In the News

Look who made the front page of our local newspaper! It doesn't say her name, but that is Abby on Santa's lap. The area schools sent letters to Santa, and hers was picked to be featured with about 30 other letters in the Christmas Eve edition. On Monday they invited the kids to come up to the newspaper office to receive one requested item from their letter. Abby got a new sleeping bag. I never thought they would use her picture, because she had her hands up to her face in that mock-shy thing she does. But she must have been the cutest one--even with only half of her face showing. In yesterday's hard copy that picture appeared as a 5X7 feature, on the front page. It was a neat thing for her--to be front page news on her birthday.

That Was Then, This Is Now

I loved Suz post that she did about D, so I'm stealing her idea. Also, even after five kiddos, I'm still completely blown away with how God gives us these little wriggling scraps of life that somehow, amazingly turn in to people. At 8:11 tomorrow morning, my baby girl will be six years old.
Then: I had walked--waddled, really--across the stage on Saturday. I was officially a college graduate. She was born on that Tuesday. "Tuesday's child is full of grace." My sister and I dressed her up in about a million dresses--just like we used to do with our baby dolls. The master and I wondered at our blessing. Two healthy children. We had to figure out the baby car seat all over again and brought her home in the red stocking the Hospital Guild had hung on her bassinet.
Now: She presently is on her birthday date with Daddy at Applebees. Afterwards, he is taking her to the Bath Junkie store where she can have Aunt Jenny's "empty bottle present" filled with something "girly and pink." The final stop of the evening is ballet class. Tonight she will not fall asleep in a Christmas stocking, but her new sleeping bag that barely holds her.
Beautiful then and now.

Going To The Prom and Deviled Eggs

Whenever I have an event to attend that I really don't want to go to, I pretend like I'm back in highschool getting ready for the prom. Do you remember starting at about 10:00 in the morning making yourself beautiful? You had appointments for the whole day. Hair at 11:00. Nails at 3:00. Facial 4:30. You knew at 6:00 when your date arrived you were the absolute best that you could be. Well, I don't really go to a salon for my little flights of fancy, but I take extra special care and concern for every detail of my appearance. When I get where I'm going, at least I know, no matter what else happens or what I must endure, that I look nice. It helps. I take this little mental vacation on days when, lets say I have to appear in court before a cold Russian judge, or sit through a observation review meeting with an administrator I can't stand, or...
ATTEND THE SENIOR ADULT ANNUAL CHRISTMAS PROGRESSIVE SUPPER
Are they very sweet, very nice old people? Yes. Is everyone as kind as kind can be? Yes. Aren't these the same people that have helped you and your family out time and time again? Yes. Is the food delicious? Yes. Is it dull as dirt? You bet your boots.
But I still would not have dreaded it if 8 ladies had not taken it upon themselves to call me especially and remind me of the date and time and that they had hired babysitters for me this year (which was how I got out of it last year) and that they were so looking forward to seeing me. There is something about me you should know: The more you try to make me do something, the less likely I am to do it. The master says I am "like a stubborn ass" that way. T'would be offensive if it were not so true. But obviously my attendance at this party was really important to them, and they have been so kind, and they did take care of all my excuses this year (gosh darn it), so off to the prom I go.
That is my mental health tip of the day. Now for more practical matters. I am taking deviled eggs to the prom. This is how I make them speedy quick and easy. After you have boiled your eggs, peeled and halved them, pop yolks into ziplock bag. Mash with fork inside of the bag. Add your favorite ingredients (I use mayo, mustard, and Tony's seasoning) zip up bag and kneed to mix. Cut off tip of bag and "squirt" yolk filling into eggs. Presto! Fill all your eggs quickly with no mess. Just toss bag when done. No dishes to wash.
I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend...I think I hear the limo pulling up outside. Ta-ta!

Comments

I have just been made aware that my comments setting has been screwy the past few days. I had a few unwanted comments left on my "new online job" post. I should have known better than to word it like that, I was basically throwing the welcome mat out for spam. I'd inadvertently enabled TOO much comment blockage--no one could get through. And I thought you didn't care!
A short update on our whirlwind weekend. After tests all day at the hospital on Friday, we woke early to prepare for Abby's my little pony party. Her birthday falls right before Christmas, so we try to have her birthday party early every year. In the midst of party prep and party time, I cleaned house, finished Christmas cards, and fielded a hundred calls from church members who had heard through the "prayer chain" a.k.a. "the grapevine" about Randy's tests. Of course, by the end of the chain, we had just discovered he was in the last stages of cancer and not expected to live much longer. The final call of the day was from the pediatrician who proclaimed that, "All tests look very good. Ah-so feed the baby and feed the baby and bring baby to me--two weeks." Much relief on our part. We are certainly feeding the baby and feeding the baby. Sunday church and then Christmas covered dish meal to follow. Abby wasn't feeling well, but I did not want to miss because I played hookey last Sunday. I gave her a very light breakfast and assumed it was just a case of too-much-birthday. Her Sunday school teacher gave everyone a box of Gushers candy, which she woofed down, despite her queasy stomach (I agree with Bill Cosby that all children are brain damaged...and this is proof). Needless to say, that she gushed the Gushers. So thankful, though, that I caught THE LOOK in time to get her out of the sanctuary. She was sick and moody the rest of the day with the 24-hour bug. Randy got it on Monday--the kid we are supposed to feed and feed. So far, no one else has tossed their cookies, but it is only a matter of time.
I let the kids stay home from school today and we did holiday baking. They aren't doing anything at school this week except watch movies and goof off, so I figured, why not? I am growing more and more displeased with this new school. It seems to me that they spend 90% of their time playing. I do not send my kids to school to watch movies! At least they spent their time today reading recipes, writing lists, and measuring ingredients. You've probably gathered from my previous posts that I'm not a big homeschooling proponent, but for the first time since K was four, I am seriously considering it.

