Some things I hate

I hate having cramps.

I hate having fat under my ribs.

I hate Citrucel.

I hate shrimp because I hate worms and shrimp are sort of like worms.

I hate it when people talk over other people.

I hate being interrupted.

I hate Kramer on Seinfeld. He is too clumsy and he drives me nuts.

I hate how George always gets girlfriends---it makes no sense.

I hate it when people refer to themselves in the third person---for instance: "Mr. T doesn't like it when people back talk him!"

I hate being hot.

I hate trying to like football. It is frustrating.

I hate Verizon people. They don't ever help.

I hate it when people hate how I use the word hate. They are always sunshiny chipper people. I am not like that.

I hate snapping in my ears.

I hate whines.

I hate when someone is driving slow when I am in a hurry.

I hate Wal*Mart.

I hate barking dogs.

I hate cheesy lyrics.

I hate cheerleaders (no offense, Emily).

I hate (usually) modern novels.

I hate stretch marks (on myself).

I hate hair clots (especially wet and soppy in a drain).

I hate coinage.

I hate the smell of coinage.

I hate fingerprints on cheese, touching cheese, and cheese that is luke warm (sick!).

I hate mushrooms because they look like slugs, have a weird spongey texture and taste like dirt.

I hate chocolate haystacks because I got food poisoning once and I threw them up.

I hate John Denver, James Taylor, John Cougar Mellencamp, the Boss, and others that fit that group (but I am open, if you want me to sing them).

I am starting to really hate fried chicken. I make it too much for Dear Sir. I don't even eat with the family on those nights anymore.

I hate having athlete's foot.

I hate messes.

I hate spilled milk.

I hate jewelry (especially metallic, but usually any adornment is a struggle for me).

I usually hate popcorn.

I hate award shows.

I hate sneezing.

I guess since I just complained so much about what I hate, I will have to write about what I love to balance it out! I am so sure I hate many more things, but my brain is fried and I am sick and tired.

Pharmacy Wench

I just got back from taking my boys to the chess club. It was a good experience for the most part. I met a lady who has a boy with Asperger's and he is afraid of flying insects too! She described the same stories as I had all summer. My mouth could not stop dropping open.

The bad part of the chess thing is that I was steadily getting sick. My daughter has been sick with a cold for the past two days and I thought I was careful with the germs and all that, but you know, here I am getting it. I felt it on the way there but then kept sneezing and the nose started going. Thankfully the chess club meets at a really top notch grocery store (in the restaurant department) and so afterwards I went to the pharmacy to get medicine. I wanted the old Tylenol Cold you could buy that you now have to sign for. I went to the pharmacy counter with a couple of boxes of kleenex and two boys bouncing around beside me. Well, sort of beside me.

I asked the pharmacist for the meds.
"I want the cold medicine that you used to have to sign for or you have to sign for..." I began.

There were two pharmacists working. The man got up immediately to grab whatever it was that I was about to ask for but the woman sort of stopped him and said, "Wait. You still have to sign for it. What are your symptoms?" She sort of asked it lazily like I was a moron.

"You know, a runny nose, I am sure I will be coughing tomorrow---cold symptoms." I thought, "this is cool. She is going to help me. She is willing to help me find the right drug."
Was I wrong.

"Well then take Claritin," she said.

"I take Claritin already," I said.

"Are you congested?" She asked.

"Not yet."

"Then take Claritin."

"So, let me understand. In order to get some Sudafed I have to be congested?"

"Sudafed will not help your symptoms." I thought she was being awfully dumb. I told her that I was STARTING to get a cold; I did not have a full blown cold yet. I was preparing like people prepare for a hurricane or a drought.

At this moment the boys were falling apart and freaking out and I was ready to pull this lady's hair. "You know what? Just forget it." And I walked away.

I went to the stupid aisle and bought some nyquil.

I really hope I don't get so sick like I did last cold, which was not long ago. I don't get it either. I was really taking care of myself. Maybe it was the four slices of pizza and the ice cream cone! Ha ha.

Well, good night. I am going to call it a day.

Update

Nothing much is going on the past day or two. That is a good thing---Dear Sir always says that no news is good news.

Tonight I am going to meet some homeschool group for a Chess club. The boys are really excited. I am a little nervous because homeschool moms scare me quite a bit. I am not a fan of the whole "homeschooling is my life and I am a homeschool mom!" mentality. It took me literally YEARS of doing it to finally tell people that I homeschool within the first ten minutes of meeting me. I mean, that is not the only thing I am about. Homeschooling is really not what I am about at all. It is just something I happen to do because our family senses the immediate need.

With that said, I have never been a part of a homeschool group ever. Again, it has always intimidated me. I am glad that I have a good five years under my belt of knowing what I do best to stand my ground when a bunch of opinionated women are around me. But I am talking about it like it is a battlefield. It shouldn't be. And it may well not be; I am talking in semi-ignorance.

If you guys have been keeping up with me at all lately, the "stack" still is in its place but knocked down some; I have not removed it. Dear Sir keeps saying that he will clean up the computer desk; I think that will happen when he is on vacation next week. Yes, he is taking vacation to eliminate the masses of lists he has made over the past few months. We all love these kinds of vacations. It works well for us. And, we don't spend money either going somewhere. We have enough stuff to see here anyway. We live in freakin Virginia! One hour from the Smithsonian, so we can't complain or have an excuse to leave for a bit. Which brings me to mention that we will visit the art gallery when Dear Sir is on vacation too.

I am sorry I have not been funny lately. I have been way too serious. I have not lost any kids lately either, so maybe I am growing out of my "Code Yellow" stage (look up Code Yellow on my blog and you will then be informed of what I refer to). I also don't feel so intimidated down here (I don't live in perfect Fairfax anymore), so I can be as hick as I want (if I really wanted to).

Gotta run.

Hints of Middle-Earth

Here is Eraser Eater standing next to the root of a "felled" tree in the Chancellorsville Battlefield yesterday. We all felt a little bit like we were walking in Middle Earth. We tread about a little over two miles of heavenly historical bliss and then went home and ate some hot wings. It was fun though; the leaves are on the brink of turning their myriad colors, and that smell of burning "something" is in the air. What is that? Is it Persephone finally making that journey to the Underworld to be with her husband, Hades?

I have almost had this blog for a year now.

October has to be the coolest month.

On the Fence

You know what I hate? I hate it when I eat something bad for me I fear that I have INSTANTLY gained five pounds. I typically eat very healthy, but last night I had four pieces of pizza and an ice cream cone. Trust me, I felt fine once I ate all that. Just fine. Hours later I was feeling guilty. What the heck? Even if I gained weight I could easily lose it--by now I know what to do since it took me four years to lose my "baby" fat. I actually fear gaining weight a lot. It is part of my motivation in running---I do admit that I just love running itself---but it does help that it is the best way to burn a lot of calories!

I am always tempted to get all Scarlet Letter about it too. I feel like getting on the treadmill and paying for what I just ingested so I will resist the temptation next time. The really sick thing about it is that I look just fine, I am BELOW my "ideal" weight, and I have never looked better in my life (even when I was a teenager).

I seriously need to pull out that French Women Don't Get Fat book again to learn AGAIN how to enjoy food. It is a great source for us American women who eat standing up or stuff a brownie in our mouths as fast as we can to sort of "psyc" ourselves out into thinking we really did not ingest that many calories. We ate it too fast for that! I have never been a woman who has sat down and ate a whole candy bar in one sitting, a whole pint of ice cream, more than one cookie at a time, or anything like that. I guess I am very disciplined! But why can't I just chill out when I actually do let myself splurge?

Dear Sir shakes his head at me and asks me why I can't just enjoy the food God provided and let it go. And it is not like he is all crazy about my being thin and perfect or anything. In fact, thirty pounds ago he was fine with me. I never heard one complaint ever. There is no change in the way he views me, behaves toward me, or thinks of me. It is all my freakish self. I put my scale in the shed, for goodness sake so I would stop weighing myself every day. Trust me, since doing that I feel much better than I did before! I guess it doesn't help when I was raised with an anorexic mother who weighed herself about as often as a Muslim prays toward Mecca and took correctol regularly. My idea of personal beauty is totally tweaked. I know the right stuff, but I have issues. It is a war I fight daily, to be honest. One of the reasons I put the scale in the shed is so my daughter would not catch me weighing myself like I always caught my mother. Kids remember that stuff.

Man, I totally did not mean to get all deep and personal on you, sorry about that. I know we American women suffer from this stupid way of thinking all the time. I am a little extreme--I believe if I let myself go in sin I would have an eating disorder. I almost love food too much for that, but sometimes I straddle that fence. It is good I have Dear Sir to come over and drag me off of it. I am so BLESSED to have him. Thank you God.

Being a Merry Maid

I have cleaned many houses in my past (I used to be a Merry Maid as well as a non merry maid cleaning some people's houses) and you find the weirdest things there. One of my favorite houses to explain to people is when I cleaned a house in downtown Boise and this lady lived in it with her two kids. Her husband and she were separated and she was a literal mess. I mean, you walk through the door and you can't walk. There is so much stuff (mail, bills, clothes, food, feathers, coins, papers, you get me) that you have to WADE through it. Our main objective in going there was to PICK UP. We couldn't even deep clean. The basement was the worst because she let the kids just run hog wild. I can not tell you how many black hamburger type things (another reference to Susie's blog!) full of mold and bugs and nastiness that I encountered. Spoons would be permenantly stuck to plates and bowls--flies floated in cups of juice and milk was so curdled that you were pretty sure they just drank cottage cheese with different colors and whatnots speckled in. Sick. Remember the mess from hurricane Katrina? That's kind of what it looked like minus the building falling down.

One time we had to go in her room to clean and she was passed out on the bed. It was the last room so we quietly told her we had to vacuum and stuff and she said in a lazy stupour, "Just clean around me," and her head fell back and she burrowed herself back in the blankets.

