Time to Rob the Bank

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


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

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

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


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

The Calm After the Storm

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

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

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

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

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

As We Forgive Those

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

Pocketful of Hayfever

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

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

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

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

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

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

Telegraph

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

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

I Eat Meat

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irish Spring

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that is what I did.

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

Hair

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

Gotta turn over some chicken.

Have a great weekend.

Bah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bah.

This is Music

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

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

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

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

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

Favorite Disco Song: Don't like disco.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Favorite Christmas Song: "In the Bleak Midwinter"

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

Hospital

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

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

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

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

I'm Lazy Links

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas

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

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

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

Dear Sir just said, "Yes you did."

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

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

Finally I told her no, Dad is being crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing to Shout About

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

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

Busted

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

"He kept calling me 'beaver breath'!"

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

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

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

"That must be some book!" he said.

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

I busted out laughing.

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

Hum

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

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

"What are you doing, mom?"

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

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

"And why not?"

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

"What is that supposed to mean?"

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

Various Hints of Malarkey

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

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

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

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

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

Martin Luther on Yoga

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the Frozen Deep

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

And that is all I have to say.

Ten Reasons Why I love Dear Sir

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

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

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

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

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

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

6. He loves me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unknown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm Every Woman

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

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

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

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

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

Build My Coffin

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

Keep going.

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

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

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

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

I am weak and I need major calories.

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

Gotta go break up another fight----

Me, Myself, and I

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

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

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

Visiting the Workforce

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

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

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

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

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

I remembered just now---the Bears?

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

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

Have a good evening.

Kazoo Madness

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

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

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

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

Periodic TV

Dear Sir, after watching a snippet of Glen Beck (who was obviously suffering from a terrible cold), climbed upstairs last night and handed me the remote. "You can watch what you want to, I think I need to go to bed."

I watched a little "Hogan Knows Best" and "What Not to Wear" and even, I might say, a little of the "Tyra Banks Show." Tyra set her show up Sally Jesse style and got the "party girls" to confess all on her stage and even allowed them to giggle and laugh about smashing in their faces or passing out because of intoxication and whatnot---- to then get a doctor to go up there and chew them out. How is that for a run-on sentence. She then got another doctor on there to show what partying does to your body's organs. And I have to say that everyone is making a big deal about how Tyra has gained some weight, but frankly, I think she looks fabulous with it. She looks perfect to me, I don't see what the big deal is.

I loved watching on "Hogan" how Brooke claims that her family has taught her morals and she poses on a male magazine so scantily clad that it makes me wince. Suddenly reminds me of Jessica Simpson.

"What Not to Wear" is always a cool show. I need Clinton and Stacey in my shopping life, but I am not bad enough with clothing choices for that madness. There are way too many people out there that look way worse than me and that show proves it. Yikes.
I could stand some hair changes, but don't know what that should look like.

Well, Dear Sir is wanting to go somewhere and I am not even out of my pjs yet so I am holding everybody up.

Have a good weekend.

Rubbish

Today I pretty much talked on the phone all day. I feel bad, in addition to grossing all my "blogger" friends out. I am base, very base.

But---on the bright side---as I was making dinner with the daughter, she told me freely that I am her "inspiration" and said, "I will only tell you where I got that from if you let me have a sip of your wine." Like mother like daughter.

I forgot to tell Susie that I don't watch movies when I iron because I can't watch two things at once. I am a sad sort of multi-tasker. I would burn a shirt or burn myself. So I talk on the phone. That works well for me. Can you tell I really lack friends? I bother all my friends in Idaho or elsewhere with my phone calls. Lately I have been bothering Americanspark, who then tells me I am crazy for ironing shirts and not getting them professionally done---she does---and she also gives the cleaners so much work apparently they give her a large tin of danish cookies for Christmas?! That's kind of a good deal. I always feel like I am putting them all out. All around here the cleaners are all Asian and they don't really speak English very well. There is always a stern man who mans the cash register and a jovial lady who just nods her head like she knows what you are talking about with a needle, thread, and a pair of pants in her hands. I try to be so thankful when I drop a pair of pants off to get hemmed (I don't do that well either).
"Oh, thank you, thank you," I will say.

Then they say something like, "Ya!!!" really loud with no smile, or they just nod a head with a grimace. I always feel like I am intruding. I think even once a hand was waved in the air as if to say, "get out already, weird lady." I can tell they don't understand what I am saying. I will tell you though, it is the best place to go because no one can hem pants like they do at my cleaners.

The potty training deal at night is not working out so well. Since I have lacked sleep it is messing with my head so therefore I decided to wait until the girl is six and then I will get her an alarm. Can you imagine sleeping so soundly with a full bladder and then some horrendous alarm sounds and scares the crud out of you in the middle of the night? I don't look forward to that. I have done a little tad of research and apparently the alarm is loud enough to wake a parent. Lovely. I hope it would take care of the whole thing in a jiffy. I don't do well with little sleep. In fact, I become an animal. Even my children would NEVER wake me in the morning because of what would happen if I were to be stirred awake unnaturally.