Please Pray

I'm not sure any one reads this blog; I don't get many comments of late. But, if you are reading this and you are a person of prayer, please pray for Randy. I took him into the pediatrician for his much belated 6 month appointment (he is seven months old) and discovered that he had not gained weight or inches since his 4 month visit. Just in the past few days I had been commenting to the master that I didn't think he was growing much. He was still fitting into his 3-6 months clothes, size 2 diapers, etc. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it was kind of pleasing to me. My last baby-baby was staying small for a little while longer. Of course when our Asian pediatrician said, "Ah-so you know you baby not grow? Ah-so his head measure no grow eder?" my nostalgia train came to a screeching halt. We had a bunch of tests run on Friday and are still waiting to hear back. I know what you are thinking:

Nursing+ My Weight Loss=Baby's Weight Loss

At this point, I am hoping that is the case. Though I will feel REALLY GUILTY, it is still something that is easily remedied. I've always heard and read that if you do not get enough calories when you are nursing your milk will dry up. I still had plenty of milk, so just assumed he was getting what he needed. It never occurred to me that the quality of the milk and not the quantity might have been affected. We have been stuffing the kid constantly with food since Friday, so if it is a caloric intake problem, he will soon begin to fatten up. And I have stopped counting points. I don't want to let all my hard work go, but I'm also not emotionally ready to stop nursing. He is my last little one to nurse.

Ain't We Purdy?

The signs of the season are upon us. Here is a sneak peak at our Christmas photograph. Lookin' good, huh? The master has his cheesiest of cheesy grins and though he was instructed not to, K is showing the huge gap in the front of his mouth. Can you guess what his favorite song for this yuletide season is? M is being her usual cooperative self and so, no smile. But I must say in her defense that the photographer was a doofus and if I were two, I would not have smiled at him either. Speaking of our photographer, he should have moved Ian over just two inches so that all of Baby R's most adorable face could be visible.
But all in all, for W*llm*rt's 8.95 photo deal they are not bad. Do you like my gold and brown ensembles? It is very hard to coordinate 7 people without spending a fortune. And the men folk do not want to be dressed too fru-fru. Last year we did crimson and black, the year before casual red and denim, the year before winter blue and grey...I'm running out of color schemes here.

Pics

O.K., for some reason blogger would not let me load my pictures for the previous post so here they are.

Of Course, I Now Know

Of course, I now know I was suffering from pre-menstrual syndrome.

Dolly Parton as Truvy

Steel Magnolias

Yes friends, tis true. The reason behind Tuesday's day from hell became crystal clear to me on Friday. But even PMS could not touch Thursday. We were so blessed! I sat down on Thursday evening to blog all about it, but the electricity went out just as I was wrapping up my beautifully worded, detailed epistle of praise and thanksgiving. I'm not even going to try and recapture the moment. Here is a brief synopsis, bullet style.

• The ladies of the church had gotten together and asked to keep my kids for me on Thursday so that I could have a day to shop. I was too ashamed to tell them that I did not have any money to shop, so secretly was planning to clean the house instead. Early Thursday morning, another lady in the church brings by a card from several anonymous folks who wanted me to have this before I went shopping. Inside the envelope was $600. I was crying. My kids were going to have Christmas presents.
• That afternoon I got a call from educate, inc. I had applied weeks ago to become an online teacher for Sylvan and Catapult. Was I available for a telephone interview? Of course! I must have answered all her questions satisfactorily...I start in February. Paid training to start in January. I will be teaching "school" to small groups for at least 10 hours a week and eventually as much as 29 hours a week for $10.00 an hour. It's the perfect job for me! I can teach in the evenings and in my pajamas and still be bringing in $$$$. WooHoo!
• Two more folks dropped by with their Christmas cards and both had money inside. One with a $160 and another with $40.

When the Lord provides he PROVIDES! Can I get an Amen?

We took the kids out of school yesterday afternoon and picked out a tree. The farm we visited had a combine that looked just like 'Frank' from Disney's Cars. My kids enjoyed that more than the trees. But as you can see in the photo, Rina did not get it. For family night, we decorated the tree and made the first cookies of Christmas. Maybe for me the first and last for this year. I did not hit my 10% mark at WW meeting today, but considering the water retention I got going on here, it is not surprising.

Calgon, Take Me Away!