Whenever I am feeling lazy Dear Sir says to me, "You're so lazy, Rach. 'Just clean around me!'"

It is crazy to see the way people live. Sometimes I had no idea why some people had their house cleaned. The worst ones were almost the ones where you had nothing to do. It pretty much stinks when you have to "dust" furniture that has already been dusted probably an hour before you stepped in, or vacuum carpet that clearly already has lines in it from the vacuum going over it perhaps the night before.

Offices have always been a "class" sort of struggle. I mean, if you are cleaning while the office workers are there, they treat you like crap. I remember cleaning some pharmaceutical office and they had a lot of tile floors. This lady refused to move and stood there on the phone glaring at us while we were on our hands and knees moping around her. Yes, she would lift this foot and that foot and we would cover the whole space. Ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing is that the time they gave us to come in and clean was the time we were there.

One house in particular annoyed me because the guy (who was a haughty Professor not from this country) would leave notes on the counter stating our "priorities". Apparently one morning when we got in there someone had broken a ton of glass in the kitchen and never bothered to clean it up themselves. You guessed it, the priority on the list was "broken glass in kitchen."

I could always tell when someone just realized that the maid would be in that morning. You walk in the place and you see everything just strewn around like they don't care for the day---"hey, the maid'll be here and she'll take care of it!" The kitchen was alway a nightmare. Opened up coffee cans just knocked over (like they are in a hurry) and things spilled all over. The maid will get it.

I can go on forever. How about the "man stink house"? When I worked with Merry Maids, we had to be with a team member at all times and never clean a house by ourselves. This team member always knew what house was what and she kept me prepared for any surprises. "This is the man stink house," she would say. Immediately upon entering the house she would have her Febreeze cocked and loaded to shoot anything in her way. You walk in and it just reeks. She is wading through it like we are warding off mustard gas, it is so bad. We first decided to go into the "holy of holies" (aka--the master bedroom) to take the main stink head on. With one hand plugging her nose, and the other squirting Febreeze in all directions, she coached me through the room. I did not get a spray bottle of Febreeze, so I was not so equipped, but I just did what she said to get out of that sickness sooner.

I am sorry, men, but I had never encountered "man stink" before. I never really knew it existed. Dear Sir is a perfect gentleman and smells amazing every day, I don't get it. He sweats perfume, I swear.

Speaking of stinking---I better go stink it up on my treadmill. Today's the day.

Biffing It

So I went to band rehearsal tonight. Everything went fairly well; no major issues. I walked out of there and literally fell on myself (my guitar went PLONK! And I lost a shoe). I actually could not see down the steps even though there was some light and walked into a bush. Real SLICK. I actually walked INSIDE a bush. Haven't done that madness since I was a kid. Reminds me of my mother. She is the type of woman where if there is a pothole, she will find it. You are going to your destination a pied and there you have it, you end up walking by yourself hearing a screech in the background. "Wha?" you think. All that needs to happen is a total turn of the head and you see the woman DOWN, on the ground and saying, "I can't help it, I fell." That's right. It is normal for this person. I mean, winter did not go without a husband taking this woman down the porch steps so she could keep herself from slipping on the DEW.

And think, I said the major thing that to this day I have to accept. I was walking to my car with my bandmate beside me and I said, "I am a lot like my mother. I am clumsy like that. If there is a pothole, she finds it."

He said, "Yeah, I guess so. I will get a better light installed."

He is a great guy, but I don't think it's the light's problem.

Yep, you guessed it. It's all in the genes. Me.

And, to make matters worse, I hit my knee cap with my guitar body somehow today and now it hurts. I was thankful that my guitar was unharmed, but gee, my knee cap hurts. Dear Sir says that I am going to be one of those old ladies that falls down and breaks her hip. Oh yeah. I just remembered. I have already written this to you before. Remember when I fell down the stairs and my arm turned a multitude of colors? Yeah, you remember. This post does not shock you one bit, does it?

It's late. I am tired and my breath stinks. I can smell it from here. I better go up and brush my teeth very quietly. Don't want to wake the old man.

Parental Control

The boys have friends that they play with down the street. Tyler and Colin. They usually go down to their house to play Lord of the Rings, and they play with sticks and run around in the woods. I thought this was all harmless. Dear Sir has been a little leery since we do not know the parents and do not know as well if they are Christians or not. As some may think, we like to have our kids around Christian kids so they are not badly influenced. If anyone remembers being a Christian kid with a bunch on non-Christian kids, they should understand.

Today at school I gave each child a math sheet. The oldest got his and said, "Oh man, I don't know if today is going to be a good day!"

The youngest said, "Yipee!"

And Eraser Eater said, "What the hell?!"

I know, I almost fainted.

We never ever talk like that, even if badly injured. After talking to the oldest (Eraser Eater would not fess up) who tends to be more honest in dire situations, and asking if it was their friends, he said, "Uh, yeah. I mean...we saw it on a tv show on accident---I mean..."
Hmmm...I called Dear Sir at work. Dear Sir demanded to talk to the oldest. He eked it out of him alright. Tyler and Colin. They even say the "sh" word. Wonderful.

I don't mean to make a bunch of Christians mad at me that think that kids should go to public school to evangelize pagan children, but I believe that this situation proves my point. I think Matthew 18:6 applies in this situation:

"But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it is better for him that a heavy millstone be hung around his neck, and that he be drowned in the depth of the sea. "

What I am saying is that children are vulnerable. They can be influenced easily. It is my responsibility to take the bad influences away and fill them with good influences. That scripture says that children can be stumbled. Now I am not sure if Tyler and Colin are raised in a Christian home or not but Tyler and Colin are outta here.

I confess though that I am not all holy. The other day I slammed my pinky against a rod iron chair (probably as hard as humanly possible because I am clumsy) and whispered the "sh" word just like my Grandma used to (who was a very godly woman and very devout, but, literally raised on a farm). I was sweeping the patio when I hurt myself and so Dear Sir said that I could not be trusted with a broom.

My daughter was watching a show just now and I had to turn it because it said, "Kiss on the butt? Of course! I will gladly kiss both cheeks!" What a lovely cartoon!

Drive Box

As I have said before, I really like all my neighbors. They are all very kind and sweet and whatnot. They are all wonderful people. I have been invited to stuff, one has babysat, one has said that I could cry on her shoulder if need be for Asperger's sympathy (she has an Asperger's boy too). They are all just nice, hands down.

The couple right across the street NEVER, however, walk to get their mail. NEVER. I don't think I have ever seen it happen. I don't think they want to walk. Now, I am not sure if it is because the box is across the street next to our mailbox or what, or if it is because they don't like exercise (they are a bit heavy), but they always DRIVE to the mailbox. ALWAYS. They literally back up and everything to get to the box. They go through hoards of trouble to make sure they can easily access the box from the car. They back up, pull forward, go to the side, etc and everything. I say it is much easier to walk. Weird.

Laboro

Every year with the Kindergarten curriculum of phonics that I have for my children it requires me to put heavy cream in a mason jar and shake it vigorously to produce butter. Notice I say that I shake the jar vigorously. Yes, that is what happens with every kid. Every single kid looks forward to this activity, and then every single time they get bored by the first ten minutes and hand me the jar. Why oh why would they put something so silly in a KINDERGARTEN curriculum? I could not imagine teaching twenty students this and shaking twenty jars. It would take all day---well, my arms would fall off, really. After awhile I could feel my brain rattling around in my head.

I burned about a thousand calories, I think.

Today has been a good day so far. The kids finished school (all of it including Latin) at 10:30. I could not believe it. Amazing. Now I can sit around and do nothing the rest of the day. Cool. Latin has been a great experience so far. Last year we used a totally different curriculum and it was horrible. This year we got this ultra new expensive curriculum with a classroom dvd for each lesson and it rocks. The kids know all the chants and how to conjugate, it is awesome. I know it. Eraser Eater had a little bit of a problem today. He is seven and just getting used to it all. My oldest took Latin last year but we really struggled through it. I literally took my summer last year and studied word upon word of Latin so I could have a bit of a head start. I get it now, but can't wait until I can read the original text without problems.

This was the scene today while Eraser Eater was doing his seatwork (mind you, my daughter is five and the one in Kindergarten):

"Intro means----?" I say to Eraser Eater.

"Oh, I can't remember--umm---'to tell'?"

"No," I begin to say.

"Intrari, Intravi, Intratum--I enter, to enter, I entered, entered!" Yells my daughter.

"Right." I say to my daughter, who is under the table listening.

"Oh! I am so dumb!" yelps Eraser Eater.

"Ok. Let's try 'do'." I say. "Remember 'do, dare, dedi---"

"Datum---I give, to give, I gave, given!" Yells my daughter from under the table.

"Oh!!! I am SO DUMB!!!!" Yelps Eraser Eater who then runs full force to the couch, buries his head and sobs.

He was in a funk, huh? He got over it though and remembered it all. It really freaks me out that my daughter knows so much.

The Stack

There is a "stack" of something next to the computer that Dear Sir has left and it has sat there for days. This "stack" makes me sick. It literally makes me ill to look at it and I will not touch it to remove it because it bugs me. It is one of my Room 101's. The first person to guess the answer to this horrid riddle will recieve a complimentary bar of soap (made by my own hand) in the mail. Hopefully (hint, hint) Dear Sir will read this and catch my drift. But the soap in the mail is a definite! This soap is required to purify me of the nastiness of this stack. It is only fitting.

Tolstoy and Breakfast

This is Tolstoy after his disease treatment. He used to be GOLD. My daughter says that on his birthday we should make him a "fish cake".

Sometimes I feel like I run a diner around here. This is what transpired this morning:

"Want some eggs for breakfast?" I ask my son, who is the world's largest egg lover.

"Yeah," he says, "I was hungry last night after dinner still. I'm thinkin' five."

