Nov. 13, 2009 - Can Dryer Lint be Repurposed as Yarn?
I recently discussed the death of my dishwasher. Well, not really, after all I'm still breathing. Anyway, I've noticed that lately my dryer's been slacking off on the job. I have to run clothes through twice to get them dry. Very annoying. Once again, I made the mistake of mentioning it to my husband, who mentioned it to our dear neighbor and friend, Cal. I feel it important to mention here that Cal has been afraid to enter our home, due to the recent H1N1 outbreak inside it. So the other morning I heard a loud noise, seemingly coming from my roof. As I walked to my kitchen, I heard a pfuunf, and was nearly overcome by a ghostly blue dust cloud. My dryer sat in the middle of the kitchen. Clumps of dryer lint lay in various locations all over the kitchen. The builder of my home decided not only to place the washer and dryer in the kitchen, but also to vent it straight up through the roof. My husband figured the vent pipe must have been clogged with lint. How to blow the lint up the pipe, fighting gravity? Hmmmmm... Oh wait, I know! Haul a leaf blower up on the roof (a high-powered variety) and blow the lint out and INTO MY KITCHEN! Cal's idea. Yes, the same guy who wanted a pig. Fortunately for the pig and the neighborhood, Cal was unsuccessful. I also want to mention that I'm still recovering from the flu. I've had a lot of chest congestion. The lint cloud was just what I needed. Oh, and the dryer's still not fixed. Sorry ladies, he's all mine.
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Nov. 8, 2009 - Is There a Ransom Note for Porky?
I have a secret. What better place to share a secret than on the internet, right? After all, who reads this stuff anyway? And this one is a juicy whopper of a secret, so you might want to sit down. Ready? Here it is. Like so many other bloggers, I want to write. Not blog writing, but actual writing that fills pages. Pages that get bound together and sandwiched between two covers. My interest is comic fiction. With so much material readily available in my own life, what could I possibly need to make up? Take the guy down the street. He's a friend of my husband's. We'll call him Cal. Cal's days are free for golfing, gardening, and various home improvement projects. Everyone likes him. Cal can be seen cruising the neighborhood with his Shih-Tzu hanging out of the driver's side window. Cal gets occasional impulses and invites my husband to accompany him on what can only be called "unexpected adventures". Take yesterday, for example. Cal wanted to visit a local swap meet. My husband declined the invite.....until its true purpose was revealed. Cal was in search of something. A pig, to be exact. I don't know if I mentioned that we live in the suburbs, where animals of the porcine variety are usually kept in freezers, their origins unknown. Cal emerged from his garage carrying some rope and a roll of duct tape. Mesmerized, my husband asked the question, knowing his fate was sealed on this outing. Cal explained his plan to tie the poor critter's legs together and tape his mouth shut (the pig's, not Cal's). I know I keep saying this, but no offense to the PETA peeps. My husband asked how they were going to transport the pig, since Cal drives a small four-door car. Why the trunk, of course.
My Husband: So you're telling me that you're going to, what, wrestle this pig, tie it's feet together, and tape it's mouth shut? And then you're going to drive home with the pig stuffed in your trunk?
Cal: Yeah. Trunk should be big enough.
My Husband: I have to go with you just to see this.
There's never a shortage of material around here. Last week we had some beautiful weather. I had the windows open to air out the house. It was late afternoon when we heard a boom! I figured it was just Cal. One glance out the window at the growing mushroom cloud of smoke confirmed my suspicion. This not being the first time to see smoke originating from his house, I remained calm, but thought it smart to check on Cal. I found him standing next to what used to be a beautiful bed of tomatoes clutching his rake, a dazed look on his face.
Me: Cal, are you okay? I heard an explosion or something.
Cal: You heard that? I was burning off the tomato plants and leaves. I threw a cup of gas on it and lit a match. I think I singed off some of my eyebrows.
I keep a file of these incidents in my computer. My memory is unreliable anyway. (See my Fibromyalgia post for details) I actually have a story started and I may post an excerpt if I feel brave.
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Nov. 4, 2009 - Have H1N1 Flu --- Please Send Grim Reaper to Padded Room
I am sad to say that my precious daughter has the flu. She became sick last Friday. Saturday night we were in the ER. The doctor said it's the H1N1 flu and prescribed a Z-pack of antibiotics to help prevent the pneumonia which has been a complication. Sunday morning her fever was 105. She was miserable. Monday night we were back at the ER. She was wheezing some, due to the bronchitis that set in. Here's an interesting tidbit--- they actually put us in a padded room! Wow! They must have been told I was coming! Talk about creepy weird! No windows, no sink, counter, or even a trash can! The TV was up high in the corner of the room encased in a plexiglass box. Only the Green Giant would have been able to reach it anyway. Apparently all the other rooms were full, at least that's what I kept telling myself...... They gave Scarlett a breathing treatment and sent us home with three more scripts.