I used to tell Dear Sir back in the day when we were dating that I ran "well on little sleep". What a lie. Maybe then I did because I ate little to nothing because I was infatuated and nervous and survived on nerves. It is interesting what you will do and say when you are in the first stages of love.

Apologies

Sorry for grossing you all out. I just wrote and posted! Ha ha!

I promise I will write something a little less disgusting next time. Imagine how I felt all day!

Bad Breathicon

For those of you who think that Apple isn't so cool, I can take pictures of my own self sitting at the computer without a camera phone. It's pretty cool. Not that I want to all the time...I am a little bored but have lots to do. Gee whiz.

School got promplty flushed down the toilet today when the Oldest complained of a sore throat and sneezing up celery-looking mucus. I could have done without that. I have barely eaten today on account of it. Puke I can handle. Celery-looking snot? Nope. Not me. So, I had the nifty idea of taking a flashlight and looking down his sad little throat. There was a big white spot in the way back that alarmed me because it was pure white and gross looking, and then there was a cluster of little red spots on the roof of his mouth. I looked on the net at what strep looked like, and decided that I should call my nurse neighbor. The Oldest then told me simply that he "swallowed" that thing lodged in his throat (the white spot) and I felt a little queasy myself, if you ask me. I can't think about it. Why am I writing it? Ack. Anyway, I ended up taking him to the doctor and he does not have strep, but the doctor seems to think that it was probably food. Even grosser. I was glad though because I did not want to battle a sickness like strep with EVERYONE.

The Oldest is still sick. The doctor told me that food can get lodged in throats and it can stick up there for days causing bad breath. The Oldest always has bad breath. Bad Breathicon. That is what we call him sometimes, Dear Sir and I.

Which reminds me. I remember my sister would chew her cheeks and swallow the skin she bit off and it would all get stuck in her throat and the roof of her mouth. She would sit in the bathroom with tweezers, open her mouth wide, and manually pluck the skins all out. She would frequently gag and make strange noises during the process.

Writing just whatever is on the brain, don't mind me.

So, school is totally blown, I still don't know what is for dinner tonight, and clothes need to be ironed but I desperately hate ironing. I guess I will get my butt up there and do it once I stick my head in the freezer and pull out some meat.

Make sure you have a good remaining day, depending on when you scope out this page.

Alternately

Gee whiz. For some reason I have been out of it today. I had all these plans to get this errand run and that errand run, but I took one step inside my boys' room and almost had a meltdown. Well, I thought about weeping, yet again, but decided against it. I was actually too tired. I lost a few hours sleep last night for who knows what reason (maybe getting up at two each night to take the girl to the bathroom?) and now my brain hurts.

I sat in that boy madness and organized everything that I could. I threw a lot of stuff away. I tell ya, the Oldest has the purge thing down. Eraser Eater doesn't. It drives me nuts. I had to toss some papers that he could not remember drawing on while he looked "over there". I then took our old computer and table and planted it in their room. The Oldest was dying to get on the pc so he could play Empire Earth.

"Mom, can we wait to put the computer in my room until Dad gets home? I want to play the computer right now."

"Why?" I say.

"Because you won't know how to unplug it and plug it back in and I want to play before tonight!"

How shameful. My kid knows me that well? I decided to be tricky though, and succeeded. I was almost afraid for a split minute or two that I annihilated the pc (which I don't think Dear Sir would have minded---it's the Apple that matters to him) by trying to unplug the monitor from the tower, but then I just kept it all plugged in and had a train effect going to get it all up the stairs at the same time. The Oldest held the speakers and the mouse and keyboard, and I juggled the monitor and the tower alternately (I would move the monitor, set it down, move the tower, set it down, etc.) all the way up the stairs until I got to the boys' room without unplugging a thing (except the power strip)! I am a genius.

The sad thing is that I bet there was an easier way to do it, but I am a dim-wit. I never do things easy.

So then when I was finished I felt all weary and sick and so I had a fainting fit on the couch and watched Oprah and Judge Judy, alternately.

Dear Sir is going to have a treat when he gets home---a wife who has not changed from her pj's! Don't you love it?

Gotta serve dinner...

Oh, the kids are watching Arthur, and you know the theme song says, "believe in yourself." (which is one of my particular pet peeves) My daughter scoffed at the song when it was playing, and said, "Believe in yourself?! Believe in Jesus!"

She does have a point. I had a good spell of loving myself today too by allowing myself to watch Oprah.

Heist.

I feel like Ethel Mertz or something. You know Ethel. Lucy's best friend and neighbor? I am friends with my next door neighbor and she is a really nice woman. She has been working during the day lately and so she is gone when I am schooling the kids. She is the kind of neighbor who will call you up and say, "I am going into town, do you need anything?" She is totally thoughtful and sweet.

She is also friendly and sweet to the neighbors across the street. Apparently they are really struggling because the husband just went through surgery and he is on Social Security. They also have many other vices that have to do with substance abuse and whatnot, and therefore they are often out of moolah. So there the across-the-street-neighbor goes, to my neighbor's house, gets the key in the hidden place, and makes herself at home. ---While my neighbor is gone. She comes out with an armful of groceries and high-tails it to her house. No moolah for groceries because I just bought some weed, so I am going to go and pilfer from the nice neighbor who is single and is raising a little girl. Wonderful.