"Five?" I say, aghast. "I don't think so."

"Ok. Four. But I'm real hungry."

"How bout this: three eggs and some toast?" I offer.

"Sounds good, but lay off the toast," he says, shaking his palm at me.

Song

Dear Sir just put up a new song on my music site. Check it out. Let me know what you think.

At the Orchard

This is me at an apple orchard today. Dear Sir took it like a total sneak while I was walking around with the crazy apple picking pole. Apparently it has little prongs at the tip top that pluck at the stem of the apple and then down comes the apple into the little bag. It actually works.

I have a ton of apples, I'll tell you. I am allergic to raw stuff, but I can actually eat apples, grapes and some berries this year, which is almost a miracle. I have not had any issues, so I have allowed Eraser Eater and the girl to eat them too. They have been delighted. I am still pretty certain a banana will kill me. I am not willing to try it out because it could literally mean certain death.
I love bananas. My daughter always dreams of being able to eat one and says, "Dad! When I get to heaven I will be able to eat bananas! Yum! I can't wait!" Some people actually wish for heaven---I would love to sink my teeth into some guacamole or fresh salsa. I would also love to eat a banana too, but you know, I would die. Same for melons and anything else that can be in a raw state.

So, while I was an apple-picking fool, I looked up and Dear Sir said, "Rach, we need to go and follow the kids. Someone's gonna get lost." I looked over and you know, a stupid bug flew in my eye. I actually did not think about it again and it was lost in the abyss of my eye, so it did not hinder any other activities at the orchard. I really forgot about it.

We took the long way home and once we got into the house the bug resurfaced. It just up and irritated my eye like it was just picking up where it left off. I went straight to the powder room (I have one!) to check it out and found about half a bug nestled in the eyeball crack. I got some of it out, but it was hard. There was other junk in there and then some make up and stuff was starting to stream and get all in my eye too. I went and did a few things and felt my eye get hot. I went back to the powder room to check it out and it was beet red, all thick feeling, and oozing a bit. I found more bug and washed my eyes out with water and put some drops in. It took a bit to get better. I am almost half convinced my eye flipped out because the stinking bug was raw.

It is really a weird thing. I mean, I can't touch raw meat without getting immediate itchy rash on my hands. I can't even walk by a tomato plant and let it "accidentally" graze me. I will have a welt. So, does that mean that I can't touch a human? They have raw flesh. Does it mean that I can't touch an open, raw wound? I couldn't eat a raw cicada taco, that's for sure. Sushi is out of the question. I can't even touch raw eggs. I could always cut myself, put my mouth to the wound and find out. No, that is madness. Have you ever read Life of Pi? I mean, in the book this kid has to eat raw fish whenever he could just to survive on this boat all by himself. I would die. I would completely lose my life. I would die a miserable, long death from eating sushi. So my arch enemy would die if he ate cooked food. Is my arch enemy Gollum?

Why am I writing this stupid stuff? Gee whiz. I have weird thoughts when I am left alone.

I am a freak.

The orchard was beautiful though. It was in Charlottesville. It is just gorgeous there. The kids had fun. We were all in our church clothes picking apples with a dear friend we were visiting and it was bliss. I love the smell of apples and apple products. My daughter had her own bag of apples that she produced and she wanted to go to bed with it tonight. She is all into taking everything to bed with her at night. The boys just sort of meandered around and wanted to use the pole/apple catcher thing. We bought apple donuts and apple cider and sat down on a bench overlooking the Blue Ridge mountains and enjoyed ourselves.

Mother and Son

So yes, as I pointed out before, Tolstoy seems to be pulling through. I really don't know how he has done it. His skin is coming off in layers (the medicine sort of sheds the parasite) and so he has black dead skin dangling off of him here and there. It looks kind of gross. His tail is unusually small. My daughter says that he is "molting". She is a little smarty pants.

Gee whiz, I need to make Dear Sir put a new song on my music site. You guys should check it out if you haven't already. It may be the only music I ever produce in this world, so it's going fast.

I took the kids to AWana (at the local Baptist church) this past week. Who said that I was a recluse homeschooling mother? Dear Sir and I want to keep taking them. I got to talking to the director of this program while I was waiting for the kids to be released and he was asks about my church situation. I tell him that we hold to Anglican beliefs and I am not sure he understands. Of course then I have to go on explaining that Anglican in America is like Episcopalian and then of course he raises his eyebrows because he keeps up a little bit with the times and he probably thinks I am ok with homosexual ministers. I say quickly after the eyebrow raising that we hold very conservative beliefs and he settles down a bit. I explain that we can't really find a real good church that fits the bill and he asks me if I considered Faith Baptist Church (this is his church that I am standing in while talking to him).
"No--we just don't hold the same beliefs. We believe in infant baptism and stuff like that..."

He blinks. "Oh, ok."

"Uh---we're not volatile about it or anything, we just know we wouldn't agree with everything you guys would..."

"Oh, ok."

I wonder if he thinks I am a Christian. He seemed nice enough.


The other day I took the kids to the Goodwill to try to find my oldest a new bike. Man, that stupid bike of his has been the bane of my existence. My oldest has held over my head that his bike's chain has been loose and I have not fixed it yet. I fixed it once, but then the chain fell loose again and I said forget it. Since he has braved the scary outside I have felt really bad because I know he has so wanted to ride his bike. He would say stuff to me like, "Boy, I sure would love to feel the breeze as I petal downhill! It sure is a nice day for that! [Sigh]"

The day I decide to go to town and get the Costco junk done and the bank, the Target returns, I decide to stop at Goodwill. "We can get you a new OLD bike," I said to the boy.
"Cool. I can pay for it. In fact, if you forward me the money I promise I will do chores for an eternity, just so I can have a bike again." This sounded good, but I know that it never happens.
"How about I just buy the thing and that is it?"
"Sounds good to me!"

We went to the Goodwill and found a rusty bike just his size and nothing wrong with it. Five bucks. Easy.

We went to the car with it. I had to think ahead and I didn't. I planned on making one trip to town with all the goods. The Goodwill was the first store. I had many more to make purchases at. Oh, how I tried getting that stupid rusty bike in the trunk.
"I bet you are wishing you didn't buy this thing now," my oldest moaned. "It's all my fault. Look how hard you are working! This is a complete nightmare! Look---here---I could just---No?---ok, I will get out of the way---I just---you are sweating! Poor mom! She is tired! If you---turn--be quiet? ok. But if---I what? ok. Take your purse? Sure, Mom. Go over here? ok, I'll do it. You'll never want to buy me a bike again. This is the worst thing. If we could ever get this bike in here it will be a miracle. Oh how I want a bike. They never told us at the store that it would be this hard to get a bike in a car. I bet they thought we had a truck or something. We'll have to just return it. There is no hope. We will never get this thing in here. Maybe if we tried---"

I finally went to the passenger's side seat to see if it would fit.
My oldest went off again: "If it fits in here, I could somehow sit under it and curl up my legs like this, and oh---just get the handle bar down more! Oh! You are going to turn it around? Yeah, great idea! That is the best idea yet, Mom! You really are the greatest. Oh, it is not going to work. I bet everyone thinks we are crazy, trying to get this bike in here. No one really cares about us though..."

Imagine having to shove a bike in a small car while hearing this malarkey.

Finally I went to the back seat where I had two children sitting (Eraser Eater and little girl with a carseat). I got it in right away. After twenty minutes of trying to get a camel through the eye of a needle, I get it in with no issues. Eraser Eater had to duck down a bit to allow the petal to take the place of his head, but other than that, it was fine. My oldest was confident and so happy. "I knew if we tried it there it would work! Are you just so tired? I bet you are just so mad at me that it took so long! We wasted so much time! Are you wishing you never went and got that stupid bike for me?"

He is such a worry/wart pessimist. I really hope he doesn't get it from me, but I bet he does. He talks about how he sometimes feels guilty. I don't like controlling people. It is not the thing I enjoy. Some people enjoy it, but I am not one of those. But---one day I told my oldest to go set the table and when I came back to look at the table it was not set.
"I guess I will have to set the table myself!" I yelled to the air.

"Oh! Mom! I forgot! You don't have to say it like that! You are making me feel guilty!"

I thought about this. My whole childhood I always felt guilty. My mother constantly manipulated me and I went for it every time. I always took the bait and she controlled me. So I said to him, "How would you like for me to say it then?"

"I would like you to say, 'you forgot to set the table like I asked you to'". I thought this was fair enough. He sort of smiled and set the table. He is a good boy. He is always feeling bad about things and stressing out like he is putting me out. Somehow that needs to stop. I bet I have something to do with it. I wig out sometimes in front of him (who am I kidding? I wig out a lot!) so maybe he feels responsible. But he also fears blame. He is afraid to be told that something is his fault. He does not like to believe that it is his choices that cause some things to happen to him (mostly in a bad way). This is a lesson that has taken me years to learn. I am still learning. He is actually so much like me. I just noticed the pattern.

The Kids These Days

The other night I went to the store wearing a cotton long-sleeved gray shirt and some navy drawstring terrycloth pants with a white stripe down the legs. I looked at myself before I took off in the car to make sure I looked ok. I had made bread that day so I had a little bit of flour on my chest and thigh, but I just brushed it off and went on my way. I had to buy some necessities at nine o clock at night.

When ready I go through the line and a bag boy demands to take my groceries to the car. "I have twenty minutes and nothing to do anyway," he says.

"Well, alright." I really hate letting bag boys put groceries in my car. What I need help with more is unloading when I get home.

When we get out into the cool, crisp night, he looks me up and down and says, "If I were off work, I would totally be dressed like you."

"Huh?" I say incredulously.

"I mean, you look comfortable."

"Oh, ok. Well, I have been wearing this all day. I homeschool three kids so comfort is a big deal to me."

