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Hey all! I am moving over to Blogger. I do not have enough time or brain cells left to figure out the configuration over here and there is a lot more I would like to add to my blog. So, I checked it out at Blogger and it seemed to be more at my technological level (which is really really remedial). So, you can check me out over there from now on, at http://underthegrowlight.blogspot.com . I'll still be checking in with my friends over here. Thanks to Gena and Paul for getting HSB up and available to all of us!
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I remember being at my parents' house awhile back and both my parents were dashing around swatting at little moths like insane people. If one little moth was spotted, they were both out of their seats, jumping after it, chasing it down the stairs to the basement like cheetahs after a gazelle. It was ridiculous. And being the incredibly discreet manners-goddess that I am, I'm sure I said so at the time. "You people are a bunch of flakes. Can't we have some form of civilized dining with you without this ridiculous safari going on at the same time?" or some equivalent delicate repartee. So, then in the fall, Mom and Dad are here and I open my big cabinet in the kitchen/kennel/laundry/rooster area and a little moth flies out and my mom's eyes turn red and she hisses--"YouhaveMOTHS!" and she's on it like white on rice. And I say something like, "yeah, I know. But, I do not have time to deal with that right now." And I shut the door to the So then, I have the moth situation the day before Christmas, which I have already blogged about. And it still continues. My little moth traps from Lowes, that cost $5 for two little pieces of sticky cardboard, which #3 could have made at home as a nature study project, have caught a total of two moths. Two moths is two weeks. Meantime, I have smashed four moths and wiped out multiple desicated corpses. So I open the Rubbermaid container holding two bags of twisted, clipped rice and one bag of rubber-banded barley. The rice has lots and lots of teeny weeny dust particles in it. This doesn't seem normal and then I notice the tell-tale webbing in the bag and then as I unclip the bag, I notice the telltale larvae/grub things clinging to the plastic bag. Then I notice that the rubbermaid lid is coated with webbing. Oh, I get it! I trapped the moths in the Rubbermaid to set up housekeeping with enough food to keep them going for 2000 generations! Great. Then I notice that the moths can eat through any and all plastic bags. So now I am throwing out un-opened bags of rice, because there are tell-tale little holes with tell-tale little moth teethmarks around the edges and tell-tale little wormy things that I can pop with my fingers, but really prefer not to. Well, animal rights activists, I hate to tell you this--But, I started hauling all their sorry little grub-butts out to the compost bin. I figure they can just tough out January in the compost. I figure if your little body is the diameter of a coated paper clip, your life expectancy out there is about 3.5 minutes, and that just makes me I have a great idea! It's going down to zero tonight, so Sir John, the rooster, will be joining us in the kitchen for several days--I'll just put him in the cabinet with the food. He can scare the doodee out of the moths. Oh, forgot--he's almost blind. Blind rooster--closed cabinet full of food--probably not. I'll just have to chase those suckers down and kill them as often as possible. I wonder if my mom would come home from Florida to help me? |
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Just a quickie before I hit the hay (in more ways than one.) I've gotta get to bed earlier, so's I can get up earlier...anyhoo When I got home from the weekend cropfest, Handyman had a good dinner ready, the house was greatly improved and the breezeway/feedroom was totally overhauled with new shelving--fabulous. We sat down to eat the great dinner and then began dispersing throughout the house as is our habit after dinner. Little Bitty (#3) was coming out of the kitchen/laundry/kennel/rooster domicile area and wham! Slammed down onto the vinyl floor right in front of the refrigerator, flat on her face. She fell so fast that her mouth hit the floor. Her front tooth took a big bite out of the inside of her upper lip--so ouchy. I had trouble even getting her to eat the popsicle that I keep on hand for just such moments. It took awhile, but finally got something cold in there. Her lip was swollen on the inside like she'd just done three rounds with Ali. When I went into the kitchen later to finish up, I could tell the floor was very slippery under my sock-feet. Like glass...what was up with that? Handyman had gone to bed already, but I bugged him...Did you clean the kitchen floor while I was gone? Uh....yeah. With what, Pledge? No, just those wet swiffer things. Okay folks. Here's the deal...apparently we are so far removed from sanitary floor conditions, that my children will have to re-learn to walk on a CLEAN floor. It seems that the annual build-up of dog spit, melted snow, spilled milk, orange juice and pop have provided a safety factor for us. Now that that "texturization" has been heinously dissolved by the evil "Mr. Clean", we need to be aware and prepared! I am so glad he bought me those stretchy tread-things for my boots, for Christmas. I know just where to practice with them. Girls, wear your helmets! |
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Yep, I was gone all weekend. It's my once-a-year scrapbook weekend with my BFF and compatriots. We snipped and clipped and stuck and clucked until our fingers were little sticky stubs. It was a blast. Probably one of my better ones. Handyman came home way early on Thursday and his job was cancelled on Friday, so I got to leave after lunch on Friday and not return until Sunday night! He was great about sending me, even though we didn't get to watch the playoff game together. Bummer for us. Colts are always bad after a bye week. Sure would like to see those Pats get their bums kicked. Great news! The garden catalogs have arrived and I'm loving it. This year we are expanding. We really have to because the manure piles have overflowed the plot from last summer. We want a strawberry bed, a sunflower bed, the regular garden bed--maybe some corn again. And each child wants a plot to do of her very own, which I think is a great idea! I gotta get my tomato seeds going earlier this year. I crave the smell of tomato plants. I don't care if they ever get planted in the ground (okay I do care), I just love to smell those little devils as they grow. I kneel down and sniff and know that there is a God and he does love me and summer will probably come to this forsaken state. My parents have fled the state, but the forget something(s) important--namely two large co-dependent dogs. Oops. Poor Handyman. I was gone all weekend and he had three kids, three cats and four dogs in the house--two of whom need to be touching you in some fashion most of the time. Did I mention that we don't have dog fence and so our dogs go out on leashes after dark. Four dogs is a little cumbersome at 11 pm. Then there's that rooster, back in the kitchen shower. There was some heavy spiritual happenings here today as #1 decided to rededicate her life to Christ! How cool is that?! She just felt a touch from the Lord and took care of business on her own. She came into the kitchen and asked me to turn off