My neighbor has told me this much about the situation. She has told me that sometimes she will go and get ready to cook up the meat she just bought the other day and "waa-laa!" it is gone. Happens frequently, she says. She has actually confronted the across-the-street-neighbor, but to no avail. She gets a simple, "I thought you wouldn't mind!" or something like that. So, when she notices that her eggs and a few other things are snatched and she tells me about it, I will suggest she just give me a house key or hide it somewhere else. What is with these people? Makes me mad.

Denim

I hate buying jeans because everyone has longer legs than me and when I go shopping I am constantly reminded. I have short legs and a normal sized torso. My dear friend L. said that I must be German but I am not (that I know of). Supposedly I am British and Welsh. And I have never had a crumpet, so there. Here is a site that quizzes you on how to find the perfect pair of jeans for your body and particular style. Give it a try, you ladies who hate shopping for jeans. And umm, if you wear jeans that go to your belly button or over, please do this quiz especially and buy some new ones. For me. For the world. For your own husband.

Which reminds me---almost a year ago I was driving down a one lane highway with a kid in the car with me. He was talking to me, I was distracted, and there was some traffic. I saw a young lady on the side of the road putting up a real estate sign and I was drawn to her somehow. I couldn't place it for a second and then I realized that I was staring incredulously at her horrid jeans. They looked like they were straight from the late eighties. Acid washed, right at the belly button, and tapered. I really almost threw up in repulsion. And I almost crashed because I could not stop looking at her. To add insult to injury her shirt was mercilessly tucked in and I think she wore a belt. What was so weird was that her hair was up to date and she looked young and pretty! Now, I am not the fashion police or anything. I have a few doosies in my own wardrobe. I am constantly freaked out that I look terrible or something, so I try to buy clothes that don't go out of style.

I will admit that after I got dressed and ready for the evening after my long run today Dear Sir busted in the room and looked at what I was wearing. He said, "I thought you got rid of that thing years ago! Here I am, thinking that old, tight shirt is long gone and here you are wearing it!"

"But I have had it since the ninth grade!" I said with a smile.

He winced in horror and went on the computer. And I am still wearing the thing as I type. The photo above proves it. It is as old as the hills and it has known me longer than Dear Sir has. If some of you will rid yourselves of your ugly eighties jeans that you still wear (please throw away your tapered legged ones especially), I will rid myself of the ancient shirt that cost four bucks. Deal or no deal?

Bacon Press

I have been frying a lot of bacon the past couple of days. Last night I made a BL (with no T) for Dear Sir's dinner, and this morning I made some along with some sausage for breakfast. It got me thinking to my cleaning days with Merry Maids.

I remember cleaning this lady's house. I don't even know if I would even call this lady a "lady." She was more like a man. Well, there were two of them actually. They were rather large and Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum like. They looked like twins but they very well could have been lovers for all I know. They spoke in gruff voices and wore flannel shirts with thin denim jeans with belts. Any femininity they had was stripped from them therefore making them look "Pat" like, if you know what I mean. They were also very dirty women. I mean, their house was dirty. The bedroom was so filthy I remember we were not even allowed to go in it. I distinctly remember stuff poking out the bottom of the door, it was apparently so bad.

I had the sheer pleasure of cleaning the bathroom and I almost ralphed a few times. It was very very vile. I won't get into details. I also had the wondrous job of cleaning the kitchen and this is what brings me to the bacon part. They ate a lot of bacon. Not only did the kitchen smell like vats of bacon or bacon grease, it LOOKED like bacon was cooked in there continually. What vividly stands out in my mind is this fancy little bacon contraption they had. It was a huge iron that said "Bacon Press" on it. It was grimy, dirty, and greasy. It was just sick. I tried to think of why a person would want a bacon press. It was a big mess. Clean the thing, you know? Ack.

So when I was frying some bacon I thought about the bacon press and how one would use such a thing and it made me feel a little sick. If you guys use bacon presses, sorry, I just think there is something wrong with that.

Linkalicious

Dear Sir, who is also called Elysium, is sick of blogs. There is nothing new under the sun?

Angela gave me a heads up that Catherine Claire, a dear friend of mine, is challenging everyone.
Speaking of challenges, Emma has a good one over in her neck of the woods---something having to do with short hair on top and long hair on the bottom. Ack.

Rick thinks that no one will read his long post, but he should take a look at Susie because you know, she is the long post Queen.

Des is making art out of Virgin Marys and----continuing with art, Grant Lee is coming out with a new album and I will be sure to see him when he comes around in the spring.

Molly is officially on myspace, and I am not.

And Alicat's repairman opened a box of her Krispy Kremes and helped himself without asking.

"Author" is the Word

So Eraser Eater won second place in the bee for his grade. He was eighth over all (which he was bummed about) but I was proud of him. He lost to the word "author." The words were getting progressively harder and I had no idea that they would throw out words that were not on his grade level (I have never been a part of something like this before) so we were not totally prepared. They were making big huge deals out of "sounds" and "utterances" and it was getting annoying and high strung. "What did he say before the "g"? Did he say a k sound? Huh?" It's like they are trying to find the cure for cancer or something. Finally they decided that it was just a "sound" and his word was valid. Give me a break. He did a good job though. He was also a good sport and I am proud of him. He got the red ribbon instead of the blue one, but he is happy with that! We will definitely do it again next year!