"Cool. I have an older brother who is 21 and a younger sister who is 15. I'm eighteen. When I am off work, I like love to get all dressed up and wear my pink polo shirt and all that." He puts some groceries in my car. I think about what he has just said to me.

"Pink? That is so eighties. I am sorry, but I can't stand pink on a guy," I say bluntly.

"Oh man, I LOVE it. I mean, all the chicks say that I am 'so hot' when I wear pink." He pulls up his collar in a jivey way and backs up like he is Michael J. Fox in Back to the Future. He tugs on a white surfer shell necklace around his scrawny little neck. "I wear the pink polo shirt and this necklace and the girls are just..." he makes a sort of sizzling sound.

I think about this. He really is not much to shout about, but you know, what do I know? "Sorry," I say. "I still think it is really eighties. Which reminds me. You probably were born then, weren't you?"

"Not really. I was born in eighty-eight."

I really thought that qualified as the "eighties" but maybe I am wrong. Hmmm...

"Well, I am really old," I say, "I am eleven years older than you."

He completely skips this.

"Yeah, and when I go out, I wear the pink polo shirt, this necklace, (he tugs on it again as if I can not see it---how could I not? It is sort of massive) and do you know that show 'Miami Vice'?"

"Yes, I know 'Miami Vice'. Of course."

"Well, you know how they dress?"

"Yeah, horrible," I say. "It has that guy---"

"Don Johnson," he blurts out.

"Yeah, Don Johnson."

"I like to wear sportcoats like that---"

I am getting into my car at this point.

"Sort of an aqua color..."

He is backing up into the night but he keeps going.

"And my hair, I---"

"Crimping must be in again," I say, thinking about girl's hair nowadays.

"Yeah, but I don't crimp it. I sort of spike it--" he comes closer again. I close my door a bit.

"Uh, have a nice day!" he waves.

"Enjoy your pink shirt!" I say.

When I was eighteen I had a baby, I worked so that I could help put food on the table because my dad was sick and disabled, and I, just never like, talked like a total breezehead.

Lutefisk

I am afraid to report that our new fish, Tolstoy, is dying. He came down with some weird fish disease/parasite thing called ICH. He has white spots all over his fish body and now he looks just dreadful. I got him medicine to treat it, but I am not sure if it will work or not. The kids "hug" the tank frequently. We are a sad little bunch over here since we can't have a normal pet.

I can't take all this fish drama. First it was Hemingway and Sushi, now it is just this little fish named Tolstoy who tries his best to be lively and nice, but because he is so sick he hangs around the bottom of the tank and rubs up against the filter to scratch. How miserable. Being the executioner that I am, I have been tempted to just end his life to put him out of his misery. Dear Sir seems to think that perhaps he will make it. That is what we thought Hemingway would do after Sushi ate half of him, so I am not so hopeful. His eyes are a sort of dull brown and his scales are all stringy and gross. He looks like he is literally a living rot. Living lutefisk.

News

Well, I am excited because once again my band, The Einsteins of Love, will perform again at Jammin' Java in Northern Virginia. So, we have another "gig" to benefit a pregnancy crisis center (I don't have all the official details yet, but when I do I will post them) in November. I love to sing live (I just love to sing) and especially I love to perform with all the band members. They are so much fun to be with. So, it is a bit fun for a frumpy little homeschool mom to cover U2 songs, bluegrass, blues and rock. It is also fun to raise money for someone who can use it.

I have added a few other blogs to the bottom of my blog roll (there is no reason you are on the bottom, new friends---I am just lazy and don't want to remember my alphabet). So if any of you like to read about more interesting and fantastic lives---drink your fill (no pun intended, Fueledbycoffee).

I am at the moment stinkin it up by cleaning my house and sweating a lot. I feel weary and frazzeled and my hair is a mess.

What are you guys doing today?

School At Home

School at home has been going very well. This morning my daughter had written numbers until she was blue in the face and almost at tears, so I told her to take a break outside in the yard. While the boys were busy working, I went outside to check on her. She was digging in the dirt with her orange shovel. She has a whole garden set.

"Don't dig," I told her. "I don't want you to get dirty."

She stands up, looks at me like I am crazy and says, "But I am in Kindergarten!"

I think she is confused as well because she knows that she is named after a famous garden (we actually chose the name because it is pretty) and so anything associated with gardening she can't get her mind off of. It does not help that "Kindergarten" has the word "garden" in it. Sort of.


Speaking of homeschooling, I went out to lunch last week with Dear Sir and the kids. We were up north taking a friend to the airport and so the kids and I met Dear Sir at a local burger joint (some hole in the wall place). The lady behind the counter was old and maybe she owned the place. There were some oldtimers there talking about how she hasn't "aged a bit" and stuff like that. Real hometown feel. Or maybe the lady had just worked there for years. She seemed nice enough. I ordered some burgers and drinks and she peered over at my children behind me who were finding a booth with Dear Sir.

She looks at me a little sharp with one eye: "Aren't your kids supposed to be in school?"

"No, I homeschool."

She looks at me skeptically and says, "Does that really work?"

It did not occur to me to say something smart or disrespectful (she was my elder, for crying out loud and she reminded me of my Grandma) but in a way I wish I would have thought of something. I could have if I were defensive but I did not give it one thought of defense so I said, "Yeah, I have been doing it now for going on six years."

"What?" she said, cupping her hand around her ear.

"I have been homeschooling for going on six years now, I said."

"Oh." She shrugs. "Here's your number. When I call it, come up here to get your food."

I was a little surprised when she asked me why they weren't in school because I had already gotten that question from someone else at Trader Joe's that day. Please get kids out of my sight, they are supposed to be in school. This is an adult world. Why is that? Makes me sort of sick.

Update on the Oldest

Stupidly, I forgot to mention lately that my oldest son has *almost* gotten over his dread of outside. It does not throw a huge wrench in our lives anymore. He actually goes outside and plays with friends down the street, rides his bike, and wears a watch so he won't be gone too long! God answers prayer! He is still afraid of the bugs a little, but he is amazingly calm when around them now. It is almost ridiculous how fast he has changed.

Yes, we still have little mishaps here and there, but believe me, I could not convince the boy to take one step outdoors without a fight before.

What can I say? God is good.

Hello, Like, I am SO Dumb!

So today I went to grill some steaks outside with my daughter for lunch. For a treat I got myself a glass of red wine and got my daughter a wineglass full of apple juice. She was delighted. I put the steaks on the grill and I went to take a sip of my wine. She went to take a sip of her apple juice and smiled. I realized that I should make her do "cheers" with me. The boys love that. I said to her:
"You know what we should do?" And I held up my wineglass.

She looked at me like I was sort of stupid. "I know what you're going to say, Mom, cheers."

"Yeah, don't you want to?" I ask, disappointed.

Mind you, my daughter is five.

"Umm, not really," she says like I should know already and she is really embarrassed.

"Why not? Aren't we the girl's club?" I ask her.

"Yes, we ARE the girl's club! But saying cheers is just---DUMB!" She says "dumb" like a valley girl saying "Hello! Get a grip!"

"What?!" I say, totally shocked.

She just slowly closes her eyes in a sweet way, looks down, smiles, and shakes her little blonde head. "Oh, Mom."

I think she is more mature than me.

The Eye Wreathed in Flame

I was just reading a science book to the kids. We were reading specifically about all the parts of the eyes and I was pointing to the diagram and my own eye as I was naming it's parts.

The boys were thoroughly interested and my daughter was interested too, but she started to get jumpy and weird. I had just finished explaining to my oldest how the pupil of the eye is actually a hole underneath the cornea.

"What is up with you?" I ask my squirming daughter.

"I just don't want to listen to this anymore! I want to go outside now!" She says this in a very fussy way. "It scares me, ok?"

"What?" I ask.

"It scares me!" She yelps.

"Why would it scare you? You can go outside." I laughed out.

"Ok," she said, "I just don't want to hear anything more about some 'hole,'" she murmurs as she walks toward the front door.

I tried to suppress a laugh but failed. Eraser Eater and the Oldest giggled.

"AN EYE! AN EYE! YOU SEE WITH IT AND IT IS SCAAAARRRRYYY!" sang my oldest, while wiggling his fingers toward my daughter as she shut the door in a huff.

"The Boo--Kay Residence!"

I dropped a wine bottle on my foot. It hurts. Don't ask me how I did it, I just did. I was on the phone when it happened too. I almost cried out in terrible pain, but I had to keep up appearances.

Reminds me of when I bruised up my thigh a week before my wedding day. Dear Sir and I were sweeping the cobwebs off the landing of my parent's house. I was on a high ladder and Dear Sir held it steady. I waved a broom around to get the cobwebs and then I noticed a big fat spider.
"Brush AWAY from you!" cried Dear Sir.

"Huh?" I said stupidly as I brushed toward myself. Down came the dangling, furry, fat spider.

I jumped off the top of the ladder and landed at the foot of the steps (a whole flight down, mind you). I don't like spiders.

This is the point in my story where I lose track of what happens next or what happens around me because all I could concentrate on at that moment was the gargantuan pain in my right thigh. I swear, it hurt so badly that I could have cried a hundred years, but Dear Sir, I knew, was looking at me and I did not want him seeing me cry in pain. How embarrassing. I got up somehow, limped to the couch and winced a million faces of silent torture before Dear Sir could catch up to me to see if I was going to be alright. I could not answer him---in fact, I don't even know for certain if he said anything because pain was all encompassing. I know that if I did say anything at all I said things in short little gasps.

"I--am---fine---"

"That was crazy---you fell all the way down! " I think he said---maybe something about brushing away from me. I lost it. Can't remember with any clarity. Pain.

Fast Forward to Our honeymoon:

I was so embarrassed because as I put on my wedding dress (which was white) I realized that maybe people could see the huge, black, blue, purple, red, orange, multicolored madness on my right thigh through my dress. It was HUGE. I mean, about the size of a volleyball. I thought about putting make up over it, but makeup can't cover up that kind of bruise. I have really never seen anything like it since (maybe only people that visit the ER or something).