So guess who came down with the flu last night? Of course I did. Let me tell you, this stuff is nasty and shows no mercy. I hurt all over. Does everyone know that the hospitals are required to report ALL cases of the flu as being H1N1 to the CDC even if it's seasonal flu? Be careful, America. Trust your instincts. If you think your child has H1N1, go to the doctor if your gut tells you too. Hey, TV Media!!! Don't tell us this flu isn't serious and then tell us about all the kids who are dying from it. Make up my mind. You better believe I'm grateful for taking my 13 year old to the doctor. Please.
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Oct. 30, 2009 - It Always Happens in Threes
They say bad things happen in threes. First it was my car. Next, my husband lost some hours at work. Today, and third in the series, is the dishwasher. I opened it today to unload it and behold-- standing water in the bottom of the dishwasher. Not to panic, I thought. I'll just turn the dial (if that gives you an idea of how hi-tech it is) to drain. No problem. Only it didn't work. Even after several attemps, nothing. I recalled a previous incident like this and I just used a little drain opener. But, for some reason, this time I decided to enlist the help of my husband. I should have known better. Considering the recent stressful events and his unsuccessful attempt at quitting smoking, I really should have kept quiet about the dishwasher. He could blow at any moment. Definite seismic activity detected.
Now, several hours and cigarettes later, my dishwasher sits in the middle of the kitchen. He finally took my suggestion (no, I didn't nag) and poured some drain opener in the dishwasher. Unfortunately he proceeded to run the machine. Within a minute, Drano suds began oozing out of the bottom of the dishwasher. Did I forget to mention not to turn it on? Ooops. I guess I just figured common sense would have prevailed here. At least he tried. It seems I'm cursed in some way when it comes to dishwashers. Every one I've ever had has died on me. It must be suicide. Dishwashers and fish. I can't keep either alive. There are six of us in this house. And you know how kids are with drinking glasses, for example. They can't use the same one all day. I know, I know. Make the rule and stick to it. Looks like we'll be eating a lot of simple suppers around here.
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Oct. 26, 2009 - The End -of -the- Year Curse Begins
The end is near. The end of 2009, I mean. A time to anticipate the holidays, food, and all the relatives you try to avoid during the rest of the year. I don't even have to look at a calendar to know it's the end of October. I can sense it. Am I psychic? No. A witch? No. I know the holidays are coming because conditions are deteriorating at my house. Every year, at about this time, things start going wrong that require money to fix. Anything from mental health to major appliances is fair game. This year is no exception. My two youngest kids and myself are sick. It could be the pork flu, but who knows. My car also fell ill yesterday at, of all places, our church. I had to stay home with the twins yesterday morning while my husband took the older kids to church. Our Sunday school class was having a chili lunch after morning service. My husband prepared his "famous" chili. I prayed for everyone's gastrointestinal health while he was gone.
Anyway, I stood in the den during the early afternoon and watched our church shuttle bus for disabled people stop in front of our house. My husband, my crock pot, and two children departed. Uh-oh. Where was my car? In the church parking lot. It wouldn't start. My husband accused me of running out of gas. Ha! Not guilty! I knew I had plenty. He dragged me up to church, in my sick (someone should burn) clothes. We fed the gas tank. Still nothing. We argued about what we thought was wrong with the car while members of the congregation milled about. I was a vision of beauty with no makeup, wild hair, and a barking cough. I suggested we feed the car some of my husband's chili, since he got a little spice and pepper happy with the recipe. We probably could have gotten 20 mpg with that stuff in the tank. We eventually had to have the beast towed to the dealership. My husband (who just joined the church) stood in embarrassment this morning as several men who drive Fords watched a tow truck pull our Chevy Suburban out of the church parking lot. Praise God that the ignition switch and the tow were covered under the extended warranty we bought. However, we still had to pay $200, most of which paid for a new battery and installation. Because, you know, batteries are real technical to install and everything.
This is the kick off of the End-of-the-Year curse. The Christmas budget will shrink as expenses rise. Weird, unexpected occurances happen, like me hitting an endangered animal with my car (go away, PETA) and having to pay for it's funeral or something . I'm not being negative here, just realistic. My husband called from work tonight to tell me his hours have been cut. Times are about to get tough again. I know God's in control, but I think it's good to have an emergency backup plan. I hear Jennie-O makes a mean pressed turkey loaf. ...
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Sep. 29, 2009 - If it Ain't Broke, Do I Have to go Green?
I'm probably going to irritate a few folks when I say what I'm about to say. I'm getting tired of the whole "Going Green" movement. There. It's out there. Don't misunderstand me. I don't believe in carelessly abusing the planet. I recycle. I only drive when I have to, I don't use styrofoam. I threaten anyone who uses a paper towel for a non-paper towel situation, such as nose blowing. But I have to question sacrificing quality for the sake of going green. I have so few luxuries in this life, my showerhead being one of them. The other day, my husband replaced our showerhead. I asked him why he felt it necessary to do so. After all, it was one of those fancy types with spray options. He said the new (and boring) one is an "eco-flow" kind. It only uses about half of the water per minute as compared to the previous one. It also has a more streamlined look. Oooo. Now, here's my question. If the showerhead uses less water, but it takes twice as long to shower, is it really that green? I would describe the experience as getting "strongly misted". How am I supposed to rinse my hair? I already have a water efficient toilet. It uses something like a gallon per flush. Okay. Did the designers of these toilets have boys? I'm just asking because I have three boys and many a time has a second flush been required. Enough said. And what about all the green cleaning products that are supposed to work as well as old favorites? If I have to use more of the new stuff to get the same benefit as that of the old stuff, forget it. Sometimes bleach is the only way to go. Now excuse me while I sip my nonfat, decaf, double whip wheat grass latte.