It's been one of those days. Tuesdays are always the pits because John is in Houston all day and all evening. I only have to be a single mom three nights a week, and I can't hack it. Well, I feel like I rallied somewhat at the end, but no mommy awards coming down the pipe today, friends. No human being honors either. And I'll be giving an account for this one for sure.
5:00-awaken, coffee
5:10-nurse baby
5:30-dress
6:00-leave for mail run
7:15-decide to read magazine while I wait for my mail to be sorted. I'm thinking that this will be a special treat to read in peace and quite for 45 minutes, but just end up fighting envy because these celebrities are completely godless and living lives of absolute selfishness and dissipation and they are STINKING rich. Way to let your joy be robbed, Jess. John pulls up and sheepishly climbs out of my parent's car. The point of me doing the mail run was to let him get an early start on Houston traffic. He missed the bus stop and had to bring the kids down anyway. By this time, I'm STARVING, he brings me a single serving of pound cake from the gas station. DO NOT EAT ANYTHING FROM A GAS STATION. You have no idea how many points values are in those things! I only ate half the piece and it was 6 points.
8:30-arrive home and chat with my parents who got up before sun rise so my kids could get to school and they could bring us a vehicle, because we still don't have money to fix our van.
9:00-nurse baby
9:15-begin cleaning living room, which I cleaned Saturday, and is a pig sty AGAIN! Two loads of laundry, put away breakfast leavings, clean exersaucer of crusted spitup, etc.
10:00-dress M and baby
10:10-need to check with neighbor across the street and make sure she is still planning to watch my kids after school for an hour. Ian and Marina are riding their bikes in our driveway. I remind them that they are not to ride them outside the picket fence, which they know, because we play out there every day and I tell them every day not to do that and I show them how far they can go and where they must stop and I remind them constantly not to get any closer to the road and not to ever chase a ball into the road or follow someone into the road or cross without an adult holding their hand and my life is a broken record of the same instructions over and over again...I say, "I'm going across the street to speak with Mrs. Kristen for a minute. You don't need to come. No, just play here. I can watch you from across the street. I'm watching you. Look, don't follow me. Don't come close to the road. You know not to go past the fence." I cross the street (by the way, our house is in a school zone and might see 5 cars roll down it on a busy morning), I knock on the fema trailor door. We exchange pleasantries, "How was your Thanksgiving? Fine, and yours?" And I have one eye trained on my driveway, because deep down, I know. I know she will not be able to stand it. She will not be able to stand such a clear cut, simple, in-your-face-obey-me command, and I was RIGHT. As soon as she thinks I am absorbed in my conversation she is pedaling maniac style to the road, past her brother, past the parked van, and PAST THE FENCE. So I'm hollering like a drunken fish wife at her to STOP to get her rear end back in that driveway and park that little hiney on the porch bench because I'm coming to tear it up in just a minute....."WAAAAAAAAAA!" the siren yell. All in front of my neighbor who is lost as a goose and who I've been trying to build a friendship with for a year now. And it has been all uphill work because she thought--strike that thinks--people who went to church were all either nut jobs or hypocrites. What's that I hear? Is that the sound of a testimony being flushed down the toilet?
10:30-Take care of the aforementioned bizniz.
11:00-feed children.
11:30-feed myself
12:00-read books to toddlers
12:30-send them off for naps, nurse burp diaper and tickle baby
1:00-lay down for my own little siesta.
1:15-but I think it must be 3:00 because there is a party going on down the hall. "Oh my, I can barely pull my eyes open. A two hour nap and it feels like I just laid down. What wrong with me? You gotta wake up..." And I'm draggin out of bed, putting on my shoes, and puttering into the kitchen for a glass of water. The kids are bouncing around me in a decidedly anti-postnap manner. I look at the clock. IT IS 1:15??!! On the best of days, Fiona (Marina's alter ego) needs at least a two hour nap! And today is not the best of days. 30 minutes is not going to cut it. "GRRRR! Ian, I know you are behind this! You went into her room and woke her up and you two have been in there playing and carrying on. You get in that bed right now...Both of you!" Take care of some Bizniz with him.
1:25-O.K., Jess, get it together, you can salvage this day. It could be worse. At least they didn't wake the baby...
1.5 seconds later-DING DONG! Our super sonic door bell sounds in the back hall. Right by the baby's room. He immediately begins to stir. It had better be Ed McMann at that door. Nope. My mentally handicapped neighbor. She is in her mid forties, but has the mind of a six year old. She comes over about four times a week during the day. Can I tape some pictures together for her, can I staple this for her, do I have bandaids in the house, can I read this note for her. Today's emergency was a Christmas ornament that needed hot glue. She can't touch them guns. They get hot and burn her. Can I work a one of them guns? Yes, of course I will V, but honey, do you remember? Please don't ring the bell during the day. Remember? Just knock softly. The baby takes naps and the door bell wakes him up. By now there are blood curdling screams emanating from the nursery door. She looks at me confused. But, Miss Jessica, I think your baby is awake right now. And I could not hold back a note of exasperation. Yes V, he is awake now because you woke him up when you rang the door bell. She probably didn't understand the sentence, but the frustration she instantly registered. Her eyes filled with tears. Oh, Miss Jessica, I so sorry. Please forgive me. I promise I won't do that no more. I real, real sorry. You been so nice to help me...She is hugging me. Me, the SCUM OF THE EARTH. I have made a mentally handicapped person cry. You don't get much lower than that.
1:30-go pick up baby and we cry together on the sofa. I hear a slamming noise. Could that be the child I plainly told to lay in her bed? Why yes, it is. She was told to lay in bed and has decided to disobey. But it wasn't good enough for her to disobey; she needed my attention drawn to the disobedience. More BIZNIZ.
2:00-abandon all hope of a nap. Put two kids in back yard to play (what they wanted all along.) Put baby in now clean exersaucer where he commences to vomit. Sit down at table with view of backyard and work on my Walk Thru The Bible application. Yes, that would be me, the SCUM OF THE EARTH, filling out a job app for a teaching position with Walk Thru The Bible. A job in which people would pay MONEY for ME to teach THEIR CHILDREN the BIBLE! The truly scary thing is that I just might get the job. Because girlfriend KNOWS the Bible. Which just proves that it's not what you know, it is what you do.

Can I please start this day over?

Update

I'm back. Here is what has been going on in my life aside from love slaving.
1. Puppies are growing! The runt with the torn umbilical cord has made a full recovery. They have their eyes open now and are scooting all over the whelping kennel. We are a little worried about Sally, though, she is still spotting. Are dogs supposed to do that this long after puppy birth?
2. Randy is taking some solids. He'd been turning up his nose at rice cereal for two weeks. You are supposed to start with rice cereal. I think it is written in the Great Book Of Mommyhood. "Thou shalt offer no other foods before rice cereal." And just under it, "Thou shalt not introduce fruit before veggies." I broke both laws and bought him some oatmeal with apples. I hope this is not the beginning of a lifetime of poor nutrition. He was pleased, anyway.
3. I have lost 15.8 pounds!! Weighed in today at just 2 pounds over my healthy weight range limit. It will probably take until next week for Thanksgiving to catch up with me, so if I am VERY good all week, maybe I can make up for it. I would love to hit my 10% mark on Saturday. That is ten percent of total body weight, not 10% toward goal. I'm a little over six pounds from goal. But I'll tell you sisters, that there is more than six pounds of flab still left on this old body, and just what am I going to do with that? I'm not really a serious exercise enthusiast and a tummy tuck is not an option because...
4. We are broke. We are so broke. Our van is broke. Second break down in two weeks. First break down cost us $700.00. The Lord only knows where the money is going to come from for this job. We are praying, praying, praying and claiming His promises. Because we are broke. Really, really broke.
5. Just got my 20 pound turkey out of the oven. Yes, it is the Saturday after Thanksgiving and I'm just now cooking turkey, but we ate at my sister's, and someone had given us this ENORMOUS turkey. A local grocery was giving them away to shoppers who spent $100 or more on a certain day. So a step-father-in-law of one of our neighbors got this turkey, and I guess somehow he knew that DH was a pastor, so he knocks on our door and asks if our church is giving away Thanksgiving baskets. We were. And to be honest, from the look of this guy, I thought he must be knocking to ask if he could get one. Nope. He hefts this bird at hubby. Well actually, the baskets are just for non-perishable items. "Well, you can have it then. We don't want it." And with that he was gone, leaving his gobbler behind. So we will be having turkey and stuffing tomorrow, turkey pot pie on Monday, turkey enchiladas on Tuesday, turkey gumbo on Wednesday...I'm sure this must be part of God's provision. Now taking any and all turkey recipes.