So, on our honeymoon, naturally, Dear Sir had never seen me even in a bathing suit before let alone anything less. I remember we got in this hot tub at the beachhouse we were staying at and I had my suit on. He was already in the tub. I tried to get in sideways on my left side so as to hide the bruise. I thought I was being sneaky.

"You know, I've seen the bruise already, Rachel," he said with a smirk on his face. "You can't hide it."

"Uh, he he," I muttered.


You know, hurting yourself in front of people is sometimes a good lesson in self-restraint. The only pain I endured that I could care less if any one saw me scream about was the kidney stones I had and when I gave birth to Eraser Eater. A common thing for me to say about the latter experience is that "I could have cared less if I were buck-naked, screaming, in the middle of a McDonald's. It hurt that bad."

A Tag I Thought Fun:

Thank you, dear lady at My Gobhole:


1. Three things that scare me:
metal on skin
hair clogging a drain
fingerprints on cheese
(touching coinage)
(Even scarier: all of them mixed together in one happy clump)

2. Three people that make me laugh:
Elysium
L. H. (just ask Elysium, he gets jealous)
Mr. Bean


3. Three things I hate the most:
metal on skin
hair clogging a drain
fingerprints on cheese
(OK, so they scare me AND I hate them)

4. Three things I don't understand:
tides (at the ocean or lake)
the movie Syriana
how to do a guitar solo

5. Three things I'm doing right now:
about to begin school with the kids
drinking decaf coffee
thinking really hard

6. Three things I want to do before I die:
love my husband more (how can it be possible!?)
cut an album (especially the way I want it)
ask me to sing out a "G" and I can do it
(I do, have other goals, but it only asks for three!)

7. Three things I can do:
make the best apple pie (with the best crust, mind you)
I can sing and play guitar (but not well together...yet)
make soap
(enjoy classic lit, write a song, transpose, teach a kid how to read, run ten miles in one pop)

8. Three ways to describe my personality:
"fierce" (I have been told)
"tenacious" (I have been told again)
sort of introverted

9. Three things I can't do:
sew myself out of a paper bag
watch a football game (really, I don't know how!)
be proper and prissy

10. Three things I think you should listen to:
Grant Lee Phillips (namely, Virginia Creeper)
my songs on my music site
my silly stories so I will feel better about myself

11. Three things you should never listen to:
your hormones telling you you are fat
the devil
a person maiming another person you love (without hearing the other side as well)

12. Three things I'd like to learn:
how to play piano
enough to get a degree in Thomas Hardy's works
to be a good mother

13. Three favorite foods:
kung pao chicken
anything raw (I can't eat it, but it is good to think about)
Cadbury Eggs

14. Three beverages I drink regularly:
water
red wine
coffee (decaf)

15. Three shows I watched as a kid:
Three's Company
You Can't Do That on Television
Life Goes On
(Those are random and the first things that came to my head)

I tag Des at mymermaid cafe, americanspark

Neewollah

So we started school on Labor Day. I am not a real holiday person. I pretty much labor no matter what day it is, so it is no big deal anyway. Which has me thinking about Halloween. Dear Sir and I are trying to figure out what we want to do this year about it. We have had "harvest" parties and "Reformation Day" parties; we have had a party to go to called "Neewollah" (which is Halloween backwards for those that need the help), and "All Saints Day" parties. I think the latter celebration is the most accurate to what we should be celebrating on October 31st, but no one does that except Elizabeth Hagan.

So, Trick or Treating was mentioned, but I really have problems with it. I don't have problems with it because it is a "pagan" type thing to do, I have problems with it because I don't like the idea of anyone coming to my door and demanding candy. I don't like the idea, especially, of my own children going to someone else's door and demanding candy. Yes, we can worry about poisonous candy (and my parents had a real worry where I lived in Southern California because there truly were people raping and killing and kidnapping on those nights) and stuff but the real issue is the ding dong demand or I will do something tricky to you if you don't.

Think of it like this: It is my birthday. I dress up and look pretty. I go to people's doors and demand presents because it is my birthday. In fact, if you don't give me presents for my birthday when I approach your doorstep, I can threaten you with trickery. I will TP your house. I will knock down your mailbox in the night with a baseball bat. I can say, "Gift or Gull!" and expect presents to drop into my huge burlap bag.

What do ya think of that?

I Am Mad, Hear Me Roar

I have not posted for a few days because of the huge post I posted the other day. I wanted to give the two people that read this blog some time to read all of it because, you know, it took me a long time to pull all those thoughts out of the archives. You really get to know me a lot more by that post. It was very important that I put the Stevie Nicks story in there because of it's strangeness, but I suppose I should have put it in the front of the post so it would not get lost with all the other words I posted before it. In other words, I am sorry to have such a long post last time. I rather like reading small posts because I am impatient, so I understand the grief.

It has been incredibly dry here in Stonewall Jackson's state, so it is a very nice respite to have the huge downpour of rain.

And I have absolutely nothing to talk about. I was talking to Lobsy about blogging the other day and I think she plagued me. I started writing "I have not posted...." and had a point, and then now it's gone somehow. Just lost.

I am supposed to take the kids to the library today. Books for my son: 1. Tom Sawyer (he thought it rather funny when I told him the story of whitewashing the fence---or was that Huck Finn?) 2. The Librarian Who Measured the Earth 3. Treasure Island.

School starts on Tuesday.

Dear Sir is sick...again.

And my oldest was horrible at Costco yesterday. We got in the car and I am chewing him out. "You are always running off...." blah blah blah. I asked him one time if when he hears an adult voice instructing him he tunes out and only hears "dwink, dwinka dwink" like from the Peanuts. "Pretty much," he said. Great. I went off though and I had to stop at detestable Walmart to get caffeine pills (Dear Sir must have them). I used to get carded for them, but I guess now that I am approaching 30 I look like I can handle a butt load of caffeine pills in one sitting. Hey, I have three kids. Gotta stay awake.
So, as I was turning to park in the detestable parking lot of Walmart, my daughter says from the back, "Where's my purse?"

My lack of grace is staggering at this point. I think of all my friends and how calm they are with their kids (at least when I am watching) and I realize that I am a total freak woman. My reaction: "RAAAAAAGHRRRRRRR!!!!!" And I am not kidding. When I did it I was sort of surprised myself. I thought, "I am an animal."

So I got the pills, high-tailed it to the car, and went to Costco again to find the purse. I kept asking my daughter what was in it so I would not have to really go through the trouble to even retrieve it. I wanted an excuse to just go home. "I don't know!" She kept whining. I figured that if I left it though she would never let me live it up, would blame me for allowing her to lose her Polly Pocket Little Mermaid or whatever, and all her junk to go with it, and then I could imagine Eraser Eater crying the whole way home. "You didn't get her purse!" He would wail. "It makes me so sad! Ahhhh!" I could see this future looming above me like a dark cloud if I chose this route.

We did finally find it and my girl had a smile on her face the whole way out. "I knew it was there, Mom," she said.

I was still a little miffed. By this time the rain was getting a little heavier and the windows were fogging up. I really don't know how to de-fog anything. I am a moron at it. My oldest was trying to help me. "Wait! I will get the manual!"
I would not have any of it because then I was on the miffed cycle and not ready. I am usually that chick that has foggy windows and she is wiping the windshield to see and rolling the window down. In the rain. Eventually I hit some button on my blasted dashboard (I don't know what those Germans want from me) and it helped, but I realized that I had the heat going and I was getting hot. And nothing makes me more mad when I am hot for no reason. The back window is broken on our car and when the little button is hit to lower it, it doesn't work. It just lowers whenever it wants to, and that is what it did all the way home. I would push the button to make it go back up and then ten seconds later it would go back down again. The kids would say every time it went down, "There it is again! Make it go up Mom! The rain is getting in!" Eventually it stopped freaking out and stayed up, to my relief. I looked about me at the other motorists, and they were looking at me like I was a freak. I am sure I looked it.

I kept thinking that I was not passing the test of patience. Too much pelted me at once and I could not get out of the blasted pit. First I have a child running off and making comments to passersby at Costco, then I had to go to Walmart, endure the lost purse, and then deal with my freaky Christine car.

Wish me luck at the library.

Speak To Me of Tongues

I woke up this morning thinking about the church I grew up in. Boy were there a lot of crazies there. I think it still exists. I'd link it, but you all would make fun of me. This church was absolutely huge in the eighties. It was a non-denominational church called Eagles Nest. My dad was an administrative pastor and was over the children's ministry, marriage ministry, and the women's ministry. I think. He may have been over other stuff too. I used to have to stay for both services, all my siblings and I. We lived an hour or more away and had little money so we only had a hatchback back in the days and all of us (all seven) had to pile in it. It was a very uncomfortable drive because my sister and I would sit in the trunk. We also had to sit a certain way in the trunk in order to fit. Our heads could not really peek out to see out the window, so we just ducked down some and talked the whole way there. The worst part of the whole thing was getting out. I am certain we looked like all the clowns getting out of the little car. Some people would comment. I was just so embarrassed. Eventually we got a big nasty van the church gave us, but that is another story.

The people at the church were very interesting. They were filled with the Spirit, you know, so they did weird things during praise and worship. I remember people slithering and quaking, gyrating, jumping up and down, etc. One guy looked like Orville Redenbacher and he would always sit on the right side of the pews. During worship he would get so excited that he literally would "pop" (he would jump as high as he could and clap his hands once) and so he definitely won the name. A couple of ladies in the front would have tambourines that had ribbons on them a number of feet long. They would lift the tambourines up as high as they could and sing at the top of their lungs---except they did not sing what everyone else was singing. They sang some horrible "AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" in unison and you could hear them clear from the back. They were like, the tambourine power twins. I could literally go on forever, the craziness does not stop.