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Sep. 15, 2009 - That Bug Has a Dog in it's Mouth!
One thing I've noticed in Arkansas and Texas is the size of the bugs. Judging by the size of the bugs, you'd think these places were covered up with leaking nuclear reactors. Seeing as how some of the bugs are big enough to talk back to me, maybe the government knows something I don't. The bugs I speak of are called water bugs, or sometimes wood roaches (eeewwww). It depends on where you live. I think in Florida they're called Palmetto bugs. Probably because they are the size of small palm fronds. Good grief, I hate them. We are not a dirty family, I promise. From what I understand, they come inside looking for water. Considering the abundance of rain we've had this summer, I don't buy it. I think the bug control companies keep a supply of these bad boys in tanks or something. They feed them toxic waste until they quadruple in size, then they discreetly leave them in the houses of unsuspecting customers. Weeks later, the companies are flooded with phone calls from hysterical women. See where I'm going with this? Nah, I'm just kidding. But really. Why are these bugs here? I hate them. I never saw anything this big in New England.
Tonight I was busy in the kitchen baking flea repelling dog biscuits. Don't even go there right now. Anyway, a commotion arose from the other end of the house. My daughter was screaming for me.
Scarlett: Mom! Quick! Come here! There's one of those big bugs in here! It's climbing up the wall! Hurry!
Me: Right! Just pick up a shoe and smash it! I know you're not asking me to come kill it! Whose room is it in?
Scarlett: Yours!
Me: (darn)
So I grabbed a broom and my husband's can of industrial strength bug killing spray. This stuff has a 20 foot knockdown range. We're talking serious killing power. I entered my room armed and dangerous. Scarlett and her brother (the oldest son) were wimpering in terror. I asked for the exact location of the offending creature. It was in my master bathroom. Great. I couldn't see it on the wall and I wasn't about to poke my naked head through the doorway only to have this thing fall in my hair, or worse, on my face. I'm cringing just thinking about it.
I decided to go around to the other doorway and get a better look. And there it was. The thing was as big as a hummingbird and it was laughing at me. I took aim with my can and sprayed. Wow. I got him down and then smacked him one with the broom for good measure. You can never be sure. Who's laughing now? I swept the remains into a dustpan and tossed the carcass outside. Whew. The only downside here was the oily mess left on the floor from the spray. It wasn't easy to clean up. I hope I don't break my neck when I get up in the middle of the night to use the restroom.
I know there are lots of women who aren't squeamish about big, crunchy bugs. My hat's off to you. I used to be so afraid to kill roaches and big spiders that I'd practically hyperventilate and break into a cold sweat at the sight of them. When you become a mother, you'll kill anything that threatens your children.
I am the bug slayer. Once again, please no hate email or comments from PETA.
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Sep. 14, 2009 - Mom Always Said Everything Comes Back In Style Again
Yesterday, my thirteen year old daughter and I went to one of my least favorite places. The mall. I know I'm going against the grain here as a woman in her late twenties (okay, maybe late thirties---geez) when I say those words. I have never been one to want to just wander around the mall, even as a teenager. When I go shopping I want things to happen in this order:
1. Enter mall with destination in mind.
2. Enter destination, find needed item.
3. Pay, then exit the entire establishment.
My daughter did not inherit this part of me. She loves the mall and the whole "mall experience." I was dragged into a store full of girl stuff. Hair accessories, jewelry, lip glosses, etc. I almost lost consciousness from the overwhelming aroma of plastic purses hanging by the dozens along the wall. Scarlett began showing me several items that caught her fancy. Neon fingerless gloves, brightly colored hard plastic bracelets. Flat hoop plastic earrings, and a white belt with a multi-color paint spatter effect all over it. Was Madonna about to jump out at me from behind a rack of jelly shoes? It was like a total 1980s flashback. The room was spinning and I felt the urge to tease my bangs, tear the shoulder out of my T-shirt, grab a pair of leg warmers from the shelf, and break into a "Flashdance" tribute dance routine. I needed some air.
We went into Old Navy. The pile of fruity colored V-neck cardigans was to the left. Leggings and patent leather flat shoes were everywhere. A little further down the mall we passed a shoe store. What's with the pink high-top sneakers? Plastic stilettos? Fake leather hobo bags with big bows on one side? Are they serious? If I would have known all the things I wore back then (minus the stilettos) would be back two decades later, my daughter would have an entire wardrobe of "vintage" clothes at her disposal.