the radio for a moment, knowing that that was a supreme request since Rush had already started. Fortunately, I did not hesitate in this moment of maternal devotion because then she told me that she was so happy and what she had done. How touching it was and I am very thankful. I am trying not to define myself as a homeschooler anymore. Although homeschooling can consume your life so easily, I do not want it to be the majority of who I am anymore. I love homeschooling or at least the parts that don't involve workbooks. I love that my kids love us and want to be here and I love those ah-ha moments. But we are so much more than that. Just as most adults don't want to define themselves by their jobs--We are Christians. We are conservatives. We are hobby-farmers. We like to cook and read and knit and laugh. We ride horses and have chickens and we are teaching our children at home. It's not who I am. Just something we have chosen to do. I have long hair and love sarcasm (when it doesn't hurt) and I'm climbing out of a bunch of debt and I am completely in love with my husband. I train horses, a little. I train dogs more. I could probably train cats if I wanted and I'm pretty sure I can train children. I love movies and my children don't need to leave me all day to learn enough to compete in the world. I scrapbook and pretend I'm still young enough to sing (I need more cowbell.) Homeschooling isn't who I am. It's something I believe in, something I do and would fight for but I don't want my kids to remember me as their teacher. I don't want to build memories of sitting at a table with workbooks. I just want it to be a natural part of parenting (the full-body impact part). It's got to be different than the crazy, contorted institutional version, or why do it? Sorry to ramble. I'll be back on with daily entries this week poking fun at frozen horse doots, chickens in the kitchen and dog bumper cars in the hallway. Gotta go, the dog needs covered up again!
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To me, stall cleaning is a spiritual experience. And not in the sense of, "Oh God, do I have to keep doing this?" or "Oh God, how can they produce this much?" Whenever I clean stalls (every morning), I think, this must be what God feels like with me. He is sorting through my life, picking out the piles of yuck, here and there, thinking--"Good grief, Child. Not more. I thought we dealt with this already." He's not angry. Just diligent. More piles, more cleaning. Fact of life. I'm not mad that there are piles. That's what they do. Part of keeping animals is cleaning up the mess, day after day after day. I am pleased when the stall is clean. It makes me feel good. I am a good keeper for them, to provide a nice, dry bed. Then in my analogy, I have to add the chickens. Because in my barn, there is usually a hen who is very anxious to get to the manure piles before me. The hens can usually lead me to the piles that have been camouflaged with sawdust. I might miss them, except there's a hen, dutifully uncovering them. So today I thought, (I am so deep), that the hen is the Holy Spirit. I have tried my best to cover up some of the yuck; to make it blend in. But there's that Holy Spirit, not missing one blemish. But uncovering the mess, for my benefit, actually. Bringing it out in the open, so the Lord can deal with me and it. I would rather the piles stay covered, but that diligent Spirit is bringing them out, allowing the Lord to take it all away. Something about a barn, makes a lot of big things, a lot simpler. Cleaning stalls is good therapy. |
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Yes, my book review of Tony Dungy's book, Quiet Strength. Handyman brought it home for me, unexpectedly, and it was either that or a Midwest Living magazine from 2003. Since most of my reading is done, in the "reading room", in 30 second bursts between dressing Polly Pockets, throwing the tennis ball, expounding on the virtues of putting your boots in the boot trays, and hauling animal manure, my reading has got to be concise! At a scalding pace of 2.3 paragraphs four and a half times a day, I'm a book blazer! Anyway, the book is quietly inspiring. I enjoy the football history and the peek into Tony's personal life. I appreciate his fallibility and human-ness. Mostly I am inspired by the seemingly small things that have made his life different, things that I can do too. I really like that he openly seeks God, often, but never gets the big voice or the dramatic moment. He watches for the burning bush, but like me, mostly gets the muted curb of events that directs your course of action without fanfare or display. It is pleasurable to me to see a Christian on a world stage whose Christianity is pervasive and priority one, yet his daily walk is not some amazing, supernatural thing. It's just everyday faith--same questions, bigger issues than mine certainly, but consistency and directional effort are what pay off--and motivate me. His players play for him out of admiration and respect, not fear or intimidation. I have valued independence too much, sometimes to my children's detriment, I think. I pushed #1 too hard as a little one, to not need me. I mistook independence for strength and I think pushing her away from me, emotionally sometimes, had a reverse impact which I am still struggling with. I'm working on this philosophy for 2008 that rolls in some Coach Dungy, some Flylady (not just the cleaning parts), some John Lyons (horse trainer), Michael Pearl and a little Phyllis Diller. What I'm seeing is, as usual, I need to work on me. I need to keep providing a great example working around here, but I also need to build a team out of these little hoodlums, one with a central focus or several actually. But grammar and history are not the core. I don't remember when I learned about adverbial phrases, but I can tell you that the lack of that knowledge has not been a detriment to my personhood. Sometimes I worry that I'm just coming up with creative ways to give myself a bye on subjects my kids want to avoid, but really it's just more out-of-the-institutional-box reality. I would venture to guess that 98% of the population could use more character building and less grammar instruction. More family time laughing, even if folding laundry, and less time writing essays. I came across a lot of old papers yesterday (and pictures, hee hee) and found stuff I couldn't remember doing, but stuff that I see I have rambled off topic. But remember, there's always more! I am now reading Coach Dungy's book with #1. I want her to see "ordinary" faith, in action with a famous person. The book is very reader friendly, for tweens on up. |
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As a rabid homeschooler, I feel it my obligation to report that I heard on the radio, multiple times today, that Mike Huckabee has been endorsed by the New Hampshire NEA. That seals the deal for me--not that I was a Huckabee supporter anyway--I am very wary of anyone who uses his faith as a badge in politics. But the official endorsement by the largest branch of the Democratic party aka NEA, is an absolute no-way for this gal. FYI: Fred Thompson has some great stuff on YouTube. One, in particular, is long, but frankly, the issues facing our country cannot be handled in 20 second sound bites. If you're interested, take the time to watch the address to the Iowa voters that Fred put on this week. It is 17 minutes long, but frankly, the future of our country and our children is worth your time.