Like I said before, we all had to stay for both services. The first service I would sit in my own Sunday school class, and the second service I would either help out with the toddler's class or sit in the service. The toddler's class is where I learned to change raunchy diapers, and the service is where I viewed all the unruly adults. What is really crazy is we were sort of on our own. I would see my dad here and there---and my mom, but they were always shifting in and out---doing something churchy. After both services we typically were in the kitchen, so hungry that we would eat scraps of donuts but not hungry enough to eat the typical Sunday school fare of graham crackers and apple juice. I sat and drank coffee and got tortured from any adult that happened to catch me. They always said that it would "stunt my growth." I got sick of that. Once in awhile we had some quarters and would buy a snickers at the church store. Adults would torture us about that too: "Did you know that sugar is the second cousin to cocaine?" Give me a break. We would sit in that kitchen or wander around the massive parking lot aimlessly while my parents were in the pastor's lounge casting out demons or praying for someone to speak in tongues. Someone was always possessed.

Sunday school was the most interesting. I always had the most interesting teachers. One was a lady that wore TBN pins and had gold teeth. She spent one particular class pressing on our bellies with one hand and pressing on our heads with the other, speaking in tongues as loud as she could. We all felt quite a bit of pressure because we knew she was trying to get us filled with the Spirit. I hate being the center of any attention, so when she started doing it to me I just gibbered some stuff right away to get her off my back. I remember particularly one Sunday when she made us repeat back to her that if we "died tonight" we would "go to hell." Everyone just did what she said. They repeated after her and everything. Finally when she got to me I refused to repeat her words.

"Now, Rachel, repeat after me...'if I die tonight, I will go to hell.'"

"But I am not going to hell," I protested.

"Why yes you are. If you died tonight you would go to hell," she continued. "Now repeat after me..."

"No."

"Why can't you just repeat it?"

"Because I am not going to hell."
I could tell she was getting angry. She started to give me more grief about it until finally I could take it no longer.

"Fine!" I said in a loud voice. "I'll go to hell then!"

"Now that's more like it," she said.

I just waited until I got home and told my dad (who was over the children's ministry, remember?). That was the last time she taught the kids, let me tell you that.

After her we got a weird single guy named Dennis. He wore glasses and plaid shirts and jeans. When we would sing songs he would lift his arms up in praise and he always had sweat spots under his arms. He loved to make us do art work (probably because he was incredibly inarticulate). His goal was to get drawings of every Bible story (of the OT) that we studied up on the walls enough to cover them. This was something that I did enjoy because I was particularly good at drawing and so everyone made me do the really hard parts to draw. Around that time Julio, I am assuming an autistic kid, started coming to class. He was ridiculously energetic. I remember Dennis would have his hands full with him and he would get sick of it.
"Plant it, Julio!" He would yell when things got hot.
The best thing to make Julio do would be to make him draw. He was amazing. The biggest problem was to get him to actually want to draw the Old Testament stories. We mainly had to suffer through listening to him talk about the weird things he was drawing, like Stevie Nicks. I had no idea who Stevie Nicks was back then. I just remember this kid sitting with papers drawing these elaborate drawings of Stevie Nicks in utter peril.
"This is my drawing of Stevie Nicks about to be eaten by alligators!" He would spit out. I would look at the drawing. There was definitely a woman, gagged, and tied to a chair on a plank about to be eaten by the alligators with open mouths, below. She always had a frightened look on her face and some sweat jumping off her brow. So that was Stevie Nicks. I had no idea. He could not explain it to me either. I thought he hated Stevie Nicks. He drew her dangling over a pit of fire, about to fall off a building, you name it. He drew it. Class after class he had a new one that he was excited about.

So, if Stevie mysteriously dies in the future by some guy named Julio, I knew him.

Did I mention that this church was in Southern California? That explains it a little better.

Not So Smooth Criminal

So as of a few days ago we have a new fish. He is smaller, cuter, and livelier. The kids decided that since it is Dear Sir's birthday on Monday they would give him the gift of naming the fish. It was going to be a surprise, but Dear Sir could not handle the idea that no one could decide on a name. He was chomping at the bit. We were all feigning fish naming block. So finally this morning the kids told him (after his trying to suggest names for the fish).

The name: Tolstoy.

He was juggling Melville and Tolstoy.

The fish is already sick because the filter is not working. After church today we went to the petstore to get a new filter. I had to stop at Walmart to get a gameboy recharger because that broke (everything breaks) and while I was at it I got Dear Sir a CD/DVD of Coldplay. I was really upset because I forgot my wallet at home and I had to use Dear Sir's credit card. I got to the check out and they treated me like a criminal.

"I'm sorry, but the signatures don't match and the system won't accept it," the clerk says to me.

"It is my husband's card. Oh, you would like to see my ID? Well, the reason why I am using his card is because I left my wallet at home on accident and so therefore I don't have my own card or ID. See?"

"I'm sorry. I will get the manager."

She rings the manager. The manager comes over, looks at me, takes the card and after everything is explained to her she says very seriously and also very loud so others outside of our circle of privacy can hear, "I need a signed document by this cardholder or a power of attorney to allow you to use this card!" She waves the card in my face.

I look at my husband's wallet that is in my hand. I feel like a criminal.

"Oh," I say. "He is in the car, I guess I will get him. Can you keep the stuff here while I get him?"

"Uh, yeah, just let me cancel this and then when he gets here he can make the purchase."

I walk out to the car---way in the back of the massive parking lot. I make Dear Sir roll his window down. He winces as the sun gets in his eyes. "What."

"They won't let me use your card," I say. I feel like crying at this point because I have not eaten, I drank too much coffee this morning, and I feel like a criminal. Plus, I feel dumb for leaving my wallet at home. "So you have to go in there and get the stuff I was buying. I bought you something, which makes it worse, and I don't want you to see it...all you have to do is go to register 34---right when you walk in---and the stuff should still be in the bag--" I wave at Walmart helplessly and hand him his wallet.

He reluctantly gets out of the car and goes to wretched, detestable Walmart. I hate Walmart.

Finally he comes back and hands me the bag. I hope that he has not seen the present I got him.

"I saw the CD," he says. "They pulled everything out in front of me and re-rang it all. I couldn't help it, ok?"

He didn't even say thanks. I guess that is because he bought it anyway, right? Don't blame him. How crummy.

Nutty Nut-Nut

Yesterday I sat with my daughter in the old glider-rocker and pretended that she was a baby. I had one arm under her knees and the other arm under her head. She sat and giggled the whole time and then I tickled her after telling her she "had no teeth", or "she can barely walk", or "she just has a little bit of hair". She started to take her fingers and move my lips with them by wiggling my chin around. She was making me say stuff. So I did it to her. I made her say, "I am a big ol' nutty nut-nut!" (I like to call her that. It is a little phrase I learned from my time in South Carolina)

She took my chin and made me say, in turn, "I eat tons of chocolate and I am a big, fat liar!"

What the heck was that?

She laughed and laughed and then we were done.

Dreams

I just finished a book by Michael O'Brien called Strangers and Sojourners. It was on my list, remember?

[At the moment I am suffering greatly from touching the cookie dough I made and put in a pan with bare hands. I itch so profusely that I almost feel insane. It is the raw eggs, perhaps the raw flour. Oh goodness, it was such a bad thing for me to do! My hands already looked horrible (I have terrible eczema) so now they look like red, swollen, cracked and bleeding sausages.]

Well, the book was really good. I love the man's insight on life as a mother (how he has that insight I have no idea). I could relate to it a lot. [Hold on, my fingers itch---must scratch] It made me feel less alone when thinking about my life as "this is it." I think I have written about this before---or something similar. God teaches me this many many times. Daily, I think. I get so clouded with my own dreams that I do not realize that those things that I think I want are probably not what I should have.

In old age, the woman dies at the end of the book and leaves her husband to reflect as he looks at her dead body:

"Then he saw that she had already laid down a large portion of her life long ago. Piece by piece she had given it away as she wrestled with existence, as her self was absorbed as nourishment into his life and the life of the children and the community. And laid down most piercingly as she abandoned, one by one, the shapes of dreams she had planned. Only to take them up again in other forms."

He put it perfectly. [And now my hands feel ok again---but still burning.]

Ripe

Yesterday I was trying to tell my oldest to do something. I can't remember what and it is not important to the story. When he would approach me I would smell something. I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Come here. Closer,"I said to him.

"What?"

"You smell weird, like onions," I said. I sniffed his head (I removed his hat to do this), I sniffed around his shirt, I sniffed myself, I sniffed the surrounding kids.

"It's probably my breath," my oldest decided. He ran upstairs to fix the problem. He came down again.

Onions and toothpaste, I smelled. Funk onions. At this point we were in the kitchen and I was standing there inspecting. It literally took me forever to put two and two together. "Lift up your arm," I said. I took a whiff. What I encountered caused me to cover my mouth and nose with my hands and bolt the other direction.

"You took a shower last night!" I cried.

My oldest was laughing at my reaction (which was not meant to be funny) and was telling the younger ones that it was a fun trick to pull on Mom to make her run away.

He said, "Yes, I took a shower."

"What's the deal? Where is your deodorant?"

"Well, I don't always put it on after I take a shower..."

"Get up there right now and scrub yourself like crazy to get that rank off you and then put deodorant on."

"I have an idea! I can just put deodorant on!" He really hates taking showers.

"No. You will just smell like a stinky boy trying to smell good at the same time. It doesn't mix well. Get up there."

"Oh, alright." He sort of moped while he went upstairs, but the end product was nice. I can't believe that a nice ten year old boy like that can produce such reek.