Caught

O.K., Suzi caught me off my chains and tagged me for a round of "What's Inside My Purse." It is Wednesday and the master is away on Wednesday night, He,he,he! When the master is away, the love slave will blog. I would love to play, but I don't own a purse. Haven't carried one since '96. Mother of five and I don't carry a purse? It just struck me how incongruent that is. When my kids have snot, I don't say, "Oh, just a second honey, I have a tissue in my purse." Usually something more along the lines of, "That is disgusting, go find a tissue." When my kids spill something down the front of their shirts, I don't whip out a Shout wipe, I just think, "Man, I hope that comes out." Sa La Vi.
This is what is in my wallet:
1. four pennies (sadly the only money in my wallet)
2. debit card
3. Wal*Mart gift card (for purchasing gasoline at a 3 cent discount)
4. An appointment card for the baby's pediatrician for the seventh. Which we missed! I should have played this game earlier.
5. Weight Watchers Membership Book. Recording a 13 pound loss, ladies, yeah me!
6. Insurance cards
7. Social Security Cards for me and all five kiddos. You're not supposed to carry these on your person, I know. Don't tell my mother.
8. Marble slab punch card. It hasn't been seeing much action lately on account of #5.
9. Pictures of kids and nieces. Looking at them they are all really outdated. I don't even know why I have them. I never show them to anybody and I never look at them myself.
10 Driver's License
11. J.C. Penney charge card. It has been seeing way too much action.
12. five library cards
13. Goodwill punch card. Three more stamps and I get $10.00 in free merchandise!
14. Toys R Us gift card with $10.00 from last year's holiday shopping. I wonder if it is still good?
15. 10 receipts from Wall*Mart. We keep that place in business.

My wallet is big, black, and ugly and I don't actually remember when I purchased it. I can tell you that it is OLD. Maybe I'll head on down to the Goodwill store for some purse shopping! I tag Lisa, Cari, and Kim (if you haven't already been tagged.

The Puppies are HERE!

I have been granted a momentary leave of absence from slaving to report on our harrowing adventure of delivering puppies last night. After many years, and many disappointments, DH and I have brought forth our first litter! Sometime back in 2001, we decided that it would be a good learning experience for our kids to raise something. Teach responsibility, business management, and sex ed all rolled up into one family enterprise. Living in the city, we agreed upon dachshunds. Small, short hair dogs. Cute. Sell for $$$$. Good idea, right?
Yeah, until your first female comes into her first heat and you discover she has a hereditary defect and you have to get her fixed and then you run over her in your own driveway with your little children watching and the whole experience is just so traumatizing that you wait another year and buy a new female and male pair and then you move and have a hurricane and the dog is so stressed that it doesn't come into heat for a whole nuther year and when it does it turns out that breeding an even slightly larger dog with a slightly smaller female is a profoundly stupid idea!
Our poor dog was in such agony last night. We had one good happy moment when the first puppy was born and the kids were all crowded around the whelping kennel exclaiming over the wonder of life, but it went to hell in a hand-basket from there. Thankfully, after the kids were ushered off to bed. It turns out that first one was the runt of the litter. It had a hernia and had to be whisked to the animal hospital for stitches. Do you know how much after-hours, emergency vet care costs? That will be $75 for the exam. $40 for the stitches. Two tiny stitches. Took a total of 10 minutes. Oh, and by the way, if you have to bring in the mother, that will be $500.00 up front for us to even look at her. O.K., no thank you, we will be delivering these puppies ourselves. Dogs have been doing it on their own since the garden, so how hard can it be, right? Twelve hours later, I'm back on the hotline, weeping, I will gladly pay whatever they ask. Just please stop this animal's suffering--the dog's too!
Sorry, we're closed. And your vet? Oh, I don't believe he opens until 8:30.
TWO hours away!! And the whole time Sally is looking at me with these--well, yes, puppy dog eyes--that said, "Please, help me!" She wasn't going to make it another two hours.
We were miserable knowing we had done this terrible thing to Sally, but we did try to do everything we could to save her and the puppies. Girlfriends, I stuck my finger in places I never thought I would! We lost two of the puppies and saved three. And Sally lived, praise God, she lived! If you have never had to tell your children that a beloved pet is dead, you cannot know my relief. She is being a good mother to her puppies. They are very cute, but I don't think I'm cut out for the dog business.

Dachshund anyone?

And So For A Time..

I must bid you all a farewell. Tensions have been building in our home, and I think my new blog habit might be partially to blame. I've been spending about an hour every evening parked here, reading blogs, and check back throughout the day looking for comments. So I think a two week hiatus is in order. I will greet my husband in the door, make sure his dinner is on the table, hang upon his every word after the meal, and make myself his love slave. At the end of two weeks, mark my words, he will be bring me flowers, he will beg to be assigned household tasks, he will sing my praises at the city gate. And he will ask, "What may I do for you, oh woman of women?" To which I will respond in my most submissive voice, "Oh, my lord, might I have an hour or even two to blog?"
Or something to that affect.

Weight Watchers Update

Bet you thought I'd fallen off the wagon, right? Well, I haven't, but I haven't been especially good--that is 'following plan'--this week, either. I could make excuses, but we are strictly trained at Weight Watchers not to do that. This morning was the first weigh in where I hadn't lost. I didn't gain, but it has been such an encouragement every week to see those falling numbers on my chart. I was only two tenths of a pound away from that 10 pound mark, too! Next week will bring better results. Me and old Leslie Sandsone are going to spend some quality time together. This blog will keep me accountable. I will have success.

Thanks for sitting in on my little positive self talk session. Feel free to leave me some cooperative feedback. Listen to me with all this Weight Watchers lingo!

Lifebook

By a series of disconnected events (which is the story of my life), I finished Marina's Life Book today. Winter has finally arrived; I was dressing the baby and realized that I didn't have any socks that fit him. Up until today, he hasn't needed any. I went out to the shed to search the hand-me-down boxes for socks. On top of the tough tote was a neglected milk carton with a few odds and ends left over from the move. In it, I saw a blue folder. Eureka! The lost notes from our first trip to Russia and newspaper articles of Marina's adoption. I bring them in and decide that,before I lose them again, I will type up the journal notes and put them in her lifebook. Shucks, while I'm doing that, I might as well finish the whole darn book. It's only been two years, so why not? It has been sort-of finished for a year now and Marina loves to look at the pictures. She doesn't understand it all, but that doesn't stop her from lording it over her brother that she is Russian.

Rina/pointing/: See. Look! Mommy...and Weena.../Rina/ BABY Weena. Mommy hold Weena...Wussia.
Ian/crowding in/:Yeah, we went to see that big bell and...
Rina/breaking in with urgency/:Nuh, uh! ME! Not YOU! Not Ian. Me--Wussian. Not you."
Me: She is right Ian, you weren't there. You didn't go.
Rina/smugly triumphant/:Das wite. Me-ee Wussian. Not you.