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This was the weirdest Christmas year. I think I got two books! This is unheard of--and the books were: Tasha Tudor's dollhouse (a coffee table book) and The Injured Horse--a reference book for owners. Not exactly your bedside comfort tome. Weird! I did get 37 calendars, though. Currently we have three calendars in the kitchen--the absolutely required Welsh Corgi calendar (had to get it at Petsmart AFTER Christmas!), the Pioneer Woman calendar (www.thepioneerwoman.com), and the free horse calendar that you get from your enquine vet after you spend thousands of dollars with him. So no matter which way I turn in the kitchen, I cannot escape the date and the mammals that are relying on me for food and manure removal. We still have a rooster calendar from my mom, a "Mom" calendar by Boynton that has thousands of little slots to write your responsibilities each month, and a three month revolving calendar from my dad, who apparently thinks I need to get a firmer grasp on the passage of time. I think I still owe him for that last load of sawdust. I also picked up one of those mini-calendars for my office, of Caribbean beaches. The pictures are fabulous and just what I need to get through midwestern winters, except now that it's up, I cannot make out the dates from across the room--and my office is not more than 10' across. Oh, and #2 got a sweet little mousie lady calendar. Speaking of little mousies, there was one in the chicken scratch bag yesterday, taking a little snooze. Did I mention we have a cat that must weigh 15 lbs? Perhaps his time at the buffet bar is interrupting his predatory responsibilities...but I digress. Book reviews: Handyman brought home for me, around my birthday time, Tony Dungy's book, Quiet Strength. I had considered getting it from the library, but hadn't made the effort yet, what with the $687 fine hanging over my head for a video called Tone Your Thighs in 30 Days or something. Anyway, he brought it home and I was bogged down in a biography of Queen Elizabeth II, so I picked it up, in the "reading room". It has been very enjoyable, especially if you know any names in football in the last 20 years or so. Tony has worked with lots of the big names and many of the very successful ones. His philosophies are practical and not preachy at all. One of his main priorities is doing the routine stuff better than anyone else does it, the little things, the simple things. That's surely something I could apply here... ...like putting the laundry AWAY before anymore shows up. Like sweeping the floor before a backhoe is necessary. This, of course, will require WALKING AWAY from the computer before the food burns, etc. Gotta go hay. |
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Okay, because the moths seem to have been eradicated and the flies are in remission, I've decided to buckle down and talk about serious issues. Resolutions and priorities. Yes, I like to make New Year's resolutions, although this year my enthusiasm has waned somewhat. Must be the mud. I like resolutions. I like blank pages. I like mulligans. Gives me hope. I keep wondering if my positive outlook will wilt as I get older. I used to wonder if I was positive-minded or if it was just an act, an efficient form of denial. (See old blog on fake it 'til you make it.) After spending time around my inlaws, it's always necessary to a) get out and watch George Carlin videos and b)practice a hobby of any sort. Now, I have loved my inlaws for almost 20 years. They are kind and generous. My MIL, in particular, is a negative person. It's so disappointing because she can be cheerful, but the underlying current is always defeat. Always has been, my husband and BIL tell me. It's grating. She has no reason to be, at all. She had an idyllic rural childhood, was popular in school, etc. She reveres her parents and is healthy as a horse. She has never wanted, really. She got to build her first home, had nice things, but did work when the boys went to high school and beyond. But she has no appreciation for her situation, at all. I think part of it is my FIL. He had a sad childhood. Not abused, but certainly emotionally abandoned, several times and ways. Very closed-off most of the time. Now he is old and crabby and it makes me sad for the girls to know him as this. I'm sure his closed-off-ness has made my MIL starved for affection, attention, companionship. And now that she has catered to him for a long time, there's no changing it. He has no responsibilities, no hobbies, no interests and she won't make/take time to do anything but fret and worry and have self-pity. It's kind of a whirlpool of depression that we have to wade in and out of, warily. On the other hand, my grandma is the same age as my FIL. She has had breast cancer and two knee replacements. Now this woman became a widow at age 40 with a 5 yr. old and a 17 yr. old (my mom.) She didn't have a college education and she couldn't drive. It was 1956. She came from a relatively poor family, but close-knit. She put herself through LPN school and learned to drive. She worked in nursing homes until I had children and retired as a licensed social worker when she was 70. She lives on the most minimum of incomes, with help from my parents and my uncle and aunt, drives, sews and quilts and takes classes and volunteers at a community co-op where she sells her wares. She plays bunco, gardens and could not live without a canine companion. Until this summer, she was driving 3 hrs. one-way to see her doctor, where she used to live!! What's the difference here? I have become firmly convinced over the years that the difference is hobbies, or interests. My grandma has lots of reasons to get out of bed each day. Her pet needs her and her hobbies are little mountains of accomplishment that have admirers when she finishes. She doesn't make enough money of them to warrant the time spent, so the reward is not financial. But she creates and completes. Admiration and