If you have boys, prepare yourselves, ladies. I told Dear Sir about it and he was mortified. I have never known Dear Sir to ever smell bad. Ever. I think this man produces flowers out of every orifice. "This has to be stopped," is about all he can offer from work. I can picture him, the Man of Clean, banging his fist on his desk in defiance of dirt and rank. "We can defeat this, Rachel, my competent side-kick."

The other night on our date we were talking about liquor. He was telling me about a girl he knew that loved Yagermeister (not sure if I spelled that correctly). He told me of a time he tried it to please her and he went hot from his belly north and almost threw up. I was telling him that I was not a fan of it either. Which moved us on to Tequila. He told me of a time some guy bought him a round of it and he drank it to be polite. He told me he went straight to the bathroom. I am certain that I had alcohol poisoning in high school because after I drank much vodka and too much warm tequila I was sick for two weeks. That was the last time I ever got drunk. We laughed about how we hate the same drinks. We both love gin though (although Dear Sir will not touch any liquor anymore period), we noticed. "I think it is because we are both so clean," I said.
"What do you mean?" he laughed.
"It tastes like Pine-Sol."

Keane

The new Keane album called Under the Iron Sea is amazingly good. It is everything I love about European rock/pop. If you love Coldplay, get it. You absolutely must.

I was trying to choose between getting this album and getting a book called Melmoth the Wanderer.

It was really nice. My neighbor came over and took care of the kids while Dear Sir and I went out. We had not been out in four months (alone). ---Except maybe when Dear Sir's sister took care of the kids when we were at the beach and we got some time alone then. In a way, it has been good for us to have the kids with us all the time. It has sure helped us to develop some kind of patience. So, we went to an Italian Restaurant (where Dear Sir could get some pizza and I could get some lasagna that did not make me sick like the kind I make) and then to Borders. Of course Dear Sir got some book on Orthodoxy or something.

Although the book sounded pretty cool (reminded me of something by Dostoyevsky), I could not resist getting a new CD by Keane. I figured that the book would probably sit on the shelf for a long spell anyway---no one reads that stuff except me.

I will write more interesting things later. I have hoards of laundry to fold and many other things to accomplish.

The Devil

I am waiting for paint to dry. I have been renovating this bed that my neighbor gave me that matches this old furniture in my daughter's room that I also renovated. I initially told the boys that they could help me, but it got a little out of hand when they both took paintbrushes and started just going at it and not paying attention to what they were doing. I got pretty fussy. Eraser Eater bounded across the house in a long yelp (he also got red paint on the carpet), and my oldest banished himself to the rocking chair in the office---letting me know how ticked he was. He told me that it was rotten that I would say he could help paint and then change my mind at the last minute. Oh how I wish that they could understand things immediately!

One of the worst things for me to do in the morning is drink more than one single cup of coffee. I feel jumpy and terrible the whole day---almost fatigued, almost wired. I never know what I need. This is how I feel right now. I just decided to let the boys watch TV so I can get this bed done. I have to get SOMETHING done today. I have called people a lot lately just so I could #1 keep in touch and #2 have something to tell Dear Sir when he gets home. I forget everything though. The other night he asked who I talked to during the day. I told him I talked to my friend Ann and he said, "You've been callin' the people, huh?"

"Actually, she called me," I said, feeling like a slacker.

Summer gets this way. I feel like the biggest bum. And I don't even get any books read. What do I do? I really don't know. I take care of kids, I guess and paint stuff.

But things will pile up once September hits. Mass chaos. I will have to try to command the three that will be against me. Dear Sir is worried because the oldest is finding joy in reading Arthur books. "Rachel, it's baby stuff. What is he doing?"

"I don't know," I say, "he is reading.. that is good."

"Not good if it is that stuff..."

"Hey, he reads text books..."

"But where is the literature? How about a reading list? He is supposed to be reading Foxe's Book of Martyrs."

"It goes over his head---he doesn't really get it. It is the old version."

"He's reading it. That's what he's doing. He is reading it. Come on, Rachel! Arthur?"

Yes, I have failed this summer. You know what it is? It is cable. It is all cable's fault. I have just received a revelation. Cable is the devil. It prevents every child in America from reading Foxe's Book of Martyrs and I have been blind to it.

I know, I know. It is all my fault. Just say it, won't ya?

Music for the Masses

I am not running out of things to write about (cough, cough)---I was truly running this morning and thinking about the music I was listening to. I am a fairly musical person (I sing and sort of play guitar and have always written songs since I was really little)---so I wonder why I don't mention music so much on my blog. I think it is because everyone is so steeped in their particular musical taste that I don't think I can influence anyone to listen to something that I enjoy. I think some people are so far gone (perhaps I am the judgmental one!) in bad music like Journey and Peter Cetera or Phil Collins that I find that there is no hope. I do like Chicago (that is the little bit of "bad" music I do like). No offense.

And I am confused greatly as to what kind of music I produce. I have had people say I sound like Joan Baez (I have never actually heard her sing in my life but have heard of her), Sarah McLachlan (which I admit, is what I prefer since I have listened to her for years ) and Amy Grant (which I grew up on). My music itself is sort of weird. Well, not really. It is probably boring. It is sort of mellow and sad and I am sure would do well in a funeral. I like it though because it is like me and is that not what musicians hope to produce---a reflection of themselves to show the world? It is like showing everyone your soul. Not that I like that too much, but what can you do when you make music? So, I have had people say that I am sort of folk, sort of worshipful, sort of sultry and earthy I-don't-know-what. I guess I should stop thinking about it.

So, I compiled an idea of what I think the best albums are (that may have or have not had any influence on me. I actually just enjoy them.) And here, I am bearing my soul once again showing you my musical taste:

1. Fumbling Toward Ecstasy by Sarah McLachlan
2. Mighty Joe Moon by Grant Lee Buffalo
3. Grace by Jeff Buckley

Those are the top.

Here are some more that I love but are not the top:
4. The Invisible Band by Travis ("Side" is a great song)
5. Rush of Blood to the Head by Coldplay (when I first heard this I almost fell over)
6. Room Noises by Eisley (they opened up for Coldplay)
7. Hopes and Fears by Keane (this guy is Freddy Mercury)
8. Virginia Creeper by Grant Lee Phillips (alternative country)
9. Don't Believe the Truth by Oasis (this is the greatest album to workout to)
10. Let There be Morning by the Perishers (these guys opened up for Sarah and are from Sweden)
11. The Shore by The Shore (The Verve reborn---you know, Richard Ashcroft)

Of course I love many others like The Verve, Morrissey, The Smiths, The Beatles, U2, Jars of Clay, Jennifer Knapp, Keith Green, Blur, Starsailor and tons of classical.

And I am sure you have noticed that a lot of my favorite music is not Christian music. As much as I hate to say it, I don't usually like Christian music because it is completely outdated and most of the time horrible. No matter what Christian music does it tries to sound like the world, and somehow they do it badly. It is always stuck in the 90's or the 80's---always synthesizers and cheesy lyrics. Some of it is done very well, but it is few and far between. And perhaps I have not made it in the Christian music world because #1 I have not had the chance #2 I write bad songs #3 I don't sound cheesy #4 no one has heard me (except maybe a few people). And what really ticks me off is that I wanted to start my career off musically by doing "worship music recorded" but well done---back when no one was doing it. Now the biggest thing out there is worship music CDs and it really bugs me. Oh well. Now I have the pleasure of hearing them constantly and tiring of "Draw Me Close," "Shout to the Lord," and any type of Matt Redman stuff like "The Heart of Worship." People do get sick of worship songs so maybe my idea was bad. I am sure sick of them.

Again, I am just stating my opinions so don't get too irritated. I mean, you can hack at me, but be sure to bring a cloth to wipe up the blood...

And umm, give some of those albums a listen on Amazon. If you scroll down you can hear samples---but I am sure you knew that.

Neighbors

It is kind of cool living where we are. I have met the neighbors on all sides of me, and they are all nice. It sure is a different feel from Idaho where everyone has their yard fenced in and people never say boo to you.

I remember in our old house in Idaho we had a couple that lived across the street from us. They were probably our age on the dot. They had a boy that was a little older than our oldest, and I remember when I was pregnant with my daughter, the woman was pregnant with her daughter too. We would go and get our mail at the same time and I saw her pregnant tummy. I am not sure if they would wave back to us then or not. We were just under the impression that they did not want much to do with us. I don't think they ever did. Eventually, during our last couple of years there, we started to go out of our way to be friendly. We would wave at them when they drove by, say "hi" when passing, etc. They would barely pay us any heed though. I remember distinctly a few times I would be outside trimming that crazy hedge and the wife would drive by (we were the very first house on the street). I would wave to her and smile. She would look straight at me and then turn her head the other way. Nice.

I started to have dreams. I had dreams that she really in her deepest heart wanted to be friends with me and she finally invited me over to her house. I remember that her walls were splashed with vibrant colors and everyone knew her. I think she had original art too. I only think I had this notion because I saw her outside painting a big wooden Noah's Ark on the grass one time. I had many dreams like this though.

The man was fanatical about his lawn. He had a perfect golf course. I think he had something wrong with him, he was so particular. Dear Sir has always been somewhat eccentric about our lawn so maybe he had an issue with how we did things. Dear Sir is a complete green thumb and does tremendously well with the yard. He just dreams big and thinks long term. He is famous for planting tiny trees and freaking out when the kids would almost walk over them. And the hedge.

I actually walked over one time to see what their exact address was so I could look them up and at least know what their names were. I know, I am weird. It took me about six years to do this. After that Dear Sir and I always referred to them by their names (he didn't think me so odd to look them up, I was so relieved) when saying stuff like, "I waved at Mrs. Carson today. She was REAL nice." "Yeah, it looks like Mr. Carson is putting in some extra fence to block us out of their vision."
So, we have not had a lot of luck with neighbors except for the few (like the Real Estate agent that sold our house that lived across the street, or the widow next door who was really nice but pretty much kept to herself for the most part). I never understood my friend Jade who had neighbors wherever she went that she remained close to. One of them became one of her best friends and mentors. Another neighbor of hers traded off with babysitting. I remember her asking me one time when I did not have a sitter if my neighbor could watch the kids for me. "What, are you kidding?" I would say.