Dear Sir came along with and took the day off from work, so pretty much since we got home he has been playing gameboy with the boys. The Hobbit and Robotech. I remember watching Robotech when I was a kid. I have no idea why I liked it; maybe there were some pretty girl cartoons on it. I can't remember it very well. Dear Sir still remembers a few things. He has a great memory about junk like that.

Girly wants me to play memory with her (ugh) so I better go. Yes, my children rule my home (just kidding). It is just that she is so cute. She just asked Dear Sir to "pause" his game so she could have a hug. All she wants to do all day long is hug.

Have a good night and get wonderful sleep.

Ramblings

I am a bit downtrodden, if that could be the proper way to explain my feelings this evening. I went to a Homeschool Mom's meeting tonight and I was hoping to find someone that would want to be my friend. I mean, the ladies there are nice and all, but no one has actually asked me for my information. I had to ask people kind of like I want to date them or something and the depressing part is, I don't know if I have it in me to pursue anyone. I want friends, gee do I want them (because you know, I just moved here half a year ago) but do I want to stick myself out there vulnerably? To me it is vulnerability. And, trust me, I don't talk like I write. I mean, I kind of do, but I always biff up something. I notice when the ladies I talk to give me that side long stare like, "get on with it---spit it out" or "what the heck is she saying?" I find that what I want to say does not always come out the way I wish to say it. Maybe I am just slow. I suffer from being slow. I guess. I don't know. I can't make small talk, I don't like talking all that much, and I just feel like I have made all my friends---I was successful at one point and now to start from scratch again? Gee whiz. I have forgotten how to do it.

And then I realize that a lot of what I tell people they could really care less about. Keep it short and simple, huh? No one wants to hear me go on about the wonders of Latin derivatives. Who gives a rip? But you know, having a Mom's meeting at night is a bad idea. I am tired by the time I drag myself in there. I may as well just sleep at the table while the other Moms are talking about various curriculum (curricula?) and when to take time off. I am talking about homeschooling on my time off and frankly, I would rather be sleeping. And now I am just rambling. If you, dear reader, have made it this far you have much patience.

Eraser Eater is participating in his first spelling bee tomorrow, wish him luck. He is set to win.

Sorry I am such a downer.

Apparently last night some kids lit the car across the street on fire after pouring gasoline all over it and the whole fire crew and the king's horses and the king's men were here and we didn't even hear it. I say last night and it was two thirty in the morning. Huh. My neck hurts though. Good night.

New Old Song

Here on my music site you can hear an old song called "So Forgiving." Give it a listen and tell me what you think. If you have not heard my stuff at all, check out the site; there are a good handful of songs to incline your ear to.

Numb

So it was seventy last Saturday and now today it is freezing and there is snow everywhere. The kids are elated. And freezing their butts off out there, running around with frozen extremities. I was feeling a little motivated this morning after my coffee and one mile on the treadmill and I took a long run outside. This is of course, before it started to snow. I had no idea that it would be so stinking cold out. I battled it anyway. I kept thinking that snot was running down my nose, but it was actually the fact that the insides of my nose were numb. I kept wiping anyway though. When I got home I was a frozen wreck. One would think that I would have had enough hot blood coarsing through me to make me warm but alas, I was frozen everywhere. My stomach was frozen, if you could believe it. My hands were red with some sort of icy non-movement---and my arms were ridiculously tingly and wrong feeling. I immediately got a mug and drank some hot water from the tap and it was so difficult to grip the cup.

I cleaned the house like a mad woman yesterday because it had been some days since I had done it and therefore I had a lack of things to do today. I just slept for two and a half hours and had weird dreams about birthdays and other types of madness. When I woke up I stupidly ate an icecream cone and then regretted it once the last bite was swallowed. It was good but it felt wrong because #1 I just ran a ton and it was really difficult because of the hills and the cold. #2 I was hungry for real food. Let's just admit this now and say that I ran for nothing. Nada. All that numb nose feeling for NOTHING. I blew it. I think the scale needs to take another trip to the shed.

Whenever Led Zeppelin pops up on my ipod (I like to run to 'Rock n Roll' especially) I have a new-found appreciation for Condi Rice. I saw some show on her a few months ago and she works out to Led Zeppelin too. Who knew. Even I have an issue sometimes with listening to "Whole Lotta Love." Makes me wince, actually. Wonder how she copes with that song. She's not even married.

If You Hold Up Your Two Fingers it Forms a "V"

Disclaimer: Pretty much all I know about Richard Nixon is the word Watergate, "I am not a crook," and he RESIGNED (which means he was not impeached). Oh, and he was the President of course.

The kids and I were eating dinner last night and The Oldest was putting up his two fingers (the index and the middle) at the end of every sentence. Finally Eraser Eater asks, "Why do you keep doing that?"

"It's cool. Richard Nixon does it," says the Oldest with a smile and yet another lift of the two fingers. "What does it mean?" he turns to ask me.