flattery are the icing on the cake. Her mother was a tailor on the side, so sewing is a family tradition that she has done since childhood, but quilting is new, and detailed. My grandma has two sisters (she is the oldest.) The second sister is also a quilter, collects antique glass and has taken up painting in the last 10 years. The youngest sister, who has no hobbies (and a traumatic life) is the most aged of them all. Like my FIL, she has no hobbies. No reasons to do anything but sleepwalk through the day meeting the most basic needs. Now, I would also argue that the faithlife is almost non-existent in these, as well. My in-laws do go to church often. But there is no daily walk of faith, no reliance on prayer or God or interest in such as important, although they would tell you that they definitely believe in God and Jesus. I've struggled with whether I should be witnessing to my in-laws more about a stronger reliance on God. But it just seems hopeless (this from a "positive" person.) I guess that doesn't say a lot for my faith. My point here was to encourage everyone to have some hobby. A hobby that doesn't require leaving your house. Find things that can travel with you, like handcrafts--knitting, crocheting, woodcarving, whatever. Encourage and cultivate these in your children. I think that this is crucial for a variety of reasons. Our lives have become soooooo easy and comfortable. We don't have to grow or harvest or butcher anything for our daily existence. Our children struggle not to meet basic needs. They need to see repeated, continuous effort that ends in a completion, with something to show for it--in something besides paper pushing, and games on tv are not it. Michael Pearl has a great article this month about getting off video games, with some excellent recommendations in it. Go to www.nogreaterjoy.org and it's right at the top of the page. I know most people are not lucky enough to live the rural/muddy life that I get to live...poor things. So extra effort has to be made by you suburbanites to get your kids out into life. People are hardwired to accomplish, especially boys. We don't have to harvest wheat and put up hay anymore and that's why we see young people doing insane things like base jumping and land luge-ing. Yikes, check those out on You Tube. (We're sticking with needlework, here.) Anyway, my priorities/resolutions: Don't become old and crabby. I don't think it's a requirement. I want to be happy and appreciative, even if I hurt. I want to be an example of kind Christianity, because I wish there were more elderly examples around me. (And I gave birth to a baby at age 40, so I will be an old grandma.) I want to continue to be interested in the world around me, including voting against nationalized health care whenever possible--and I am self-employed, so I do know what this involves! I want to value and encourage interests for each of my children that they can do their entire lives. This does not involve computer/electronic equipment. This does not involve thousands of dollars of investment. These should be things that they can do anywhere, anytime, at any income level. I want to appreciate everything I have. My health, food in two refrigerators, bills paid, hardworking husband, heated mattress pad, a large variety of animal manures and high-speed internet. You get the idea. I will not harp on my kitchen situation. I will be glad that the rooster has a place to stay when it is freezing, that is convenient to me and easily cleaned. I will be glad that Handyman bought those little boot trays to hold all 24 pairs of boots on a given day. Today's list of things I like about my kids: They are enthusiastic and creative. They are energizer kids. They are watching me every moment to soak up whatever I am putting out there. Heaven help us! The spotlight's on me, again. |
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Yeah, it's not a real inspiring title, but it's reality here. Last winter when the snow got too deep for the lawnmower to pull the trailers full of manure to the garden, we had to come up with another way to haul that black/green gold to the tomato beds. So Handyman being the genius that he is, came home from Menards with a large, heavy, plastic sled. The tag had a lovely illustration of a deer carcass haphazardly slung across said sled, but we had bigger plans! Hitch up two children and numerous small dogs and voila! Poop sled! Yeeeha! This year, it's gotten even better. Now we have an ATV! I swear, we must look rich to the outside world. We are just the grateful beneficiaries of terrific friends, who have cool stuff! Handyman's friend Mark races ATV's with his son, who has now gone away to boarding school. Their very first, little-guy ATV was lonely and unloved in the barn next to the big, manly, racing ATV's. So Mark sent it to us, for free! It's perfect for us girls! It has electric start and no clutch. We love it. It's so little, it kills Handyman's tail bone when he rides it further than 20 yards, so he has to kneel on the seat. He sort of looks like those one-legged skiers. Anyway, now we throw the rope of the poop sled over the back of the ATV seat and away we go. We had to convince #3 that she really shouldn't ride the poop sled when it's full. Her head is about as high as the top of the muck tubs and with all the joyous high-speed bouncing, her hat can get a little, well, you know. Sooooo, she rides the sled back to the barn, after it has unloaded its glorious cargo. I was hauling and emptying the sled all by myself the other day and wondering if we should do some kind of cool paint job--a la "Primp" my ride. I know that's not the real title, but I am not going there. I called Handyman and asked him if anyone would go for a show called "Primp" my poop ride. He did not get it at all. What? What does that mean? My wicked humor was lost on him. I don't know if those flame painter guys could do flaming manure piles or something on my itty-bitty ATV. Too bad you can't see it!