I don't miss parachute pants, but I do miss big hair and doing the "Seventh Grade Shuffle" at the dances. There was nothing like a good power ballad playing in the school gym while we nervously waited to be asked to dance by some boy we liked. I was such a geek then. Now my daughter begs me not to dance in the house when a song I like is on the radio. She slides down in her seat if I sing at the traffic lights.
Lighten up, Scarlett. Your time will come. Someday you'll be the one explaining to your child that their favorite new song is really a remake of an old original. And they'll give you that same look of horror when you start singing all the words.
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Sep. 13, 2009 - Guess Whos on the Rooftop? It Aint Santa
Before I begin this post, I have to ask. Maybe I’m just slow, but why is there an apostrophe in “ain’t”? I mean, what are we combining? I don’t know, it just struck me as weird. Anyway, the answer to the roof question is b) my husband. In the course of our four-year stay in our home, he has become quite familiar with the ins and outs of our plumbing, so to speak. The day before Turkey day I went to get groceries for the big event. Upon my return, my mom met me at the door. Me: "What!" Mom: "There's water coming out of both toilets and the tub is full. But don't worry, I mopped up the 2" on the floor". I was expecting my husband’s family for our first Thanksgiving in our new house. I had it all planned out. Who needs water? So that brings us back to the present. My husband and I took a rare trip to Wally-World without the children. When we returned home, we were met at the door by our oldest girl child. Girl child: “Um, yeah. So there’s this green stuff in the bathtub. What is it?” Us: “What?” (with dumbfounded expressions on our faces) So once again my husband climbed on the roof to try to snake out the pipes. It was after 11:00, when most of us old timers would be sleeping on a Saturday night. One of our older neighbors saw my husband on the roof with our garden hose. Apparently the scene alarmed our neighbor, who begged my husband not to jump. We only have a single story home, so unless he performed some mid-air acrobatics on the way down, I doubt he'd have succeeded in a suicide attempt. We never know when the toilets will back up. Apparently the girl child washed a load of laundry and water came up in the bathroom. Go figure. We watched the toilet water rise and bubble, like a Jacuzzi. At one point my husband told us to flush both toilets. Girl child flushed and departed the bathroom, which happens to be the master bath. She did not know that water was cascading over the rim and down the sides of our toilet, covering the floor. We threw down lots of towels to sop up the flood. One of the five-year old twins (male) came in and surveyed the scene. “The cat pee?” he asked. “No.” “Did someone throw up?” “NO!” Good grief. I had to laugh. It was midnight when my poor husband was satisfied he had cleared the clog. My hero. All was well once again. Until the next time.
Mom: "Okay, you're going to be upset. Try not to panic".
Thanksgiving was moved to my inlaws' house.
Our twin boys were babies. They worked together at flushing various items without anyone's knowledge. After pulling up the toilet in the hall bath twice, we finally replaced it. One evening my husband stood outside straddling the cleanout drain watching multiple Hot Wheels cars zoom past. He also pulled out about 50 Q-tips a pencil, a AA battery, and one of the neighbor‘s cats. No, I made up the cat. Sorry, couldn’t help myself. It’s like Carrot Top’s trunk in our plumbing. Not that I’m a fan or anything.
We've extracted toothbrushes, keys, and a ring from the bathroom sink drain.
One day I walked into the master bath and a red light flashed from beneath the closed toilet lid. I was delighted to find a flashing skull toy from a happy meal floating in the water.
I intercepted an attempt to flush a stuffed Winnie the Pooh (butt first) in the hall bath.
We fished one of Buzz Lightyear's arms from the tub drain, after repeated threats and expletives from my husband.
The twins were a lot smaller then. At one point I was afraid the Health Dept. would condemn us, but that’s another story.
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Sep. 10, 2009 - Score One For The Crazy Home School Neighbors
As I said in an earlier, we are the crazies on the block. The outsiders, the outlaws, the weirdos, the conservative Bible thumpin' freaks. I can deal with that. My skin's thickened a bit over the years where certain issues are concerned. So I have to say I see a certain irony here. My daughter walked over to a friend's house after school today. Her friend goes to public school along with her sister. They happened to be having a little trouble with their math homework. These kids are all in the same grade. Our math curriculum tends to run a little ahead of the local schools. I'm not saying all public schools are bad and everyone should homeschool, I'm just providing the background for the story. Anyway, my daughter was able to work the math problem out correctly for the girls. The mom was impressed and made a comment like "Well look at you, homeschooler." And this is why we do what we do.
Bring it on. Next!
