use. What I end up having to do is what I wanted to avoid in the first place: get the stupid pasta out of the wooden rectangular hole in the wall where I keep food, myself.

So where have I been lately? I have been in various places actively trying to keep the mouth closed. I have a two-fold reason: I say stupid things and the stupid things I say don't come out intelligibly. But this way----THIS way, I can still say stupid things without opening my mouth once.

As One Wise Family Says, Temporary is the New Permanent

We are finally in the new place. There are boxes everywhere and most of it finished, just cabinets to fill and odds and ends to find a place for. It is so lovely here, I can not express it enough. The sad thing about it though is that we are without my sister in law and her family (whose house we are living in), and have to survive holidays for two years without them! There is this wonderful familiarity with the house like it is my second home, but there is also a lingering sadness that they are not here in the States. The Prof. is brimming over with glee at the ease of driving only ten minutes to work and working one day a week at home. The savings on gas alone is mind boggling.

When it rains, it pours, I tell you. Not only has my sister died in the last month, but I have moved, done little for my classes that I am teaching in now less than two weeks (scream), and our car is (again) the bane of our existence. A couple months ago we just dropped 1400 on it in some odd repair. Before that insurance covered the deer hitting it, and now we have more maintenance repairs, tires, and whatever giving us a grand total of, oh, I don't know, 1600 bucks. That is ADDED to the 1400, mind you. AND, if we don't get it repaired, it will not pass inspection next month. The joys of American living.

Did I mention that my kids are sick too? Yes, they have been using the nebulizer and going strong with a cough for well over a week now. While I was sitting among boxes setting up utilities, I was getting calls from the coroner and the apartment manager where my sister died, speckled with moans and coughs in the background reminding me to dispense medicine when I finished up.

As soon as August hits I start to hear all this back to school stuff, and I refuse this year to feel guilty that I don't start school up until the first week of September. In fact, I may not start until the third week. My kids are smart, read all the time, and we have had no summer. The excellent thing I really look forward to is that my sister in law is coming the first week for a handful of days, and we get to have them stay with us.

As we were driving yesterday to our permanently temporary new home, the Prof. said, "There are so many people in the world." I was just looking out the window at the sea of houses and thought the same thing. I said, "Hey, I was just thinking that." He grabbed my hand and squeezed it, smiling.

"Of course you both think the same things!" yelled Eraser-Eater, "the Bible says that you are one body!"

Sleep

I am finding that summer is not what I imagined it would be. I planned to record a couple days a week and that is not getting done. I planned to read more and that is not getting done. What I am getting done is clearing the house up so we can sell it because we are moving about an hour north, closer to the Professor's work, which will be great. I am not complaining. It is just funny how things don't turn out to be what you thought they would. In a strange way, I sort of love that about life. You could have severely dull moments, but in reality it is never truly dull. I can see why contentment in all circumstances is essential to living the good life.

My sister-in-law has taken the kids for a couple of days (minus the Oldest). Boy is it strange. My Oldest is 14 and playing the part well. The Prof. and I waited and waited yesterday morning all morning to see if he would get up. We didn't talk about it at all, but just went about our morning packing and such, until 11:30 hit and I started to wonder: "Is he dead?" Being quite melancholy, my mind goes in those directions in a split second.

Eventually he got up at 1:00. I lost my mind temporarily and ironed for an hour because I had clothes I hadn't worn in a year because of my laziness.

Sorry for the boring post. It is almost nine and he is still going strong. I have to get me on the treadmill before I give up.

New Song

Those of you that have not heard this song already, tell me what it is about as a sort of game.

This kind of stuff is what has been sucking up my time and keeping me away from blogging and soap-making! Now, off to make soap!

At some point I will write something on here. Not that anyone is reading it! Ha ha.

Psalm 84 Live

Feeling Empty When Life is Still Sweet

This is the time of year when things slow down a bit (at least near the end of the month) and I can take a deep breath and record. Well, I don't anticipate doing that until June, but it takes me a long time to settle into an idea. Seeing as how it is only the beginning of May, I am a little bit premature in my anticipation, but that is ok. School should be done by the beginning of June, Co-op will be finished next week, and a little vacation awaits my family directly after I have a gig in almost three weeks, which I am a little nervous about. No one will probably be there, and it is probably as low key as you could possibly think, but it is the step of doing it, not that actual act itself. I have pushed myself to do this---asked my friend to pray for a fire to light under my rear to get it over and done with. It worked. I sort of blindly called a number and booked myself. Exciting, but I am not incredibly excited about much lately. I am down a lot, surprise, surprise.