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when your four-year old starts counting dead flies stuck to the fly strip, (in your kitchen--in DECEMBER!!!) and you use it as a math opportunity. "Can you count the ones that Mommy is whacking with the magazine??" Good job! Greeeeeeeen Acres is the place to be! Faaaaaaaaaaaarm living is the life for me! Land spreadin' out so far and wide; Keep Manhattan, just gimme that mud inside!
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Yes, it's been a few days, letting my fingers heal up from the whole moth debacle. My aunt tells me there are moth boxes that you can buy at Lowes to keep in the cabinet, so Handyman has been ordered to stock up on those during his daily trip to Lowes. Just to keep things interesting, there was an outbreak of giant black flies in the kitchen. With all the cracks and holes in that room there is just no way to know where they are originating, but the first day I killed 10 in the front window, ten! They are big and slow, thank goodness. But big means squishy and gooshy, wipes necessary. After I massacred the ten I turned around and there were more on the fluorescent light by the washer/dog kennel. I got a new smacker and headed that way. Would you believe I got four in a row on the string hanging from the light?? Stupid squishy flies. At lunch, #1 joined in the killing frenzy and we got more in the window and more on the light. I'm beginning to think they're coming from the light fixture. My BBFL called and she suggested those sticky strips that we hang in the barn in the summer--very attractive--but we happened to have some. I watched with glee as the flies left the light fixture and stopped for a little R&R on the sticky strip! Na na na boo boo! Hotel California--you can never leave!! When I was at the library loading up on DVD's for this glorious west-of-Ohio slop-from-the-sky mudfest, I found the entire first season of......GREEN ACRES! That's right. My kids have never seen Green Acres, although they have heard the term many times over the last few years. I figured they need to understand the cultural implications of Green Acres on their lives and get to know Arnold Ziffel. Of course they love it. They're singing the theme song. They especially love that Zsa Zsa left a note for the hen to leave them three eggs and the hen, who lays her eggs in a china dish, left four! (Mom--don't they know that a hen doesn't lay four eggs in a day??) They also loved that Zsa Zsa didn't want to break the eggs to cook 'zem "because the hen worked so hard at making 'zem." I so appreciate that the kids think our life is not Green Acres, even though most of our family does. They realize we are WAY above that stage in life. After all we have electricity in the barn now, even the hayloft has its own switch. (I think they forgot about that whole rooster in the shower stall incident.) Well, I gotta go remove the fly tape from the kitchen ceiling before the company comes--ick. Greeeeeeeeen Acres is the place to be. Faaaaaarm living is the life for me! Land spreading out so far and wide. Keep Manhattan just give me that mud inside! |
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There'll be much mistle-toeing and hearts will be glowing, when loved ones are near! It's the most wonderful time of the year! As evidenced by this actual phone conversation with my MIL, age 77. (I am in the car, with kids, after shopping all day with Handyman. We are heading home with tired children, it is--of course--raining.) MIL: Did I get the Princess dishes for #3? (I purchased items for her to give, to help out.) ME: No, those are going to be from my parents. You got the T and T thing. (I couldn't say Thomas the tank engine because I had kids in the car.) MIL: I did? ME: Yep, remember? MIL: Well, where is it?! ME: I don't know. I left it with you, in your laundry room that day. Remember? MIL: Well, I have absolutely no idea where to look for it? ME: Well, I have absolutely no idea what to tell you. It's somewhere in your basement. It hasn't left the building. MIL: Okay. (Hangs up.) Less than two minutes go by, my phone rings. MIL: I found it! (Very happy.) It was underneath the folded over rug (that I had purchased also.) ME: Good. MIL: Now, did I need something else for #3? I only got her the *****. ME: No, you also got her something from somewhere else. (I couldn't say LL Bean because I had kids in the car.) MIL: I did? ME: Yes, you were wrapping it the day we were there. MIL: I was? ME: Yes. I put it up on top of the hutch in your kitchen so she wouldn't see it? MIL: You did? ME: Yes. You need to go look at your list. I can't keep all of your list in my head for you, with all of my list. Go look. You got her something from somewhere else. MIL: Okay. This woman is in charge of my FIL's medical care decisions. I know, I know, we're keeping a close watch on it. Actually, she does pretty well. She hasn't called me from the grocery to find her car, yet. |
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You know, it's that time of the year when I just get a wild hair to do something wacky and fun--like, say--clean out all my kitchen cabinets, TODAY--because I have absolutely nothing else to do! How does this happen, you ask? Oh, I don't know. I spent almost the whole day yesterday in the car, with Handyman, thank goodness, shopping. He was out of town until Thursday at lunchtime, so there was some catching up to do. Thank goodness I had gotten all our kids' stuff off the internet, awhile back. But, we shopped until we dropped, enjoying each other's company and the holiday weather, typical of our state--48 degrees with mist and fog that closed in until I had to lean forward to see the edge of the road! Anyway, today I shopped all morning with #1, until she got crabby (LBSCBD--Low blood sugar cranky butt disorder--see www.thepioneerwoman.com). When I got home, Handyman left with #2 and asked me to get the office cleaned up, as his wish for the day. (He had cleaned the LR and hallway and wrapped presents.) He told me he would help me with the kitchen when he got back. So, I went to put one little item away in our big cabinet in the kitchen and guess what I found when I opened it??? Moths, lots and lots of little moths perching happily on the inside roof of the cabinet, smiling in my direction, thanking me for the many available snacks. I shut the door quickly and cursed #2 for leaving the croutons open, and the cereal open and the crackers open. I have known these boogars were in there for awhile, but thought smashing them would winnow the population and frankly, I just didn't want to take the time to deal with it. So, of course, they chose today as Mass Replication Day, because I have absolutely nothing else to do with my day, two days before Christmas. I'm sure most of you are just sitting around today, resting. And you know when you are cleaning for moths, it is not a simple wipe and spray. This is remove every stinking item, check it for moths, re-package it, wipe down all shelves, vacuum, the whole nine yards. Which would be fine, but my kitchen--I think I have mentioned a couple of