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Sep. 8, 2009 - The Feline Medicating Incident
About two months ago, our beloved cat of three years disappeared. As my husband was the last to see her, the account of her disappearance is still in question. He is not a cat lover. We got a kitten. Then two neighborhood children showed up at my door with an adorable (aren't they all) gray fluff ball. It's kind of a long story. So now we have two kittens. The older of the two has, ugh, worms. I was the one to make the unfortunate discovery a few weeks ago. I'll spare you the, ahem, details. There's just not enough Lysol in the world. Anyway, I treated Patches for roundworms. Sadly, I was unsuccessful at ridding the beast of the parasites. So now I'm thinking it has to be tapeworms. Gross! I informed my husband that a trip to the vet was required, and with a quickness. Being true to his Ebenezer nature, he said we could get some wormer from the local co-op to treat her ourselves. Because, you know, it's cheaper than going to the experienced, knowledgeable veterinarian. He even offered to go get it. Great! Trusting him to return with the proper medicine, I went about my morning.
He came back with a bottle of tablets. Okay. Have you ever tried to give a cat a pill? Better yet, have you ever washed yourself with steel wool in the shower? I looked at my husband like he'd just been dropped off the mothership.
"What's this?" I asked.
"It's cat wormer," he replied.
For what? A tiger? This is a five-month-old kitten we have.
"Where's the liquid kind? Why did you get this?" I wanted to know.
"It's all they had," he grinned at me. Uh huh.
Okay, here we go. I had a plan. I went to the fridge and got hot dogs and sliced cheese. I grabbed a towel and found the cat. We cut the tablet in half, and I stuffed the first half into a chunk of hot dog. I offered it to Patches. She nosed it for a bit, then licked it to death.
My husband offered this nugget of wisdom: "Cats aren't like dogs. They won't just eat a big piece." Thank you, husband. After a couple more attempts, I tried plan B. I wrapped her in a towel and bear-hugged her. She let out a yowl, climbed me like a rock wall, and bolted. My husband, who thinks the cat is a demon (seriously), just sat there grinning at me. Then he sent one of the kids to get his leather work gloves. He looked like one of those falcon trainer guys.
This time we tag teamed her. He held the cat while I tried to get the first half down her yap. She bit me, hollered, then climbed up my husband (not without drawing blood first), and took off. This was his penance for the unexplained disappearance of Java, our last kitty. Our chances of catching her a third time were greatly diminished. After a thorough search of the area, we were hopeful she had swallowed the first piece. We found her a third time. At this point, I just went for it. I wrestled her on the couch, crammed the other half in her mouth and massaged her throat while she squirmed and growled at me. I was afraid to let her go, but I got it down her. So after some band-aids and a tube of Neosporin, mission accomplished. No email from PETA, please.
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Sep. 4, 2009 - I'm not as Dumb as my Teenager Thinks I am
I hated math when I was in school. I cried over homework problems (I won't tell you until what grade) and got the shakes over tests. I had some serious math anxiety. One of the things I have been concerned about as a homeschooling mom has been teaching math. As if there's not enough to worry about, I had math added to the equation -- I know, bad joke, I couldn't help myself. Anyway, my fear has been that my children will be complete bumbling idiots in math. Oh, not so.
I recently graded a handful of pre-algebra lessons for my eighth grade daughter. We'll call her Scarlett. You can determine the reason for yourself. No lack of teenage attitude here. Anyway, I gave Scarlett back several lessons for her to correct. Math is not her strongest subject either, so you can imagine the enthusiasm I was rewarded with after my hard work (hey, I actually got something graded here). She had continued to miss many of the problems I had returned to her for correction. So, I decided we'd rework them together. Oh, the joy. I got my dry erase board and marker ready and went to work. Of course the first problem was fractions. Not too bad. We got through it. Hmm, not as hard as I remembered. In fact, some of it kind of came back to me. Okay, then we hit prime factorization and I wanted to cry. Instead, I sucked it up and READ THE LESSON (imagine that, kids). I got that one figured out too. Huh. The education I grumbled about in high school suddenly surfaced up through my dust-covered brain cells. I was stunned. I pressed on. I attacked each problem with a new enthusiasm; dry-erasing and instructing my teenager as she watched on with obvious shock (and maybe a little envy, but I'm not sure). I was unstoppable, on fire. I amazed myself at how it all came back. It was after I graphed coordinates of a triangle and figured the area whenI got so excited I started performing a math cheer with invisible pom poms....that's when she finally had enough and jumped up to stop me. Okay, maybe that was a little much. But come on, Scarlett. You're here every day looking at me like you'd rather be anywhere but in my company. You think I know nothing. You may not voice that opinion, but you are a teenager. Hence, you cannot help but be of the opinion that parents are stupid. That is, until they take you down in math and you actually learn something.
Man, sometimes I like this job. How many homeschooling parents out there have had moments like this? Press on, my weary friends. God will provide where we lack. Remember, He qualifies us. My Fibro-fog will make me forget the math tomorrow, but my daughter learned what she needed to today.
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Aug. 30, 2009 - Would someone please light a match under me?