You know how you just feel like giving up on all the things you love to do---to sit on the couch and let the TV put your brain on autopilot? I never watch TV. But it sounds good. Reading sounds good too. Just a sort of reality besides the one I have so I can escape for awhile. And not that life is so bad. It really isn't. It is just that spiritually I feel beat up and worn out. Recovery could take a long spell, who knows. I am willing to see it through and roll with the punches. I asked the Professor what he thought of the whole TV idea. He said, "Well, that's classic depression." I guess it is. But I still get up in the morning and run. I still make soap. I still school the kids. I still teach outside home. I still drink all my water for the day. I still get dressed and put make-up on. I even still pick up the guitar about every other day and accompany myself singing. Just inside I have a weariness that does not abate. A sort of spiritual lethargy. Doing the things I love to do are harder to do.

My mother in law is close to leaving this earth. I hear reports of her peaceful countenance and readiness for the next life. I envy that peace, and I envy that wisdom. So I see the importance of doing what you need to do even if you don't take joy in it for a time inside.

Jack the Ripper

Been thinking about this song a lot and also about the famous London murderer. I am presently reading The Lodger on the Professor's reader thingy, and it is very suspenseful and entertaining. I recommend it. It is free to read on Project Guttenberg. This song I sing on this video is a cover of Morrissey. Great, great song. I think when I realized what it was about (I always listened to it as a teen not knowing what it meant) I fell over while running on the treadmill.

It is from the murderer's point of view---when he sees a harlot he wishes to murder and how he deceives her into getting alone with him, which isn't hard as she is indeed a harlot. Of course, if you don't know about Mr. Ripper then you should read up on him. He was famous for killing harlots late at night and sometimes taking body parts like uteruses from his victims. He was never discovered. I wonder how The Lodger ends.

Sunshine and Rain

Here is a picture of the "shine sprite" The Oldest made for me in art class. Crazy little sculpture, but it makes me a bit happier for some reason. He knows that the dark, dank weather affects me so he thought of me when he made it and said when he handed it over, "This is for you, Mom, when the weather is bad, you can at least have a little sunshine in your window to cheer you up." So I have the thing on my kitchen window sill where I store some of my soap balls. He was probably thinking of himself too though when he thought of making it for me. I get very down when it is cloudy and rainy (which used to be my favorite weather). He has to deal with a not too happy mother every so often.

Speaking of the rainy weather, I remember back in the archives of my brain one of the times I first met The Professor. When he was only my acquaintance, he used to come over to my parents house as they had a sort of "marriage class" home group sort of thing. He was the only single guy who came as he wanted to learn about how to be a good husband as his goal was to marry eventually. I rarely stayed during those meetings, but since it was raining cats and dogs, I remained indoors while everyone piled in the house one by one.

I don't know what I was thinking. It was indeed true that I loved the rainy weather, but I must have had a confidence with men then that I forget about in my older years now. When The Professor walked through the door, all rainy and in a bright yellow raincoat, I couldn't help but look up at him. One of the elders had opened the door, welcoming him in, saying, "It's terrible weather out there, eh?" The Professor put his hood down and said jovially, "Oh, I LOVE the rain! I wish it would rain more!"

At that moment he looked over at me slightly as I was sitting at a table facing the door and I was shocked. I had never met a person who loved the rain like me. In complete confidence (I only imagine), I said, "You are DEFINITELY scoring some points."

What he took that to mean, I am still not sure, but he turned a little pink and laughed as he took his coat off.

Isolating X

I think I have lost my ability to write at all. I took off about 8 months on this thing and left it for dead, but decided, why not? Who knows if I want to keep it up regular like I used to.

My brain is entertained elsewhere these days. Mainly it wants to stay indoors and never leave the house, but of course I find that I am taking a kid to soccer a few times a week, running errands, meeting friends for coffee, and teaching at the co-op.