things about my kitchen. It is not an average kitchen. It has bare wiring with attached switch boxes hanging from the ceiling. It has open gaps in the walls where insulation is hanging out. It has particle board patches in the floors and lots of places for moths to set up housekeeping and have reunions and things. So, kitchen is much clearer, however, baking is not done, presents are not wrapped and office is not cleaned. However, we are actually done shopping and this is a record for at least the last four years. We have usually had to shop on Christmas Eve day, so I am planning to catch up on the other activities tomorrow. Thank goodness my mother is such a trooper and does the majority of the memorable foods. I just add whatever glop I can throw together. If the family food traditions are ever on my shoulders, my kids are going to have to warm up to cheese whiz! That woman never turns out less than 200 cookies of any kind! Anyway, here's wishing you a moth-free holiday. I have to stop typing because my finger tips are sore from all the Lysol wipes I used today! |
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Oh, and I was at Costco, AGAIN, last night and there was this young woman with a toddler, around 2ish, who was toddling around the table. Also at the table were two older women, maybe grandmas or something. The mom calls out as the toddler leaves their immediate area: "You're gonna get kidnapped." That brings my head to the upright and locked position! I look around, spot the wanderer and look back to see what Mom is going to do about the situation. She is eating and talking and glancing toward the child. Then to top it off, she continues: "And I'm not going to come look for you." I hugged my children a little tighter and said, "Let's go home." |
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With regard to my recent post about the mean mommmy: I have that terrific letter floating around in my head for a couple weeks now (which is great!) I went shopping to Costco the other night while the littles were at Awana and #1 was sewing with Grandma. I LOADED up with yummies for holiday week and some gifts for Handyman. I had promised to bring home Churros, those cinnamon twist dough things from Costco and so while I waited for them to make some more, I ate a slice of pizza at their little cafe area. There was an asian couple in the row in front of me with two little girls, one about three and one about six. The dad and the six yr-old had their backs to me and the mom was facing me with the little one kind of running around some. The older child was standing on the floor, eating pizza. Her dad's tone of voice caught my ear. He was speaking Japanese, but it sounded to harsh, I wondered if it was the nature of the language or the conversation's intent. I eavesdropped...absolutely unintelligible, but the intent was unmistakable. I've spoken like that. :( He pushed her sleeves up and I thought, oh good, it was just about her manners or eating habits. It's over. Wrong. When Dad would stop, Mom started, with glaring eyes. For awhile the little girl seemed unaffected, so I kept thinking/hoping "that's just how Japanese sounds". They never spoke to the younger. They never turned their heads; they never spoke to one another. They continued the jackhammering. Finally she wiped the back of her little hand across her eyes and spoke something back. I had been giving the mom the evil eye, pointedly, but to no avail. At one point the little girl looked back over her should at me. I wondered if the mom was saying, "That nasty American lady is staring at you because you are so awful," or something. I wanted to stop at their table and say, "For goodness sakes, she isn't old enough to be that bad. or I'll take her if you just can't put up with it any longer, Lady. or "For crying out loud People, it is CHRISTMAS time." All I could imagine is what will this little girl be like by jr. high??? They never did stop or change. I made eye contact with the mom more than once and she gave me not a moment's thought. They were still jackhammering away when I left. I stopped at Customer Service and told the gal there that these parents were berating their child without ceasing and she said that was too bad and there wasn't much she could do, but she would give them the evil eye. I thought about calling 911, but did not. I thought of all the times that I have worried, as a homeschooler, about the dangers of people calling in false claims about homeschoolers, and all the troubles it causes. I wished I had one of those No Greater Joy cards with me that you can just give to people. But these folks didn't seem to have one weak spot about pummeling their child verbally. My last thought...there but for the grace of Christ, go I. |
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I received this through Homeschooling Today last week sometime and had to print it out and post it on my dresser, to see as I pass through my room. It is a great reminder to me--almost exactly as I would have wanted to say it myself--okay, a lot more thorough and specific--but how I would WANT to say it, if I were incredibly wise and thoughtful! Especially at this time of year. A Letter: To Whom It May Concern by Kara Murphy Dear Mean Mommy, I am writing, once again, to protest your visit to our house yesterday. I would have thought that my last litany of complaints would have given you pause before you returned, but no. You seem to come and go at will. Well, I have had enough. First, you never give me any warning that you are coming. If I knew you were coming, I would be able to prepare for you as I do all my other guests. Why must you always arrive when the house is in such disrepair? In general, we do a fair job of keeping things picked up, but without fail, when the house is at its messiest, you show up. Not only that, but you time your arrivals when I feel my worst. Your last visit was after a sleepless night with our newborn. Before that, it was during a stressful time when the bills were late. No one should feel free to visit at tax time, especially when I have put off important record-keeping until the last minute. I suppose you would not think twice of arriving at our door immediately after we have just had back-to-back company. These are not the times to make unannounced appearances at our house! Even if we were aware of when you were coming, I would still not appreciate your attitude. Must you whisper those words to me all day long? You can’t do this. You are failing. Another woman would do a better job than you. What are you doing to your children? It isn’t enough that you pick on me, but must you also be so grumpy toward my children? All day long, you nag and complain about them. Do this. Do that. Hurry up. Get back to your work. You are a broken record and you need to be replaced! Don’t you realize that children are not finished products, yet? They are adults-in-training, but they’re not there yet. And must you be so impatient with them? Sometimes, you are like a steamroller, plowing through the house. I would hate to get in your way! You are running us all over.