The house is quiet, except for the hum of the ceiling fans and all of the persistent reminders running through my mind of the things I should be working on. Working on? But it's Sunday. It's between services and I should be resting up for evening church, right? That's what I think, too. I should have my lesson plans for the week ready to go, all the dinners planned, and all the laundry caught up. Right. In a well organized, efficient homeschool house, maybe. Not here in my shoe. I have had a hard time this summer getting motivated about teaching my four children during the next school year. Usually by this time, I'm so excited about school books, planning field trips, even doing the lesson plans we generally don't stick to. But this year is different. Last year my two youngest boys weren't ready for kindergarten work. This year, I will be teaching them as well as their older brother and sister. It's not like I'm new to homeschooling. It's not like I'm not used to the opposition and sarcastic remarks I receive from people. I've learned to ignore that stuff. It's that I'm tired. Physically, emotionally, spiritually......just plain worn out. I have no idea where the energy will come from, other than from God. I need a spiritual booster shot. A divine energy drink.
There are many things I hope to accomplish this school year. I want to teach the twins to read. I want to find time to write the book I'm working on, and be active in my writing group. The list goes on. At the moment, I'd be happy if my boys would keep their clothes off the floor and remember to lift the toilet seat. One day at a time, I guess.
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Dec. 8, 2008 - Sometimes God Whacks Me With a Skillet
Because I have a fleshy tendency to try to "fix" situations, I often find myself wrapped up in a bizarre mess. You'd think I would have learned by now to stay out of God's way and trust Him to take care of things. Not me. I have spent years perfecting my own pattern of "helping 'til it hurts". I'll come up with a plan I consider to be excellent in theory, apply it, and eventually suffer the consequences. The most recent example of this started two months ago, about the time I stopped posting. Like many of you, we are a single income family. My husband works the graveyard shift and does lawn care on the side for extra income. I get a guilty feeling about this when I see how tired he is. There's more to this, but I'll spare you the marriage details. Anyway, I decided I would sell my fresh baked muffins at a couple of nearby conveniece stores. I did this last year, and business wasn't bad. After all, who can resist a fresh muffin, right? Yeah. Anyway, one morning I hauled myself down past the hood to speak with the owner of the stores. He was fine with it. I should have left it at that and gone on my way. Oh no. That would have been the easy thing to do. Instead, I found myself agreeing to work part time on Saturdays and Sundays. What??!! More like, What was I thinking? I must have some deep-seated issues. It's not like I have a full plate at home already with four kids, homeschooling, pets, husband, etc. I want to point out here that I worked this job for a couple of months last year until my mom had surgery and I had to quit.
Anyway, I started this crazy schedule of baking, working, homeschooling (which dropped down on the priority list below sleep), and everything else. I was sooo miserable. My family was missing church, I was tired and crabby, and my children were rapidly losing active brain cells from lack of education. My husband and I harldly saw each other since I worked on his off days. But I did this in the name of LOVE, right? What a helper I was. Puhleeze. My mom was exhausted from keeping the kids for 18 hours every weekend. Our spiritual lives were stagnant. I completely lost control of my life and my home responsibililties. Other than putting gas in my truck, buying some Christmas gifts and three little boy haircuts, I really didn't make much of a difference financially. And here's the biggie. I knew in my heart that God wasn't too happy with me. That's when the ACME skillet fell on my head. So after two months of near constant FMS pain and exhaustion, I quit. And here's the awesome thing, I just love this part. I quit my job last Wednesday. Yesterday morning, we went to church. Out of nowhere, my daughter was ready to be baptized. We have talked about it for a long time, and I didn't want to pressure her. She was nervous about getting up in front of people. I cried like a baby. I mean I was absolutely useless. But I knew instantly that I had done the right thing by listening to God and quitting that job. I could have been working yesterday and my kids would have been sitting at home.
So, the dust has once again settled and things are back to normal. I learned a big lesson. God doesn't need my help to provide for my family. He provides for us. I believe we each have a role in the family according to His design. My husband and I discussed how we could curb expenses even more. For me, it's going to be more prayer, less planning. If God wants me to do something different, He'll let me know. On a different note, I'll have to tell you about the job itself and all the people I encountered. That's another wild story.
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Oct. 1, 2008 - I've Been At Home Way Too Long
I need to get out more. I need to get out a whole lot more. Today was an absolute case in point. One of my homeschooling buddies had a bit of a meltdown yesterday. She called me for some support, as I can usually provide some sort of comic relief without meaning to. After she was breathing normally again and forming complete sentences, our conversation shifted. We were discussing three women in England who call themselves Time Warp Wives. You can search this online. Each one models her life after a different decade - 30s, 40s, 50s. I'm talking about home decor, authentic clothing, and even kitchen appliances. All three adorn themselves in period hair and makeup. Their full time jobs are making loving homes for their husbands. Of course, none of them have children. Each woman talks about the clearly defined gender roles in their marriage. Very interesting reading.