I swallow my chicken and look at the Oldest. I remember all the times as a kid assembled in the auditorium at school and the Principal shushing with one hand and holding up her two fingers with the other in the air to encourage us to quiet down. "Peace," I say.

"Oh yes," says the Oldest. "'Peace and the spread of the gospel in Chechnya.'"

I almost spit out my food laughing so hard.

"What? Was that funny, Mom? You think I don't listen to the prayers at church?" And he gives me a wink.

He and I both know that this is the exact prayer that Dear Sir prays during the "prayers of the people" nearly every Sunday.

At this point Dear Sir is about to walk in the door from work and the Oldest looks at me. "Should I tell him what's so funny?"

"Nope," I say.


FAST FORWARD TO DEAR SIR AND I SITTING ON BED READING WHILE EVERYONE ELSE IS DOWN FOR THE NIGHT

I tell Dear Sir the exact same story above.

Dear Sir shakes his head at me.

"What?!" I say.

"Richard Nixon was not some hippie, Rachel. He didn't go around shooting the peace sign off at people. His fingers formed a 'V' which meant 'victory'. It's famous. Winston Churchill did it too." He continues to try to read his book.

"Well---I---" I feebly explain the auditorium story to him. He smirks a little. "I know that I know nothing about Richard Nixon."

He just widens his eyes and continues to read his book.

I felt a shove was in order and it was executed accordingly.

Miracles

I found a picture of myself with a Wonder Woman shirt on! Amazing.

Ok, so today I had a talk with someone I know about various things and somehow I got on the subject of the fact that my mother had a tubal ligation but later gave birth to me and my little brother and then had no more children. The person I was talking to immediately said, "I guess the tubal didn't take."

WHY, OH WHY, do people REFUSE to believe in miracles? Huh? My mother had a tubal, lost a child when he was two years old, and then PRAYED specifically for two more children in her grief. You know, I have told this story recently to a few people and they have all responded in that way lately. The fact of the matter is, if a very fertile woman gets a tubal and then has two more children afterwards and then has NO MORE children after that, is that not a miracle? Does that not prove that God is certainly the one who opens and closes wombs?

If miracles don't exist---if the Divine does not intervene, forget it. A world without miracles is like a world without hope. I know that people are like this everywhere and I am sort of acting like I have lived in a dark shed my whole life, but come on. I can hardly bear it. For some reason I really got irritated with that. Even the most atheist relatives of mine believed in a miracle and called the pregnancies that---and still do. Can the human heart be so enclosed in blackness that absolutely no light can shine through? Nothing? Yes, I believe this and yet I am incredulous when I see it. Would it not be a miracle to see hearts like this turned from their blackness into gleaming brightness? I believe in miracles and I believe that can happen. It is a lot harder in that case than for a woman with a tubal to conceive.

You know, you can't see your brain, but you know it's in there.

That's It

Last night I had the pleasure of recording a few songs of mine at my friend Ken's house (the wonderful guitarist for the Einsteins) and I think in a couple of months we will have them up on the site. We had fun putting the stuff together and I am sure Ken thought I was being incredibly silly about the background vocal tracks. I had a hard time singing to my own voice. I usually don't sing with myself (really, who ever does?) and the times that I have recorded I have had the best background vocalist I know right by my side. Someone told the both of us one time that our voices have the same tamber. Ken's beautiful daughter also asked me if I would sing at her wedding in June (which I thought she would never ask!) and paid me a huge compliment by asking! So, I look forward to that very much. I love weddings. It also helps that by June I will have two weddings under my belt to balance out the two funerals I have sang at. I have a real determination to get that accomplished.

Today was a difficult day at school and I almost resorted to the bottle, but alas, I stood fast and resisted the temptation. I should probably stop teaching school in my pajamas and slippers. Teaching and breathing coffee breath on their sweet little faces doesn't help much I suppose either. There are way too many things to fix, I must say. Too many. Sin corrupts my heart so much that nearly everything I feel inclined to do is wicked, wicked, wicked. Isn't that the truth. I almost tossed my cookies when my daughter could not figure out the number that comes before 30. I kept thinking, "Have I slacked off this much to where I have not taught her how to count?" Finally she got to the point where she would whisper the answer because she said, "Mom, I just don't want you to get mad at me." The beast was tamed by a sentence, and I gave her a sniff and we giggled a bit. So I have to teach her to count again. So what. Soon enough she had it again and had just forgotten. The joys of teaching children.

So, I survived my Oldest today even though I almost wept and threw in the towel. I had to give him the "education is important" speech for the billionth time and then even added a few measures of extra spiciness in the process, so maybe it penetrated. Who knows. I just feel snappy tonight. Don't walk by, got it?

Condense

I was walking on the treadmill the other day reading Surprised By Joy by C.S. Lewis. This quote is amazing about education:

"...the greatest service we can do to education today is to teach fewer subjects. No one has time to do more than a very few things well before he is twenty, and when we force a boy to be a mediocrity in a dozen subjects we destroy his standards, perhaps for life. "

This struck me because here I am teaching my own children a bit of everything and feeling spread very thin. Now, I have realized this truth in the quote above for a handful of years now, and have been focusing on some subjects more than others and I think this is good. I think at some point I have to realize that my Oldest needs to focus more on how to form himself into the profession that he would like to take part in as an adult, say, like architecture. He has voiced that he would like to do this. So, naturally, I have been focusing on math. Knowing the basics of math will make it easier to handle geometry and algebra later, so forming that foundation is crucial for him if indeed he is really going that direction.