But the worst of it is your appearance you look so much like me, my children may not realize the difference between us. They might actually think that you are me! I have had to apologize repeatedly for your troublesome ways. This is it. Your reign of terror must stop. Please leave and never return. And should you be tempted to come back, just remember that I am onto your tricks. Your wiles will not fool me any longer. I am going to fight to keep you away. And I know the best way to do that, too. God's word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against Him. —Psalm 119:11 First, I have determined in everything, to give thanks seeing that this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning me. (1 Thessalonians 5:18) I will rejoice in the Lord always (Philippians 4:4) for I am learning, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me. (Philippians 4:11, 13) When those doubts begin to creep in I will be confident of this very thing, that He which hath begun a good work in me will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ. (Philippians 1:6) If you could just stop blustering and ordering everyone around long enough you might see an eternal perspective. You would realize that there is so much more to life in Christ than the day-in-and-day-out ups and downs. Step back for a moment from the immediate stressors. Why, there isn't a hair that falls from my head that the Father is unaware of. He cares for birds and flowers in the field. How much more does He care for me and my family? (Matthew 6:25ff) Not only that, but He is working every circumstance in my life for my good and for the good of my children who love Him. (Romans 8:28)
Since I know that I must be sober, to love my husband, to love my children (Titus 2:4), I will be gentle among my little flock, even as a nursing mother cherishes her children: So being affectionately desirous of them, I will be willing to have imparted unto them, not the gospel of God only, but also my own soul, because they are dear unto me…even when I must labor night and day. (1 Thessalonians 2:7-9a) And most of all I will remember that charity—an antiquated term for our word love—suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity or love never faileth. (1 Corinthians 13:4-8) If I have to, I will get really radical. When you show up, I intend to meet you at the door intent on bodily harm. For I see who you really are. You are the old (wo)man that Scripture speaks of so clearly. But I know this, that my old woman is crucified with Christ, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth I should not serve sin. (Romans 6:6) I will likewise reckon myself to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord. So I will let not sin therefore reign in my mortal body, that I should obey it in the lusts thereof. Neither yield my members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield myself unto God, as those that are alive from the dead, and my members as instruments of righteousness unto God. (Romans 6:11-13) Because I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me. (Galatians 2:20) Prepared to do battle, A Loving Mama
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My little neighbor boy is in 6th grade, I think. Since he is a boy, we just wave at him and buy Boy Scout popcorn once a year. C'mon, he is a boy after all! Handyman will tell you, it's just him, a lame, blind rooster, a rooster who weighs 2 lbs. and the rest of the boys on this property are neutered!! Anyway, our neighbor is a nice boy, other than that he blasts his trombone on occasion to try to get our roosters to shut up. (Doesn't work--our driveway is tooooooooo long.) That poor boy gets on the bus at 6:30 a.m! I know, because I try to hay the Equine Money Suckers at 6:30 am, and there comes the bus, through the pitch dark with the twirling yellow light on top. I am not terribly coherent at this time of the morning. I don't always have all my undergarments in place; my hair is definitely not under control and I DO NOT brush my teeth before greeting my big snorty poop machines. This little guy across the street has had to get up, dressed, breakfast, got his backpack together and dash out the door, at 6:30~~He must get up before 6! Don't anyone post to me about chicken soup--cause that ain't happening here at Netherfield Farm. We don't do death, unless we're pushed into it--like one former rooster who was hand-raised, and beautiful who took to chasing and spurring #1 to the point that she carried a trash can lid and a plastic light saber to protect herself. He would not even approach Handyman or my Dad, but as soon as #1 came through the gate, he was at DefCon 5. Well, he made a small tactical error by spurring #3 (at that time 2 years old, almost his height) on the cheek, just below her eye. She was actually bleeding! That was the signature on the death warrant. Papa woulda/coulda done with his own hands, I think, but he used my nice little gun he bought for me and Cogburn headed for that big henhouse in the sky. But, I digress. My neighbor: nice boy who deserves his sleep. No child should be rousted before 6, well, to go to institutionalization, I mean. Cowboy children can get up by 6 and head out with their dads to work cattle. Check out www.thepioneerwoman.com ! |