I guess that's a good start on cultural pride, yes? Or maybe just a normal start on sibling rivalry? Probably. But I'll take it. She pronounces 'Russia' so cute!
Notice that I have given up substituting initials for names. With as many kids as I have, it is rather cumbersome and they made my posts confusing. Most of you reading this blog know us anyway. And any sicko lurkers out there be advised, I have a gun and I wouldn't mind using it.

I Survived Fall Festival

But it was a close shave. I always make my kids' costumes, and I always say, "NEVER again!" This year I really mean it. I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown and my house looks like...well my house, my house...it may never recover. I was up until 2:00 a.m. feverishly sewing the last touches on a mermaid and two tropical fish. That is hand sewing, mind you...the machine work I finished at 10:00. 'Never operate heavy equipment after 10:00,' is probably a good rule of thumb wouldn't you say? It was only a teeny, tiny bit worth it when an elderly lady asked A where she had gotten such a pretty costume and she answered with audible pride in her voice, "My mommy made it for me!" and so totally not worth it when I ditched his fish 10 minutes into Fall Fest and flatly refused to wear it properly.
But here is the result. Aren't they cute? Now, M and R's costume I did not make. I found them on ebay for cheaper than what I could make them for and oh, so darling. Besides, five costumes would certainly have been the end of me. This year's theme, obviously, "Under the Sea."

Like Father, Like Son

Sometimes I feel as though I gave birth to my husband. Yesterday, I threw on a T-shirt that has been laying on my dresser for several weeks. It isn't ours; DH borrowed it from my Dad when last we were at their house. He had gotten all sweaty building a deck for them and wanted something clean and dry to wear home. I had washed it, folded it and put it there to return. Well, it just so happened that now it was the only clean shirt available. It is not a new shirt.
I'm in the bathroom finishing my morning routine (deodorant and tooth brushing) when DH comes in. "Baby you are so beautiful. Where did you get that shirt? Is that the one I wore home from your parents'? You look great it in it." So I'm wondering what has got into him? It's not even the fourth night. Whatever.
Fast forward two hours. K looks up from his yogurt and graham crackers. "Wow Mom, you look so pretty today! With that shirt and your hair all pulled back," (that would be my pony tail), "you look really nice!" Weird. Those two scare me sometimes.
My sister and I used to keep a running update on what we wanted be dressed in for our funerals. We didn't discuss it overly much, just liked to get our mother riled up on occasion, and funeral talk always did the trick. So Jen, if I go in the near future, no fancy dress for me. Just lay me out in Daddy's Gander Mountain Shirt, if you please. Apparently, I'm quite stunning in it.

Morning at My House

Just decided to snap some pictures of my kids in their pre-dawn, pre-cognitive states. Yeah, I'm sadistic sometimes. It all started with Baby R. He woke up rip-roaring to go. If he could talk he would say, "Look mommy, look! I can hold my head up and these things just past my diaper, I don't know what they're for, but looky I can kick, kick, kick, them!! Wow......

Next to awaken was I. Seen here, he is consuming his daily ration of coffee milk. Once the caffeine reaches his brain--one to two minutes after intake, he'll be fully loaded, full speed until bedtime.

Then comes A. Don't hate her because she's beautiful. This is what she looks like in the morning. The only other time she has seen Mom with a camera this early is Christmas. "Did Santa leave me presents?"

After about five, "C'mon son, it's time to get up." K appears from beneath the coverlet. "ow, dip uns tsto whopesn..." Who knows? He does not speak English until after coffee. Do you note a trend of dependence here?

Last to awaken is our dear, sweet, morning glory, M. I think that look says it all, don't you? Notice the socks on hands. The habit of sucking her thumb is broken, but now she insists on having her hands taped up. My child thrives on ritual. But since it makes her happy, and will not cost us money--at least until we have to pay for the shrink when she's twenty and still sleeping with socks on her hands--we don the socks.

The last picture is K and M snuggling on the couch. I'm giggling in a sick sort of way the whole time. Flashing the camera in their little dilated eyes. By now, K has found his power of speech, "Mom, what are you doing??!!" Implied, "She has really lost it this time." Side note--can you believe these two did not come from the same gene pool?

Sorry these pics are all jumbled up at the top. I remind you that I do not know what I am doing with this whole blogger thing. I assure you that when I put them in my scrapbook, they will be perfectly placed.

Like Sands Through the Hourglass...

I was going to post my inner thoughts regarding the minutiae of my day. I was happily composing it in my mind for the better part of the morning. In the education world, they call it a "metacognitive exercise." I came to the decision that you would call it boring. I began to bore myself; I began to depress myself. I gave it up. Suffice to say I do many, many, many tasks in an average day, and none of them seem to amount to anything. But, most of you reading this blog are housewives/stay-at-home moms/domestic engineers (you choose your title), so you know what I'm talking about, right? I'm glad I have discovered this creative vent of blogging. I consider myself a pretty creative person, and I don't mind telling you that the monotony of this job occasionally gets to me. Sometimes you just need to step back from the dishwasher and try to remember why you do what you do. Also, who you were before you did what you do.
DH must have seen it on my face this morning as he breezed out on his way to seminary. I love that man. How does he know what I'm thinking? Was it M, wandering around the living room in a t-shirt, no panties and a bucket on her head, that tipped him off? His parting words? "Remember, it's the most important job in the world!" O.K., O.K., I know that is pretty easy for a man to say as he exits the room to go participate in the world. I know him to be sincere, though, so it helps. Coincidentally my aunt sent me a funny e-mail today regarding this same topic, thanks Aunt P!
We got a new table last night. It's beautiful. I'd post a picture, but some of my very messy kitchen might show up. It is huge and should be the last one we have to buy.
I haven't given you a WW update. At my meeting on Wednesday, I had lost 7 pounds total. My clothes are all starting to fit much better, and even have a couple pairs of pants that I can pull down without unbuttoning and unzipping. I don't feel like I'm losing much this week, but the scales will tell. I've made up my mind not to let a bad week or two discourage me. I just hop online and read about those women who have to lose 50, 60, 70+ pounds and it makes my 15 seem really doable.
I know you will come back and catch up on your blog reading Suz, so I want you to know that I've been thinking and praying for ya'll a lot these past two days. I'm sending a great big hug out to you right now.
This blogpals think is pretty cool! I got a card and M got a little gift today. She thought that was the best--something just for her that she didn't have to share. A big thank you going out to my blog pal.
Can someone please explain to me why the word "blog" is not accepted as an English word in blogger's spell check dictionary? There is no logic in this world I tell you.