It is still difficult to figure out what Eraser Eater will want to do as of yet so I will look at that within the next couple of years.

This quote also brings to life the fact that one can not be good at everything, which is what I always say. I sing well, but it does not mean that I can play guitar well! I have a handle on Victorian novels to some degree, but it does not mean that I have a handle on Victorian poetry. Frankly, poetry does not interest me much. I can make lots of chocolate confections, but I can not bake bread especially well. I have just come to the conclusion that even though some people appear to be good at many things, it does not mean that they really are. They are probably accomplished at a few things instead of fifteen things. They are in reality probably accomplished in one thing instead of ten. We only have time for so much and then that is it. Life is short. I can't go around stressing myself out because I want to be good at everything. I can't be jealous because this person plays guitar exceptionally well, or this person bakes tremendously good bread or can sew herself up an outfit.

Stick to the things that you are good at, people, and keep it to a minimum.

Getting Up at Night For a Star-Filled Chart

I am way too into my book (The Moonstone) to post anything. Sorry. Not that you are waiting with bated breath or anything. I have a site meter and it tells me stories if I bother to look at it! :)

I have been getting up at 2:30 each morning to get my daughter out of night diapers. It has been ok. It takes me a bit to fall asleep again, but it is sort of like having a baby and getting up to nurse it. It is not so bad. And the weird thing is that I wake up pretty much at 2:30 on the dot without any help, I just rise, look at the clock and lo, it is 2:30. I know God is on my side with this business. She does, however, wake up dry (at least for the past three mornings now) so it is worth it to me.

I remember back in the day when I had this same struggle as a little girl my mother made me a chart too. I think it was red, but I can't remember clearly. All I know is that when the thing was filled with stars, I was able to get Wonder Woman underoos. Once I got those things you could never get them off me. It all started with Linda Carter, but it kind of REALLY started with the Underoos. I think I have posted about this before, but it has always been a vivid memory for me of my playing on the monkey bars during recess and showing off my Underoos under my sweater. Plenty of "ohhs and ahhs" emitted from the lookers on. Now I stupidly wear Wonder Woman shirts because I can't stop myself and hey, it brings me back to that place. And I DON'T CARE IF I LOOK RIDICULOUS. Wearing that means more to me than the average reason of just liking it.

So when I made my daughter's chart I tried to convince her to get some Wonder Woman underoos if she filled it. Then I realized, what am I thinking? She doesn't care so much about Wonder Woman like I do! In fact, she likes Batgirl. She tries to convince the boys that Batman's "true" sidekick is Batgirl, not Robin. I am not a feminist by any stretch of the imagination, but I like this gender related Super hero stuff. I think Batgirl IS Batman's real sidekick. Go Batgirl!

I should post a toothbrush picture, but I will just have to wait. That would mean grabbing the camera and going UPSTAIRS. Batgirl can fly, Wonder Woman needs her invisible jet. Sorry, it's in the shop.

Odds and Ends

I got a call right when I was making the french toast this morning for breakfast from the credit card company about some late payment (which I sent out and it is totally the company's fault). I got really nasty for no reason (probably because I pride myself on being timely with finances and I felt insulted) and but I got it all ironed out an hour later. The kids had to dish out their own breakfast while I sat on the phone with the bank and a number of customer service representatives. No wonder the credit card company kept calling me and leaving a message saying, "Rachel....Rachel?...." and then hanging up. Why do they do that? Like they know me and I am listening to the message as it is being recorded biting my nails? Insane.

Someone from France just called me right now and asked for Richard. I have never had more wrong phone calls in my life since we moved here. First we were getting calls for Brett (which we still get them a lot). Then about a couple of weeks ago for a number of days we had calls for a "ford bronco for sale". Everyone was calling about that bronco, I tell ya. What, did someone print OUR number in the paper on accident? How the heck did that happen? What are the odds it would be US? We get no phone calls at all (it is rare) and the only ones we get are from wrong numbers. On our machine some receptionist will leave a message for Brett and how he didn't show up for his dental appointment. Well he's not getting the calls, that is for sure! Last night a telemarketer called here, left a message by just BREATHING in the phone, then hung up. Nice.

So, my whole school morning was blown, so I called it off. How am I going to do school when half the time has been taken already? The kids were playing nice anyway so they are all outside in their coats (it is actually freezing outside right now, which is a shocker) having a good time.

It has been a good morning despite all that junk, so I am grateful. It was pretty cool because about a half hour ago my Oldest called me to the back yard and showed me a woodpecker on the top of one of the trees. There Woody was, pecking away. It is really neat to me because my son can recognize many birds---we have a homeschooling goldmine right in our back yard. He loves Cardinals and whenever he sees one he goes crazy. So, since he loves Cardinals he thinks that the baseball team and the football team are awesome. He is a big fan (even though they stink). He claims that "someone" has to be a fan.