But here it is different. Here they actually find me interesting and want to be friendly. The kids and I have already been invited to a birthday party, I have a lady who has an Asperger's kid right next door to ask questions if needed (she came over to offer herself), I am watching the other neighbor's daughter (she has given me a beautiful solid wood bed for my daughter!), and then the neighbor across the street is the Orthodox priest of the local Orthodox church. They are all very nice, very helpful, and a relief.

Good Morning

Ok, so we are probably not getting the turtle. If you want more information read the comments under the post, "Turtle".

Eraser Eater is in a sort of despair and it is driving me nuts. Oh well.

I have been so lazy and focused on recovering lately, that I have writer's block, cleaner's block, runner's block, reader's block, and anything important and I should do block.

I slept til eight forty-five. [Slap! Slap!]

And I think my daughter is running around without any underwear on. I just caught her getting a couple of sprays from the inhaler that has been hanging around.

And I think also (which I think it totally went over my head at the time but now I remember it) that when I said to the boys, "Go brush your teeth, will ya?" Eraser Eater said, "no" from upstairs.

How do people, when something has sucked about 50% of their brains clean out, get it all back? I have probably blown out snot about comparable to my body weight.

This house is still. That is bad.

Better go.

Turtle

We are planning on getting a turtle for the kids as a pet. You know, you read a lot about them when you look them up and they seem like they are a lot of work, but then again, if you read about how to care for a dog they seem like they are a lot of work as well.

We are thinking a box turtle about the size of a fist and from what I understand, they do not get any bigger than that (although I would love to get one that gets huge---I have fond memories of a neighborhood turtle that I rode on the shell of when I was little). Dear Sir is not up for anything bigger. He is petrified of birds and other sorts of reptiles, so a turtle is what will work besides a fish (like our dear departed Hemingway). I did not mention to you that Eraser Eater is allergic to cats and dogs.

Anyone own a turtle or have any advice? I am thinking of purchasing one this weekend. Any comments, advice, words of encouragement are greatly appreciated.

Thank you in advance.

Religious

I just have to say that I HATE it when people call me "religious." They are usually people that are familiar with Christianity and maybe even go to church (of some kind) but have no idea. I heard someone say recently that at a particular church the kids stay with the adults for about ten minutes and then they go downstairs to partake in various "religious activities." I about threw up. I hate hearing, "yes, she's a religious type of person," or "they are really religious so they like angels and stuff."

Gag me.

My neighbor (bless her heart) thought I was "so religious" I must be a Mormon. I showed her some pictures on my pc of my family and there were some photographs of icons (Orthodox and Byzantine ones) and she wanted to see them because she thought that they were angels. I had to explain to her that they were saints.

Grant Lee

Grant Lee Phillips has a new album out called Nineteeneighties. It consists of some of the underground stuff (covers) from the time of the Breakfast Club and Atari. It is mellow (just my style) and pleasant. He does "So. Central Rain (I'm Sorry)"by REM, "Boys Don't Cry" by the Cure,
"Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loves Me" by the Smiths, "Wave of Mutilation" by the Pixies, etc.

I am totally bummed because Grant Lee was in Arlington a few days ago (I know, I had the sickness really bad then anyway) and I did not know it until I went on his website. I feel stupid. I am just hoping he comes around again.

Day 3

Last night Dear Sir and I agreed to allow our daughter to sleep on our floor since she was feeling so bad. In the middle of the night I had to cough once.

"Are you ok, Mom?"

"Yes. Go to sleep, honey."

"Whatcha doin' Dad?"

"Sleeping."

"Oh."

She later came to sleep with me on Dear Sir's side of the bed once he left for work. She kept coughing. I gave her some drops and she seemed to like that. I kept falling asleep. I know, what is wrong with me. I slept until almost ten o clock. I have not slept in until ten for hundreds of years. My oldest tried to charm me awake with a "get well" card, and Eraser Eater tried to ask for cough drops to get me up. Finally I did.

I have to tell you, my life is so different from what it used to be. I would usually HAVE to get up because someone needed to be fed or even entertained. Not so anymore. I think Eraser Eater already found something to eat, my oldest SCRAMBLED HIS OWN EGGS (he did wait until I could watch over him though), and I sat by myself and ate my Total.

So when I finish my cereal my daughter (who feels awful) says to me: "Mom, lets go back upstairs and sleep some more. I'm tired and you like sleeping."

Maybe I will take her up on that.

Book Tag

I just noticed that the lady at Moomin Light tagged me on books. If anyone knows me at all they would know that I would most likely be prompt with this (even if I am operating with half a brain right now---thanks, funk that I have).

I have been a book reading slacker. I know I have had a lot going on lately, but to me, I think of that as no excuse. So here is my sorry little response to the tag (all one really has to do is read any "reading list" I ever post and you have me):

ONE BOOK THAT CHANGED MY LIFE:

I have a few, so saying one is not going to cut it.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde got me into reading the classics. I remember reading this while walking to the bus stop. I was hooked.

Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. I know, join the slew of others, I am original.

Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis. To this day because of this book I see that my desire for Wonder Woman t-shirts is really not some sick childish thing that I harbor. It is my glimpse of heaven.

ONE BOOK THAT I HAVE READ MORE THAN ONCE:

I rarely do this. This is why: there are only so many hours in one's lifetime, I think it is almost silly to re-read something. There are too many books to read and so little time!

The Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy
You have the Heath, a handsome man newly come from Paris, a "hussy" who stands on Rainbarrow with a telescope and a bonfire, and the Reddleman. With that combo and more you got a good story. The best part is that people die at the end and you can sit and argue with someone about whether it was a suicide or not. I love it!

ONE BOOK I WANT ON A DESERT ISLAND:

That is a ridiculously hard question and I think quite unfair. If I don't say the Bible I will be acting like a pagan. If I do say the Bible, I will sound like I am better than everyone else. So I guess I pick the Bible.

ONE BOOK THAT MADE ME LAUGH:

ONE?

If we bound Cannery Row by John Steinbeck and I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith in one volume I suppose that would be considered one.

Cannery is like reading a Seinfeld episode or something. But a Seinfeld episode on crack. It is really odd. I loved it. Castle is just romantically funny and witty. If anyone starts a novel by saying they are journaling from the inside of the kitchen sink, it has to be finished.

ONE BOOK THAT MADE ME CRY:

To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

I cried when I realized that the two main characters in the novel are Boo Radley and Jem. If you read the novel and think that way, it will make you cry.

ONE BOOK I WISH HAD BEEN WRITTEN:

There is nothing new under the sun, from what I understand. I have no clue.

ONE BOOK I WISH HAD NEVER BEEN WRITTEN:

What is it called? Left Behind? I have never read it, but it annoys me anyway. How about Shattering Your Strongholds by Liberty Savard. How about The Book of Mormon or that L.Ron Hubbard book, or Madame Bovary?

There are too many....

ONE BOOK I AM CURRENTLY READING:

None. I know, shoot me, but I am currently reading NO BOOK. I sat around today watching the food channel and TLC. I finished Cakes and Ale by Maugham on the plane but have not read anything since. I feel simply wicked. I did start a little snippet of The Frozen Deep by Wilkie Collins, so maybe that is presently reading something.

ONE BOOK I HAVE BEEN MEANING TO READ:

There is a huge list a few posts back about all the books I am meaning to read (and I have already added a few more in my brain). I have a massive headache right now so it hurts me to think about it.

HERE ARE A FEW QUESTIONS TO STICK ON THE TAIL END OF THIS:

ONE CLASSIC BOOK THAT MADE ME THINK:

The Idiot by Dostoyevsky. Think: Holy Saturday, symbolism of Christ, the Trinity and the Resurrection, and you have an immensely deep book. I love how Dostoyevsky integrates his history with execution in the novel as well. That man was brilliant.

ONE MODERN BOOK THAT MADE ME THINK:

This is stupid, but Life of Pi made me think. It's that crazy book about the boy and the tiger on the boat in the middle of the ocean by Yann Martel. I like how the guy put the book together and I like the ending. I think my take on it is correct, so I feel completely relieved with my findings. As anyone that knows me well enough, I am very opinionated about books and I argue a lot about them.



So, in Moomin Light fashion, please pick up a copy of Grant Lee Phillip's Virginia Creeper on CD and listen to his beautiful voice croon out his own little kind of country. If this man could write a book he would write O! Pioneers! I think.

I will tag in turn:

Elysium
Americanspark
RickandRachelCapezza
Lobsy
Anonymous at The Life You Save May Be Your Own

Being Ill

I have the world's worst common cold and everyone else has it too. Wonderful, eh?

I am heavily active and it has kicked my butt. I fell asleep on the couch for a few hours while the kids watched a plethora of cartoons, and that only gave me enough energy to make a little lunch for the kids. I ate a Cliff Bar. It is sad when you can't even taste. What is the point in eating, I say, if I can't even taste the food.

I never watch TV. It is funny to see my kids' reactions to commercials and whatnot. There was an E-Harmony commercial. My oldest asked, "What is this? A place where a guy can meet chicks?"

"Chicks?" I asked.

"Yeah, I have heard some people call girls 'chicks.'"

"Wonderful. Don't say that," I cough out.

"I thought you meant chickens," Eraser-Eater breathed (he is asthmatic) and then took a swig of his gatorade.

"By the way," my oldest said to me,"why are you watching TV with your mouth open?"

"I can't breathe out of my nose," I said.

"Oh good. That's a relief," my son says, placing the back of his hand on his forehead," I was starting to think that you were truly becoming a couch potato zombie!"

Did I tell you that I never watch TV and am usually very active? Consider my butt kicked.