Story Time

"Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them." -James Baldwin

I have a few choice words in my vocabulary that I am not proud of. My children have known by some instinct that, though Mom uses these words, they will not be permitted to. At least the first two have.
We're sitting on the couch before naps reading "Franklin and Harriet." I never wants a story just read, he wants a performance. He loves to add the sound effects to my narration.

Me: "...Franklin helps his little sister zip zippers..."
I: "ZZZZZZZIIIIPPP!!"
Me: "....Franklin pushes Harriet on the swings...."
I: "SWOOSH"
Me: "Franklin helps Harriet on the see saws..."
I: "WEEEEE!"
Me: "Franklin held Harriet's hand on the slide, but he didn't see the puddle of mud at the bottom...."
I: "Oh, CRAP!"

Hope that little glimpse into our day makes you laugh. I sure did. I couldn't help it. I did sober up enough to tell him that he should not use that word and that Mommy shouldn't use it either and she would try to do better. So, people who read my blog (I know you're out there) what words/phrases do you say that you would not want your kids/grandkids to? I've changed my blog settings so that you non-bloggers can comment. Just click on the little "comments" link below. You know you want to. C'mon, give me some validation, here.
Watch me find out that I'm the only potty mouth I know.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

That is what it seems like for M. One day I can't get over how far she has come. How she has just grown and blossomed from that scrawny baby with the funny shaped head that we brought home a year and a half ago. But then we have mornings like this one.
K and A are transfer students to a neighboring school (our home district is a terrible school system, long story, whole nuther post). To drive them all the way to school is a twenty minute drive. Luckily, the school has agreed to pick up its transfer students from this area at a mid-way point. Thus, we only drive ten minutes. But, only if we are there at 7:20. I try to leave the house at 7:00, just to be safe. We don't always have time to have a sit down breakfast, and it is pop-tarts or granola bars in the car. Now, I'm really a penny pincher, and I don't like to buy a lot of these type of prepackaged (read $$$$) things. I'm more of a cinnamon toast, pumpkin muffins, egg omelets, kinda gall. At first, I would give everyone these "breakfasts in a bag," but it really grated on my miserliness, because people, that is half a box or more for ONE breakfast. When we get back home from the bus stop the little ones would want a second breakfast of whatever I was fixing for DH and Me, anyway. And also, the little ones were spilling quite a bit of $$$$, I mean, breakfast, in the van. M isn't even really hungry that early in the morning and half the time would just play with the bag until the contents were mush. So, the last five or six times A and K have had to eat (and I mean had to, because they would much rather have the breakfasts I fix), I have carefully explained our time constraints, I have assured M that she will be fed as soon as we return and then given the prepackaged things to A and K. Whereupon she has begun to yell. That child can sho nuf yell. I hate the sound. I've hated it since the first night in Moscow, when I was certain someone was going to call the Russian police and DH and I would be sent to a gulag somewhere in Siberia. Because if you heard this yell, you would think we we were murdering her. Not telling her, "wait 15 minutes for breakfast." We have never (not one single, solitary time) given in to her tantrums. Even that very first night. Let the secret police come, I will not yield. Didn't someone once say that consistency is the key to effective discipline? Well, they never met M, that is certain.
Last Friday, I was doing the mail run and DH was running the morning show. Same scenario. He laid down the law as only Daddy can lay it down for throwing the tantrum. So, I was like, "Great! Maybe she has gotten the breakfast bar message." But here we are on Tuesday, out of time, and it's 7:05. Preparations for homemade pancakes are laid out beside the griddle. I show them to M. I say, "Look! We are going to have yummy pancakes when we get back from the bus stop!" Then I give the last two granola bars to K and A. She puts her hand out. Oh, please tell me we are not going here again?! "No, M, you will have breakfast when we get back." We are! "WWWWWAAAAAAAAAAA." The siren yell. Did I mention it was loud? And it is not high pitched like you might expect of a two year old. No, it is rather deep--think baritone, not soprano. And it is LOUD. GRRRRRR! Why can she not get this? I pop her bottom and tell her she better stop that yelling speedy quick. At this point, she decides she will add a little drama to this morning's tantrum by throwing herself back onto the hard wood floor. Rolling and thrashing and flopping around like a dying fish. She hasn't put on a performance like this in several months. I know from experience that she has reached her Point Of No Return. So, I'm down on the floor with her in a full nelson, holding her mouth shut (she is still yelling), and she is kicking and foaming at the mouth. You might thing I put that last part in to add color and interest to my description. People don't actually foam at the mouth, do they? I tell you they do. There was foam coming out of my child's mouth. Not the first time. Probably won't be the last.
After about two minutes of this, it always seems like two hours, she suddenly stops. Hiccups. Takes a shuddering breath, and her whole body goes limp. I wait for about three more breaths, and release her. She stands up and goes to the door, ready to start her day. She sails through the rest of the morning as Miss Mary Sunshine. I, on the other hand, am left in a much darker place, emotionally and physically spent, wondering.
Why does she do this? Is it the orphanage? Is it the heroin? Is it just the tooty side to an otherwise wonderful little personality? When will she really be over it for good?
I thought I had mastered trust when we were going through the adoption. You know, "Everything I Needed to Know About Trust I Learned in My Russian Adoption." OK, Lord, you can definitely mark "trust" off Your list, because I believe I'm done here. Ha! Guess He's not. He's not finished with me or her yet. That's a good thing. But it ain't easy. No, it sure ain't easy.

Making His Blog Debut

Here is Baby R getting his first massage. Isn't he just about the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? I can't get over his cuteness.