Well, the coffee ran out of my Wonder Woman mug and that means I should get dressed or something. Have a good day!

Risk

So I was finally able to get back to running again today without my leg having some tingly, nervy, crampy attack. So far so good. I didn't push it, so I should be fine to go again on Wednesday.

Last night I played Risk with the men. It was horrible. I thought I was going to be all slick and dominate North America and just ease my way on through to dominating everything. I had a plan in my head, I guess you would say. Then Dear Sir decided to spread his misery all over Asia and battle me through Alaska. I have to say, usually I am a good sport about this kind of stuff, but I was so angry. I had a plan, you know? So I said, "I'm sorry, I am done. I can't play this anymore. I am really pissed off."

"Really?" Dear Sir said, a bit shocked.

I sat there for a minute and thought about how ridiculous I was being. I stared at the board for a bit. I looked at Dear Sir. He had the attack dice in hand. I would not be able to handle it if he were to start attacking Canada next.

"Yep, I am done."

"Well, I guess we're all done with the game then," he said, a bit relieved. I think he wanted to read a book anyway.

Instead of reading a book he cut the Oldest's hair (he now looks like he is in the Army) because he will soon have glasses and frankly, the hair he had before would have been horrendous. I call it hair of steel. It is insane trying to cut that stuff.

The Oldest does look a lot better. The daughter (who is five) noticed it this morning.
She yelped at the breakfast table. "Your hair!"
"Yep, Dad cut it."
"How does it feel on your pillow? Nice?" she asked.

I thought that an odd question. I guess my kids don't get out much.

I played Memory with the daughter just a minute ago and first she beat the tar out of me. She was freely telling me how she is the master and would giggle and taunt me. By the second game I finished her off and slammed my huge pile of matches in front of her while telling her that I was the master this time. She laughed and then she took her own stack and flung it all over my treadmill and the floor around it. She started weeping.

I guess we are all poor sports.

Sanguine

I am frightening myself a little. Today it has been 76 degrees or something crazy like that and I am in such a chipper mood. It has been slightly breezy, and sunny, and just overall wonderful. I hate to even say it. What is wrong with me. Wonderful? The sun? I hate the sun! What is happening to me?

I feel like grilling and I have this insatiable desire to run for an hour in nature--but alas, Dear Sir has been gone all day at some meeting and I can't get myself outside with the kids. A wasp landed on the screen outside and the Oldest almost had a heart attack. There is no way I can get that kid to go out there. I walked on my street for a bit hoping the man of the house would come home and free me from my ties by holding down the fort while I get my running shoes on, but I guess it is not happening. It is steadily getting darker and I must slither back into my dank dungeon and let the feeling pass. Being spontaneous is sometimes fun. I'll just spontaneously grill our dinner to night. `Tis a pity.

I wonder if I have SADD. I wonder if I am just a hypochondriac. SADD isn't REAL. (Don't kill me you people that suffer from SAD) Well, at any rate, night is falling and I must bid farewell. Please congratulate me. I haven't done squat today!

Till tomorrow.

Discard

This is the view from the office to outside. I think it looks pretty cool. It has been raining all day today and of course, has been unusually warm. I love the rain, hate the warm. Oh well.

The stray/neighborhood cats keep pooping in our gravel driveway. It is so nasty. I stepped in it the other night when it was dark and of course it got all over the porch and there I was, hours later, cleaning the stuff up. We all try to avoid the poop when we get out of the cars, but you know, I should just go out there in a minute and scoop it up. You know, that sort of makes me mad because hey, I don't have any cats. Its like we have to keep a poop scope on our heads when taking a step outside. It gets ridiculous.

Dear Sir read my post from yesterday and had a little talk with Eraser Eater. Everyone heard it of course, and so I guess that got some curiosity up. Not too much later my Oldest (who is ten) comes up to me eating his ice cream with eyes blod-shot.
"Been crying?" I asked.
"Yeah, it was stupid. Don't worry about it. I got over it."
"What's up?"
"Mom, please, I am fine now."
Dear Sir heard this.
"What's the matter? Crying for what?"
"Well, Dad, it is just that my eraser on my new Mickey Mouse pencil almost broke off," the Oldest whimpered.
"What? Did you try to eat it?"
"Yes," he said in a little tweak.

BREAK TO COMMERCIAL

FAST FORWARD AN HOUR LATER

So the Oldest and I were playing Skip-Bo on my bed and Dear Sir came in. "Did you write your sentences yet?"

"No, I forgot," the Oldest winced.

"You will be writing 'I will not eat erasers' twenty five times when you are done with that game."

Dear Sir left the room.

"So did the eraser taste good or something?" I asked.

"No, it was terrible."

"What did it taste like?"

"Rubbery grit. I don't want to talk about it."

"So did you try to see what it tasted like because [Eraser Eater] likes them so much?"

"No."

"Yeah, right," I laughed. He started laughing too and then I pelted his butt at Skip-Bo.

Erase the Sign On My Forehead

This is Eraser-Eater for the record.

Yesterday I took the oldest to the eye doctor. It gets a little alarming when you see that the doctor is your own age or round abouts. I could have gone to medical school and graduated by now, is what that tells me.