I just survived a very terrible experience worship leading at a local church (I wasn't terrible, the people were a mixed bag). I spent a good year doing that but it was not wasted. In fact, I was still writing on here when I was leading. Well, that's over. The present worship team did not appreciate my efforts much because I was not rock n roll, so here I am. It took me a bit to be fine with it. It feels rather not good when people do not like or accept you. But when you are rock n roll, you are rock n roll.

I am in the throes of teaching my Oldest Algebra. When anyone asks me what I am doing these days, I just say, "Isolating X." They look at me puzzled but if the person is a wise homeschool mom she knows immediately what I mean and chuckles. This, I believe, is why my brain is fried. I literally broke down and cried last week when I couldn't figure out a problem (when I usually can). My son looked at me in horror as if to say, "what is this wetness falling from your cheeks onto my math book?" His lack of "Here, let me solve the problem, dear mother!" or "How can I make this better?!" made me so angry that I didn't know whether to ravenously eat the math book with my retainer on and upturn the coffee table when finished or just calmly sit there and cry a bit more. You know when you are so mad you just look around a bit saying in your head, "what can I do? What can I do?" seeking something to possibly destroy. It is desperation and I don't ever want to feel that again.

But we got through it, you know? And eventually I looked at the problem again and realized that I was looking at it wrong and solved it in a jiffy, which, turned out that the boy could solve it in a jiffy too and the world was right again. I didn't have to eat the math book, I didn't ruin my retainer, I didn't upturn the coffee table in my wrath.

But this has been a year. Next year will be my favorite, I am quite certain: the Oldest enters high school. I will be homeschooling ten years when this one is over and I am not sure I like it. Some of you Anons that hate me in the world like to come on here and comment on how ungrateful and melancholy I am. You are exactly the reason why I exist. While I jokingly complain, you are probably on your angel-bordered template blog talking about tea and pretty little laces and bears and whatnot. Let's not forget your house is full of knick knacks and your closet is full of Christmas sweaters. If only I had a thimble collection I would feel less melancholy. If only. Try isolating X for days on end with an Expo pen until your fingers bleed. So I am exaggerating. But you are not. You are over there with your pink sweat shirt sipping some earl grey as I type.

Psalm 84

Here is a new song I have been working on since yesterday.

Listen

I put up a couple of song sketches on my music site. One is called "Recall Unto Me" and it is about how in this life we need God to remind us of pretty much everything.

The next song is called "Side" and it is about death. Those that know me would know exactly what it is about and it was good for me to write it.

It is just me and the guitar and I only did one take----so it is not the best recording, but fun nonetheless.

Enjoy!

Porch

I just went ahead and turned the water on in the crawl space minus the bug bomb. I had the job of cleaning the moss off the house and in order to do that I needed water! Because I am so good at planning things, I decided to just bite the bullet and go down there to twist the two cobwebbed knobs. I inhaled a lot of bug spray. I am shocked at how much the human body can tolerate. I was hacking and wondering if I had to call the poison control center once I crawled outside, but soon enough fresh air seemed to help and I was righted again.

I also painted the porch this past week, which was a sort of disaster. I painted the floor of it dark blue (like the shutters on our house) and it looks all great and everything, except I should have left a sign for kids to enter through the back. Or "wet paint" or something. A kid came up the porch and pulled the paint up in the print of his foot in several areas, and then somehow he touched the paint and christened my storm door with his finger prints.

I was livid. All I can say is that the kid ran away and his older brother was banned from my property until I could re-paint that madness.

Eraser Eater promptly made a sign for me and stuck it outside. He put "DANGER!" in large capital letters.

To be honest, the porch was depressing me. It looked horrible. And we were having people over for the Girl's eighth birthday party. I painted it days before the event, but because of all the thunderstorms and high humidity, it took a century to dry. I thought since the day before the party was completely sunny, I could do little touch ups in the walk way. I'm an idiot.

The next morning it was fabulously wet so in my Sunday best, I took one of my good rags (I can't think clearly in the morning, you know that) and wiped it all up. But I was barefoot and I got paint all over the bottom of my feet. It covered the bottom of my feet, actually. And I forgot about it. I just put on my heels and went, wondering later why it was a bit hard to take them off.

After the party was over (it was after church) the Prof. and I sat down with our glasses of pop and talked. He was on the couch opposite me. I kicked my feet up on the coffee table. Immobile, he stole a glance at my (I am sure) dark colored blue feet bottoms. But he thought he was being slick and looked at me like it was nothing but I intercepted. "I know what you're thinking," I said,"I stepped on the wet porch this morning...."