Anyway, my friend and I decided to round up our kids and meet at the park. We both needed some air and girl talk. I arrived first and waited for my friend while my kids played. After a short time, my daughter said, "What is that?". I turned and saw my friend step out of her modern minivan completely decked out like a 1940s housewife. I loved it! She had the dress (complete with apron), hair and makeup going on. My daughter was horrified at first. I got the joke right away. I wouldn't have had the guts to do it, but I'm not a drama teacher for the homeschool co-op either. After taking our seats at a picnic table, I asked my gutsy friend, who also used to be a massage therapist, to rub my messed up shoulder. Next thing I know, I'm laid out on the picnic table like a slab of bacon getting my neck stretched. The world faded away, along with my muscle tension. By now we were attracting some attention. The children fled in terror but I didn't care. I was in my happy place. So what if we looked like a couple of whackos. So what if she was standing there in red lipstick, heels, and a short dress massaging my neck and shoulder? Happens every day. I'm a stay at home, work at home, teach at home, live at home mother who sometimes feels like I have lost my identity and ability to have fun and act silly. We both needed a break from the house. Since money is tight and we had to include all six kids, the park was the place to go.
Before I settled down with my family, I would never have considered getting massage therapy on a picnic table. But then, I didn't need massage therapy at that time in my life. Now, I have to take my entertainment where I can get it. Unfortunately, sometimes I am the entertainment. Ask my daughter.
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Sep. 28, 2008 - Am I Getting A Real Grade For This?
I spent some time this weekend getting caught up on school paperwork. I am The Great Procrastinator when it comes to grading and recording. I have never been one for detail work. A definite weakness when homeschooling. One of my friends grades her kids' papers immediately. Sounds good to me. As soon as I put on this load of laundry and start dinner. The kids hand me their finished work and I tell them I will grade it ASAP. All the while my inner procrastinator is snickering, "puh-leeze". I can think of a million more interesting tasks to tend to. Tests, worksheets, and essays pile up and breed more papers just waiting to be graded. Every year it's the same story. I pledge that "this is the year I'll be on top of all things homeschool". Usually this pledge includes the housework as well, but that's a whole other post. Here we are, one month into school. I should be ashamed. It's no wonder my daughter's questioning whether her Bible curriculum grades "count". Uh, yeah. Why would you even ask?
Saturday I cleaned the den/sewing/gym (my husband's weight bench--midlife thing)/school room. This task included getting caught up on all school paperwork. I attacked my mission with a vengeance. After vacuuming, dusting and decorating the fall bulletin board, I straightened the school books and sat down to handle the growing paperwork. There was a lot. I'm embarrassed to say my best friend actually graded a pile of work for my third grader on Friday. I can hear you all out there tsk tsk-ing me. I know. It's terrible. However, I am proud to say everything is caught up. My seventh grader will be reworking several assignments in Bible and Math tomorrow. She will also be studying for big tests in Language and History.
My state does not require any record keeping until ninth grade. Unfortunately this makes me lazy about record keeping. I have lots of work saved from previous years just in case. I think the attitude of some homeschooled kids is that their grades don't really count, so why should they work hard? My daughter is learning that the grades do count. I don't let her retake tests. We recently had two not-so great test grades. I explained the seriousness of her grades and that school gets harder each year. The fact is my kids will only take homeschool as seriously as I do. That's why I got my act together over the weekend. I know I'm airing dirty laundry here, but I do so hoping I'm not alone.
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Sep. 23, 2008 - An Unexpected Science Lesson
Wow, sometimes education opportunities pop up when you least expect it. Today my children and I received a wonderful science lesson at our local library. I loaded the kids up today for a run to the library, expecting to grab a few new reads and videos. Instead, we had the good fortune of meeting a woman in town who studies monarch butterflies. She was awaiting the arrival of a new butterfly from a chrysalis hanging from a milkweed branch. She had put together a day by day picture series on poster board showing the life cycle of the butterfly and the daily changes of the chrysalis. In the display case was a vase with a large milkweed clipping with four chrysalises dangling like Christmas ornaments. I wish I had pictures. I was taken aback by how beautiful they were. Two looked like green jade. And here's what was really neat...there were little dots of gold shining on the smooth surface. The whole thing reminded me of a glass bead. Anyway, the gardener who provided the display was expecting a butterfly to emerge within the hour, so the kids and I sat staring at this poor butterfly like expectant parents. We were given a very informative lesson about monarchs. We must have sat in front of that case for at least an hour watching the chrysalis change. Sure enough, a crack appeared and a magnificent butterfly pushed her (we were told) way out. At first the wings are actually small, about the size of a quarter. The body pumps fluid into them and they grow quite a bit larger over the next 15 minutes. This was truly amazing to watch. The butterfly has to remain clinging to the chrysalis or something for 5 hours before it can fly away. If it falls to the ground, it will remain deformed. I have never seen a butterfly make its debut before today. My children and I were captivated. The sweet butterfly lady gave me a chrysalis with a dead caterpillar inside for my science co-op class. There are still two more butterflies due in the display case. They are under daily watch.