Wardrobe Blues

I'm posting tonight. I don't want to pick up my task of wardrobe sorting. I love my big family and like Dr. Suess's Lorax, we plan to keep biggering and biggering. BUT--I despise the seasonal clothing thing. If we had the money, I'd fill up garbage sacks with all the things that don't fit them any more and I'd haul it all to Goodwill. Next stop would be Gymboree, where I'd buy them everything they needed for the upcoming fall. Since we don't have the money, I put the Wardrobe Sort off as long as possible. It usually takes two good Sundays of complete clothing crisis to motivate me. This morning's frantic scramble made Sunday #2.
How the Su_____ Were Attired for the Sabbath:
Baby R-Diaper, one piece jumper (but he is a baby, so it doesn't really matter what he wears.)
M-red, white and blue sundress (o.k., because temperatures are still well over 90 here) red tights (not o.k., because, well, because temperatures are still well over 90 here, but no Sunday School socks could be found), navy blue mary janes (don't really go with whole sundress look, and are 1/2 size too small)
I-black wranglers (about 6 inches too long) red t-shirt with navy blue stripe (yes, that isn't a typo he was wearing navy with black. Plus, the shirt was a size too small and had a grease stain right up front.), Spider Man tennis shoes.
A-Baby blue with yellow and white dandelions sundress(not quite so o.k. because it SCREAMS summer. A has worn it two summers. We bought it at the second hand store and it is beginning to pill badly), school sandals. Once we arrived, I realized that her hair had not been brushed, because we had been so busy with finding clothes.
K-Navy blue plaid shirt size 7 (he wears size 8) navy blue slacks size 7 (two words- High Water), white sport socks (which could clearly be seen because the pants stopped a good two inches before his leg did), brown dress shoes.
I know the good Lord doesn't care what you wear, but it really bothers ME. I think I feel more stress for everyone to look nice because I don't want people to think, "Oh, look, there goes the Su______, they have so many kids, they can't even get them dressed decent." Which, maybe we can't! But I don't want any body to know that! Also, people do look at the pastor's family. It is not like we can slip into a back pew after the service has started and then slip out again as it closes. Nope. We gotta stand there and shake hands and hug necks of every single person as they exit.
So, after naps today, I nagged DH into bringing in the tough totes from the shed. A dozen Rubbermaids were eventually lugged in and placed in the various bedrooms. Boxes marked, Su_____ Boy 0-3 months, Su______ Girl Winter 3T, Su______ Boy Summer 2T/3T. I have to go through every box. Check size, length, fading, style. "Will M, be able to wear this this winter? Hmm, looks short. Best pack it back up. What about these? Yes, this should fit just right, but where is the top that went with it? Oh, this is so cute, but the hem needs to be replaced...." And on and on it goes--forever! I stop and make notes, like, "A needs brown boots to go with brown butterfly outfit. K needs four pair dress socks. Pink bottoms missing for kitty cat sweater. Need size 2T." When that is done, all the old clothes that are in good enough condition or will be the right season/sex/style for X child to inherit have to be packed up in the appropriate tote, all the others taken to Goodwill. After I drop the sacks off at the front door, I drive around to the front and shop for the things on my list! If I don't find it, we move up to resale, then I have to shop for remaining items at the mall. And when do I have the time or money for mall shopping? It is just a BIG, BIG job and I don't like it. But you probably already guessed that.
That's my Sunday night vent. Hey, I lost two pounds this week. Yeah, me!
Sorry about the spelling errors, but for some reason blogger isn't letting me run spell check.

I'm A Weight Watcher

I'm a weight watcher...
I'm a weight watcher...
Become one now!
Dooby Doo, dooby doo

I'm pretty sure that's an old add jingle for weight watchers. It's been running through my head all day, because today I went to my first meeting. I've been flirting with the idea since May, but guilt has kept me away. Every time I would think about it, I'd think about all those people in Africa. People in Nigeria and Kenya, who live on less than a dollar a day and never have enough to eat and don't have food to give their children. They are starving; I'm over here in fat-land America paying $39.00 a month so that I can get on a plan to stop making a glutton of myself. Just doesn't seem right, you know?
Then I saw some pictures of myself at the lake. I usually don't have to look at myself because I man the camera. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't even me. Who is the fat lady with my kids? I tore up the pictures and went the next morning and paid my $39.00. I don't want to be a super model, I just want to recognize the woman in the photo. I think I'll turn my guilt into something positive. Like every time I want to take another helping, I'm going to think about those same women in Africa, and I'm gonna think, "Those women don't have food to feed their babies. You have fed all your children and have eaten what is a healthy meal for your body." Then I'm going to return thanks for my meal and pray for those who are truly hungry. Maybe, when I've reached my goal, I should send my $39.00 a month to World Hunger.
My "goal weight" is considerably more than the one Weight Watchers has down for me. I haven't weighed that since the sixth grade. And I wasn't a fat girl. Who are they kidding? My goal is the upper portion of the "healthy weight range." I haven't weighed that since I was a senior in high school (on the drill team, taking ballet, and step aerobics), but here we go! Thank goodness I'm nursing, I get more points that way.

The Not So Sacred Sacrament

This Sunday we celebrated the Lord's Supper. As we prepared for service this morning I remarked that this would be K's first time to take the sacrament. If only I had remembered that it was also the first for another member of the family. If I had, much of what followed might have been averted.
You see, it was the first time I had ever watched the Lord's Supper. He just graduated out of the church nursery on his birthday. He wiggled and squirmed through the whole service as usual. He was even more put out with me than normal because after several David and Goliath demonstrations, I had confiscated his zip-lock baggie of coins for the state missions offering. He kept interjecting a pouty, "Why you steal Jesus's money?" into the quite pauses of the music and message. There is nothing like a truly worshipful Sabbath to get you through the rest of the week, and I tell you friends, that this was NOTHING like one. But things didn't get really hairy until the cloth came off the Lord's supper table and the deacons began to pass out what looked very much to I like small saltine crackers. When I handed the plate over his head to his brother, he began to cry (imagine a sobbing moan with many shuddering breaths). "Whyyyyyy, huh, huh, caaaaan't I haaaaave, huh, huh, snaaaaack, huh, huh, hiccup?" I whispered a quick explanation of why he couldn't have any "crackers." He had just about regained some composure when the cup was passed. Missing out on stale saltines was one thing, but grape juice, too??!! It was too much to be borne. And by this time, I felt like crying right along with him!

Breasts and Thumbs

Mastitis (spelling??!!) sucks--no pun intended. Somehow I managed to nurse three babies and never get it, but now....OUCH! I sit here smelling the noxious aroma of cooked cabbage rising from my bosom. But I'm very thankful for this cabbage, mind you. My DH ran out and got me some after dinner. And I'm glad that I pulled this home remedy from the dark recesses of my memory.

nursing girlfriend: "I had terrible mastitis for the first three weeks. The lactation consultant said to wear cabbage leaves in my bra."

me: /nonchalantly/"Oh really?...How interesting. I've never had that problem myself...."