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(I wrote this twice, last night. Each time sent into oblivion. Ever seen the part of Little Women where Jo goes after Amy for burning her manuscript?? That was me with computer...finally I just went to bed and read Tony Dungy's book. Much more peaceful.) Anyway, what I said was that the other night I threw aside any thoughts of conservation and drove my SUV out to the barn to feed the late night hay. Handyman was out of town, AGAIN, and that means cold bed, cold feet and no comforting snoring unless you accept canine/feline. Also, it was windy and I hate wind in the winter. So, I decided I'd just hitch up the old Expedition and drive myself out there rather than walk. It's only 100 yards, but dark and cold is dark and cold when you're by your lonesome. Take that Algore. Then to kick the decadence meter up a notch, I came in, cranked up the world wide web and ordered a small animal heat pad for my old rooster to sit on! You may remember that I have this old charity case rooster who came to me with no toes (frostbite) due to some idiot's negligence. Anyway, I admire his perkiness and gentleness and yes, I do what I can to give him special treatment. Well, last summer he got run out of the hen house by the little banty rooster that we hatched from the eggs that came through the mail (another story). So "John", named after Sir John Middleton from Sense & Sensibility, moved over to the horse barn. He nests under this plywood at night. I was able to convince Handyman to put up a windbreak for him in the late fall, since the wall is not completed there. But still, he's sitting on the cold ground. On Super Bowl Sunday last year, I brought him into the bathroom that we don't use off our kitchen and started keeping him in the shower stall there at night. I would really like to not do that this winter. The early morning crowing and the smell are a little much, even for us. So, I found a little heating pad for small animals that only heats up to 102 (their body temp), when they are sitting on it. So, rather than get myself something purty, I ordered it for this old rooster, with no toes and one eye that stays dialated. He drinks water when I hold it for him. He crows when I carry him out to the barn in the morning, while I am carrying him and he comes when he hears my voice. What's a girl to do? I guess I am truly rich. The two versions I wrote last night were better. Sorry. |
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We did a unit study today. Okay, probably not a real unit study. I did not go to the library to pull a lot of things together. In fact, I did very little, okay NO research at all. I did draw on past experience with the topic, which I've had some. Here's what happened. First, shock of all shocks, the glowing orb made an appearance today, right over my house, slanting in through my glass-paned door so boldly that I called the children from their rooms to gaze at it, for perhaps the last time this year! We soaked it up. I headed out to the barn where my very crabby 800 lb. and 1100 pound I did. The almost galloped over me before I got the gate open. Once they settled down a little I did some maintenance work on our trench. We call it the pasture scar. We just laid the cable to hook up power to the barn a couple of weeks ago. (It's my Christmas present.) Said cable went in a 3 foot deep trench which I filled in that day (250 yards of shovelling and raking, thank you very much.) Madonna never had such biceps--and you should see my latisimus dorsi! Hoooooo! As all trenches do, this one is settling and filling in. The glowing orb thawed enough of the dirt (that and the 60 degree weather this week) to allow me to fill in some more, which I did. That's when I had the delightful experience with our soil. I am using the term "soil" pretty loosely here. While it looked a lot like mud, when I would scrape it up, it would not come off my shovel. Now I know you have all experienced mud clinging to a shovel. There are several approaches...you can bang the side of the blade on the ground, the clump of mud will break loose and fall off...tried it, many, many, many times. Did not work. Not once. I would bang the side of the blade on the ground and the first problem was that the blade would slice neatly into the soft earth. No jarring impact. Mud is firmly seated on shovel. Shovel is completely vertical, no change. I tried banging the straight bottom edge of the shovel into the ground...same result. I tried turning the shovel over, so mud is "hanging" upside down. There was no hanging. The mud had no fear, did not budge. I come prepared for this stuff...I have the coolest boots, Muck brand chore boots. They are serious outdoor boots, rubber and neoprene. Love 'em. I put 'em to work. I tried scraping the mud off the shovel with my big black boot. Mud loves my boot. Adheres immediately to my boot. Not some of it, while some falls off. ALL of it transfers smoothly to the bottom of my boot. We're talking mud the size of a half a cantalope or more. Sooooooo, I scrape the bottom of my boot on the shoulder of my shovel and mud returns to the shovel. No sagging, nothing. I thought to myself, this should be a Lucy and Ethel show. I could not, COULD NOT, dislodge this stuff. I was lucky to be able to scrape it into the trench at all. Anyway, the unit study...I went to check out the water tanks that are now being filled by the downspout from the metal roof. Way cool system, I must say. That end of the paddock holds water pretty badly, must be that terrific soil we have. So I started trying to dig little trenches under the fence to move some of the water out. It got a little fun making little rivers and dams. I remembered that the Children's Museum in town has an activity a lot like this, but with way less horse manure in it. I decided to head up to the house, while the orb was still showing and see if I could recruit some help. I burst into the kitchen calling them to come. I'm having fun out here you guys--yeah right...but I did convince them to come. We took the pointy hoe and a little kiddie hoe and sure enough, it got to be fun and then obsessive. Each horse footprint in the silt was a little pool of water waiting to be released. #3 of course fell to her knees more than once in the silty, poopy, muddy muck and then the orb headed off to Colorado or New Mexico or wherever it winters, so I volunteered to head up and make lunch and begin the industrial laundry. #1 admitted that she thought I was just fooling when I said I was having fun, but it was indeed, fun. She stayed behind, working on, considering a career in drainage, hopefully not sewage, but we all know and must admit, that advances in plumbing have saved civilization. I don't know if ditch digging qualifies for DOE credit, but it certainly helps out around here.
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