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Sep. 17, 2008 - Freezer Cooking Equals Free Therapy
I want to encourage all of my fellow homeschool moms to get involved in a girlfriend group for something worthwhile. You get healthy, tasty food and free therapy! Where else can you get a cooler full of meals, coffee, dessert, and a gaggle of girlfriends? I absolutely love my freezer cooking ladies. The benefits of this group far outweigh the small amount of labor that goes into prepping meals. We all understand the occasional desire to load the kids into the minivan, come to a screeching in front of the nearest public school or daycare, and kick them out the side door. My group has five members, including myself. Once a month, each member brings 2 entrees for everyone in the group. We all leave with 8 new dinners for the freezer. The meal variety is great, but the fellowshipping is even better. Yesterday I was running a little late for the meeting, so I arrived feeling a bit stressed. Although I haven't known these women long, the common ground we share instantly bonds us. We are all Christian homeschooling moms and we all have hungry families. We share money saving tips as well as teaching and parenting advice. I left with a full cooler, three books, and a lighter heart. I have found such a generous spirit among homeschooling moms. I don't know one who lacks a parenting book or extra curriculum. Everyone is willing to help everyone else. We each bring something to the table, so to speak.
My wonderful friend Babz organized the group and got me involved. It may sound like a lot of extra work to some, but really it's not. If you plan ahead and shop for ingredients a little at a time, the expense is not a big deal. I have found that I would have spent a lot more money shopping for eight different entrees, as opposed to two different meals for four families. Once we exchange, each meal is recorded on an inventory sheet for your freezer. This is obviously helpful when menu planning. Recipes are included and we each have a freezer notebook to store our stuff. One of our members put these together at her own expense. Very sweet of her. And yes, if a certain meal wasn't a favorite we can discuss it tactfully to protect feelings. You would also be surprised at the tips others aren't aware of. For example, not everyone knows you can make your own cream of chicken soup. This can be a great money saver. We also discussed picky eaters and how to change them. Like I said, the benefits are plentiful. So find yourself a gaggle. Carve out an hour once a month for yourself. And if you're worried about the kids, we just bring them and they play while we meet. You know, since they don't get any "socialization" at all.
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Sep. 10, 2008 - Catty Competitive Women
Why are women so competitive with one another? It's one thing to be an athlete, a career woman, or even a political candidate. Those arenas are supposed to be competitive. But competition between women as wives and mothers? What's the point? Is there a contest out there that I'm unaware of? Most Organized? Best Decision Maker? Most Godly Wife? How about Most Faithful Church Attendee? Ouch. I am tired of feeling like I have to explain myself to certain others who feel the need to constantly attack me about staying at home and homeschooling. I don't tell women they should all stay home, bake their own bread (after grinding the wheat), and homeschool. I don't put my two cents in about their children. There are two obvious reasons I refrain. It's none of my business and it's rude! My husband says that sometimes people behave this way to hide their own feelings of shortcomings. Maybe, and sometimes they're just being ugly. Christian women shouldn't be sandpaper to one another. It serves no purpose. Aren't we supposed to lift up our sisters in Christ? Instead we compare ourselves as Christians, wives, mothers, educators, and workers. There is enough pressure without making life in general a competition. It has taken me several years to develop a thicker skin. I have my own guilt to deal with. Sometimes I hate that my husband is working so hard and I'm not bringing in a paycheck. The difference between myself and my critics is that I'm trying to do what God has called me to do. I want my life to please Him, not them.
I understand that not everyone agrees with my lifestyle. It could be worse. I could be killing cats or burning down supermarkets. I don't look down my nose at women who work outside their home. I don't look down at moms who put their kids in public school. My daughter may grow up and live a life completely opposite of mine. That will be her choice. My job is to equip her now to make those life decisions later. Is she being educated? Absolutely. Does she have friends that aren't imaginary? Sure. Is she missing out on "normal things"? No way. She is a happy, well adjusted girl. I can look at her everyday and know in my heart that regardless of what anyone says, I'm doing what's right for her.
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Sep. 9, 2008 - Keep Them in your Nest
A friend of mine called me in a near panic. She started a new study about raising our girls in an unGodly world. She learned what some of the kids are learning about in school these days, and I don't mean Spelling. My friend was shocked to learn about what is being printed in a popular girls' magazine that we used to read as teenagers. This same magazine is available in some school libraries. And don't worry, if they're not reading magazines, they're learning from wordly kids at school. Things are going on in public places that would make you want to pack up and move to Antarctica. I was very naiive when I was in elementary and junior high school. Yet, contrary to popular opinion, I turned out okay. I have a tween daughter. I am very blessed to have such a mature young lady in my home. We discuss things on a need-to-know basis. There's no boyfriend, no dating. Period.
Why do people criticize homeschoolers for protecting our children? Why are we in the wrong for not throwing our kids to the wolves? Will they really be better equipped to handle the "real world" if we let them ""be like everyone else"? Is it really going to help them to experience everything years ahead of when they should? Will getting their hearts broken by boyfriends and girlfriends teach them about God's plan for marriage, or will it teach them how to prepare for divorce? I want my daughter to be young as long as she can. This is the time for her to focus on school. She will have a solid foundation of her faith to stand on later when she's faced with pressure and difficult decisions. She should be happy and well adjusted in her teen years. Aren't we supposed to be "in the world but not of it"? The problems of the world can wait, and we all know they will.
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