Anyway, we found that the boy needs glasses (imagine a ten year old kid with glasses screaming at bugs in the summer---that is my future). Dear Sir said that it is imperative that the kid gets a better haircut et al so that he doesn't look so much the part---of you know, what can I say? A highly intelligent individual that lacks social skills and enjoys science? Thankfully he doesn't snort, have an annoying laugh, or drool a bit. I do all of those things and I am not considered a ___________.

To add to my dire situation here, the girl just informed me that Eraser Eater just indeed ate a whole eraser off the top of his new Mickey Mouse pencil. "Did you eat that eraser?!" I barked.
"No, uh, I erased with it."
"You can't erase with that! It is not humanly possible to erase with that eraser!" (the pencil is shaped like Mickey's head so the eraser is placed in a useless position.) "So you ATE it?!!"

"Yeah."

Lovely. Glad he can live up to his name. The punk.

Oh, back to my point about the eye doctor. So the doctor directs my oldest and I to this lady who was to "help" us find some frames. She had a desk in the way back of the room and what do you know, all the frames from my PLAN were behind it. She just placed herself between the desk and the rotating thing of frames and talked ONLY TO MY SON. It was like she refused to acknowledge that I existed. I told her what I was looking for in a frame for the Oldest and she just sort of brushed me off and said, "I have the perfect pair for you," and gave the glasses to my boy. I tried to interact a bit with the whole thing seeing as how I was paying for it and I didn't want my son to look more like the G word, but this lady would not listen to me. I guess I could have planted my behind over where she was at but since she was there already there wasn't much room. She ignored me and continued to do so.

I didn't even bother to seethe. What can I do if some lady refuses to acknowledge my existence? And why is this junk always happening to me? I get so tired of it. When I did interject about something she said something to the effect of, "Don't you have another little one around here somewhere?" as if to tell me to get lost. I am losing it here because something in my recent past happened nearly the same and I can't remember who or what it was. Oh yes, I remember. The neighbor's sister. She came into the house to see my daughter's newly painted room. I was talking to her and she would only respond to my daughter and would only answer the questions I asked or responses I made to my daughter! Like for instance I would say, "Thank you for allowing me to borrow the room decor book. I got some good ideas and the room turned out well."
She would say: "I am so glad, E--- , that your Mommy was able to make such a pretty room for you!" as if she were responding to me but refusing to acknowledge my existence. It kept happening too.

I wonder if I have some sign on my head much like Cain did on his forehead that says: "Please treat me like crap and refuse to acknowledge me."

I don't get it.

Various Pieces of Rubbish

We just encountered Eraser Eater's birthday. He got a gameboy and a few games and so I suppose that I won't see him or the Oldest all day today.

By a slip of the tongue I called my husband "Dear Sir" when beckoning him to the dinner table and he said, "Please, don't ever call me that." When reading the Moonstone (the GobholeBookBanters book choice this month) I have read "dear sir" a great many times and I think it is a fine thing to call someone---if you are a sir, I guess. I have been known to turn into "victorian woman" in dire situations (mainly an argument) and so anything that sounds slightly like the 1800's doesn't work well for my dear sir.

I actually burned the midnight oil with none other than Dear Sir and watched the BSU/Oklahoma game (Fiesta Bowl). I *think* I am getting the hang of football and I *think* I am liking it about fifty percent. Even though Dear Sir was pulling for OK, we were both secretly wishing that BSU would win just because, I don't know, we hate their orange pants so much. We did scope the clips of the crowd to maybe see if we could find our family out there, but no one looked crazy enough with wild hats and painted faces that I could see. `Tis a pity.

Yesterday we took Eraser Eater to IHOP for his birthday. It was his choice. He wanted to order pancakes and bacon. The place was packed. I mean really packed. I am actually shocked that Dear Sir did not have a nervous breakdown (he is a changed man, I tell you) it was so crowded. There is always this little evil lady that laughs inside me when Dear Sir is placed in situations that he can't stand. Not because I want him to suffer, but because I don't know how he will handle it. He always handles things in the most perfect manner though. I just know the guy so well it is scary. He thoroughly shocked me yesterday though because he said, "Man, this place is so crowded it is like a cafeteria. My Dad would go nuts!" That is all he had to say to sweep me off my feet.

During our pleasantly loud time at IHOP it got even louder. The whole crew of the restaurant approached the table behind us and clapped their hands red to a loud, silly song wishing some poor person a happy birthday. Eraser Eater looked at us scared out of his wits. When they all disassembled and scattered about, Eraser Eater whispered to us, "I was ABOUT to say that I wanted to go to Borders for my shhhh---birthday----but I didn't want THEM to hear that." I think he was convinced that if it slipped out that it was indeed his birthday too, he would be prevailed upon with a clamorous birthday song. We laughed with him and then continued to masticate our fare.

Masticate. I dreamt about that word the night of New Years Eve. Last night I dreamt of collecting all of my children's jackets barefoot in the snow after walking from England on my way to the other side of the pond. An old church building full of cobwebs blocked my way from my destination and a spider with a rat's face loomed above me. I think that means that my feet were cold.