"Um, yeah, I was about to say..."

I don't know how many times in my marriage I will feel like Lucy Ricardo, wincing.

Of Late

I have very little to write about. I mean, I could write about nothing and then I could write about everything.

The Professor is supposed to bomb the crawl space to kill the bugs before I enter in, but that has not happened yet. The cars need to get washed and we need the water turned on. These robins keep perching on the rear view mirrors and pooping on the side of the car. It is pretty gross looking---long streams of white and black poop. The man keeps saying that if he had a gun he would "shoot that thing."

But other than that not too much is going on. Our mailbox that got annihilated a couple years ago has still never gotten fixed by the culprits, our grill has taken to catching on fire (apparently there was a recall we had no clue about) and only works half way, and the Prof. and I killed another pot of herbs I tried to buy again. We set them by the window and watered them but they still biffed it. When I found that there was still a little life yet in each plant, I put it outside once it got warm and what do you know, the next day, the whole pot was upturned.

"Guess I'm not supposed to have herbs," I mumbled to the Prof.

I made an amazing Oreo pie yesterday. I worked hard on it. I imagined exactly what I wanted. An oreo crust, a chocolate ganache layer, Oreo infused ice cream, another thin layer of ganache, and then more ice cream. I drizzled it with chocolate. As we ate it with our guests I heartily complimented myself after I took a bite. "This is awesome!" I yelped. I guess it is not proper to compliment your own pie, but it was the first time I had ever tried it. And I thought it up in Costco. The Prof. looked at me in surprise (I suppose he could not imagine his own mother hollering her own praise) and kept eating. Everyone else ignored me and kept eating---and no one talked about how incredibly wicked it was because I had already crowned myself queen.

But Eraser Eater, who was with me when I was audibly imagining my pie at Costco, said as he was chomping on a piece, "Gee Mom, is this the pie you were envisioning at Costco? It is AWESOME! Thanks! You're the best! You were right, it really WOULD be good!"

I give up on adults who insist on propriety.

Me and the Oldest

I've been hacking a lot due to the pollen here. I had a word of wisdom from my dear friend Laura about allergies/moving to new areas/honeymoon periods, etc and this spring has been an asthmatic mess. Breathing is an issue. The Oldest has been hacking up a lung too (we call it our TB). He asked me stupidly this spring if he had tuberculosis.

The Prof. and I looked at each other. Of course, the man always jumps at the chance to kid the poor gullible wretch. "Yes. You have it. And you are going to die soon."

The crew and I took a field trip to a local estate with huge grounds to hike and whatnot, and the Oldest and I both were hacking up a lung the whole time. He has been pocketing his inhaler and sometimes I bum it off him when I need to breathe.

"Hey, my mucus, it tastes metal-lick." He coughed again and swallowed it.

"You CAN'T DO THAT! Look. You swallow the junk and then it slides down into your throat again and all you can do is just hack it up---again. It's gross. It's like you're eating your snot. And the word is metallic, dude."

"Oh. But it tastes metal-lick, I mean, metal---how do you say it? It tastes like metal---like blood. Do you think I am coughing up blood? I have to have tumercolasis. This isn't good. Here--" {violent coughing spasm}"...mook," he stuck out his tongue.

"No blood, pal. Just snot. Now don't swallow it."

"But I have been doing that the whole time! I wish I would have known that sooner!"

"Well now you know." I handed him the inhaler, he coughed into his elbow pit and then ran off into the bamboo.

Eventually we reached a place where there was a huge hedge and on the other side of the huge hedge there was a building. The problem with this hedge was that it was some sort of flowering one and there was no way to get around it to the other side except to go through it. I forget the woes of spring and summer just about every year until it hits me for the very first time again. The Oldest did not want to walk through. The reason being: huge bumble bees soaring around the towering hedge and all over in a sort of canopy. He stood at the foot of it.

"I can't do it," he whimpered, "it is not possible. I am going to die, we are never going to get out of here, and there is no way out!" He was steadily backing away and petrified.

I immediately donned my spring/summer coping skills with freshness. My mind was clear even though I was hungry. But I was hungry. We were with friends. The pressure increases for good ideas to get out of the next panic mess. My ulterior motive: to get to food. The only way to get to food was to get through that bee infested canopy. The bee infested canopy was between me and fainting.

He started to cry. Yes, I do admit, my eyes began to roll. I just don't have time for this madness. "I just can't do it...." he was saying over and over in a soft shrill whisper, hands to mouth, eyes wide behind his glasses, looking to and fro from one side of the bee infested canopy to the other. I quickly imagined myself with a huge roll of duct tape. Really, I did. I ripped off a piece and blinded his eyes and then I suddenly got a great idea.

"Close your eyes," I said. I pulled out a stick of gum from my purse.

"What? Gum? Close my eyes? Are you nuts?" he wailed faintly, Mickey Mouse fashion.

"Please just close your eyes. Then when you are done closing your eyes, you can have this gum. But you have to keep them closed. We are going to walk through that walkway and you are going to hold my hand. But you can't open your eyes. And the bees won't get you because I will guard you. I am best at it. And when we are through walking, you can open your eyes and have the gum. Let's go. No choice."

He very reluctantly obeyed. Half way across, he stopped with his eyes shut tight and said, "I can't do it! They are going to get me!" I jerked his hand slightly and said, "You are half way there, man, and then it's over."

With eyes tight shut, he floated his head around like he could see in all that blackness. He timidly went forward, shaking. When over the threshold of bee-less air, he popped open his eyes, hastily grabbed the gum, threw it in his mouth, chewed it with violent relish and ran like the dickens to the field beyond.

Hast Thou Bedecked Thyself With Humor

I was reclining on the bed reading the torturous Merry Adventures of Robin Hood when Eraser Eater ran toward me to kiss me goodnight.

"Have you brushed your teeth?"

"No."

"Get in there."

He went to the bathroom and got going with the brush. He has one of those firefly toothbrushes that blinks a flashing red light until a whole minute is up. In the dark hall where he was peeking his head out to spy on me from time to time, he looked a bit strange----all dim yet glowing red about the mouth.

The Oldest was sitting in a chair, talking to me as this was going on. When I pointed out how "trippy" Eraser Eater looked, the Oldest decided he had his own bit to say (as usual). "Hey, that does look a bit odd. How bout you send that toothbrush to a lighthouse so they can bring in the ships with it!"

I tell you, he is a bright boy, but so not good at cracking jokes. He was laughing in a hearty, lusty manner at his own jest, sitting there in the chair, slapping his knee. He gets this genuine, actual smile that I love when he does this.

Eraser Eater saw this great deal of mirth and cried out with toothbrush smashed against his cheek, "Why don't you send your brain to science!?" At this, the fountain burst into a flowing stream and my Oldest was almost on the floor laughing his sides off.

"Oh Mom, that boy, oh, that boy, he kills me every time. He always has one up his sleeve!"

"Yeah, so Mom...." He just stood there waiting for a response.

Try reading in this house. It is impossible.

"Yes?"

"I did inform Dad today that you don't really get crackin' until around 7:30. Well, sometimes it is more like eight....."

"Is that so?" I put the book mark in my book and set it down.

"Yeah," he was really grinning now,"in fact, I think you only really start getting going by 9:00, but if I truly thought about it, you are only rolling by noon." At this he was nearly on the floor again. My smile wasn't helping. "In fact, because you can be so lazy, forget paying the bills anymore or even bothering to get out of bed...." he was gasping for air...

"Me? Lazy? You flinch every time I tell you to do the dishes!" He rolled his eyes in playful vengeance.

"Yeah? And you just stand there when I ask if I can play games and say, 'uh, I don't know. Uh, not now.' And then I ask later and you say, 'maybe later' and then I ask later and you say, 'it's time for bed now! why would you want to play games now?' And then what do you know, POW! the whole idea is shot because you delayed it so long!" Now them's fightin' words.

"My plan has worked successfully." I picked my book back up.

"You mean you have been doing this on purpose all along?"

"Perhaps."

"You are craftier than I thought!" he bellowed in complete belief.

Sad Song (Noel Gallagher-Oasis)

I LOVE this song. Noel is amazing. I want a recording of this terribly bad.

New Batch

I made lavender soap the other day and it looks like blueberry. Oh well. It is pretty though! I got a little too heavy on the blue, I think. Argh. It smells great.