But in other news...M does not have a dying tooth (which we were very afraid of). She has been to see the dentist and says that she has no signs of bottle rot and the tooth that was showing signs of darkening is only bruised. I didn't know teeth could bruise, did you? That is the good news. The bad news is that she is at a "stage 2" (whatever that means) in jaw damage from sucking her thumb. Thumb sucking is the only one of her self-soothing behaviors that we have not heretofore attempted to weed out. We took the headbanging, we took the rocking, but the thumb...well, she just looked so darn cute with her blanket all nuzzled up to her chin and that tiny little thumb placed gingerly in her mouth. But in the face of certain enormous orthodonistry bills cuteness has to go. Yesterday, we put some socks on her hands at nap (she only sucks to get to sleep). We smiled and said, "Doctor says, 'No more thumb sucking.'" She giggled at the socks on her hands, politely waited until we had left the room and then stripped the socks. Last night, she watched as we taped the socks on her hands, with the clear expression of "these people have lost their minds." Again I said, with a little more firmness, "Doctor says, 'No more thumb sucking.'" I want her to know that of all the terrible changes we've put her through this past year and a half, this one is not my idea! About ten minutes later we heard her whimper--she could not get them off. She cried for about five minutes, softly. I won't tell you how tempted I was to take off those socks! Then she went to sleep. Today's nap a little whimpering, then sleep. My baby is growing up. Sigh.

Tagged

I've been tagged by suz, so here we go:

Four jobs I've had in my life:
1. Secretary
2. Desk clerk/night auditor for a hotel
3. Missionary to central California
4. Public school teacher

Four movies I've watched over and over:
1. Pride and Prejudice (A&E version with Colin Firth...mmm, mmm)
2. My Big Fat Greek Wedding
3. Return To Me
4. Steel Magnolias

Four tv shows I love to watch:
*I don't have a television that picks up channels. My husband and I just decided when we got married that it was an addiction that we'd rather forgo. But when I'm at my mom's house I will request:
1. Law and Order reruns
2. Adoption Story
3. That show about FBI cold cases (can't remember exactly what the name is)
4. Sell This House

Four places I've been on Vacation:
1. Disney World! (March 2006-what a blast!)
2. San Antonio
3. Colorado/New Mexico
4. Italy
* No, Suz, adoption trips to Russia do not count, because there is nothing remotely relaxing about them!

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Hot chocolate and chocolate milk (any time, any season)
2. Wheat Thins (original)
3. Italian cream Cake
4. Nachitoches Meat Pie

Four places I'd rather be now:
1. a crop
2. a salon
3. a date
4. a cruise

Four people who will respond:
Sorry, suz, but you're my only pal in blog-land. DH has a blog, but it is purely academic. Don't think your fun game would fit between, "High Thresholds for Church Membership" and "Martin Luther's Heidelberg Disputation of 1518"

Party in the Pink

Well, I's fourth birthday was a "pinktacular" success. My kids have a knack for requesting the impossible party theme, but it is always fun seeing what I can dig up. My son got hooked on the panther while watching Boomerang at Nana's house. He wanted a "pink pamfer party." I found a discontinued Wilt*n pan on ebay. Quite by chance came upon some pink panther mylar balloons. The pink panther stand up is curtsey of an overhead projector and acrylic paints. We had the party at the family lake house, and the kids were just coming out of the water when I made them pose for this picture. I is the one with the life jacket. He's one of the cutest kids ever. Him and the two little girls standing behind and beside him. The other two cutest kids in the world missed this photo op. But I think you will agree that my nieces and nephews are a pretty fine looking crew, too.

The abandoned blog

I was just reading some blogs and realized that it has almost been a month since I blogged on my own! K and A are off at school these past two weeks, and you would think I'd have more time now, but seems busier than ever. I guess the older two kind of occupy I and M when they are home. They are the brains for the elaborate imaginative games that go on around here. Like, "Robots and Dinosaurs from Outerspace" and "Movie Stars Turned Russian Caregivers." Which strangely enough, the only one ostracized from that game is the child who actually spent the first year of her life in a Russian orphanage. Go figure.
But after a year of teaching Kindergarten, I'm glad to be getting reacquainted with my OWN young impressionable minds. I've taught K off and on for six years. I have taken a solemn vow never to send a child off to Kindergarten in the state that many of my students were in. Not so much for their sake, but for the sake of that poor woman. Prior to the first day of K my children must be:
1) Able to put on their own coat--I know it sounds crazy, but honestly I had five kids last year who had never put on their own coat!
2) Self wipers--ie, they should not have to be told to get a tissue when snot is dripping down their chin. This rule also applies to other areas of personal hygiene, but I won't go in to that.
3) confident with the 26 letters of the alphabet and their sounds, plus ch, sh, and th and that old bossy letter r.
4)thoroughly trained in basic German shepherd (come, go, sit, stay, etc.)
5) Uses scissors and glue appropriately. I mean, really, if your child comes home without the "uses scissors and glue appropriately" box checked, you should just pull them out and try again next year. You are wasting their time. They will not be able to keep up, and secretly, oh so secretly, the teacher will loathe them. (I hope no schoolboard ever gets a link to my blog. May have a tough time getting hired).
I used to have "be able to tie shoes" on that list. But, God forgive me, A can still not tie her shoes. I've tried, but she has a bad case of CBT. She is quite handicapped with it. Don't know where she gets it. I make her wear sandals or slip ons most of the time.
That's a tall order for I, and we are getting a late start. I only have two more years to whip him into shape. M is getting an even later start on account of the aforementioned "lost" year. I have only three more years with her. SO, in addition to the regular cleaning, washing, cooking, I try to squeeze in some developmentally appropriate, intellectually challenging, gross and fine motor, vocabulary building, adult scafolded play. You see, Mr. or Mrs. Elementary School Administrator, I'm a good teacher!

Cleaning House With Kids

O.K. yesterday I was reading an article on Christian Women's Online Magazine about keeping kid's rooms clean. And I felt bad, really bad. Like usual when I read those type of book/articles, I begin to feel guilty. Because these women always have like, twenty kids, and their dinner's are always cooked, and their house is always immaculate, and they never raise their voice over the gentle hum of a whispering wind as they quote Bible verses all day long to their (homeschooled) children who soak up their words as sponges soak water...etc.
I feel like such a dismal failure! Can anyone out there relate? Anyway, I decided to give the tips a try (minus the Bible verses, because frankly, I thought she was stretching them a bit.), and I must say it went a lot better than usual. When I stayed in the room with them--calm and peaceable--while they cleaned and offered encouragement, I was amazed at how clean the room became. Real clean, too, not the toys-stuffed-in-underwear-drawer pick-up or the don't-open-the-closet-unless-you-have-a-death-wish straighten. I will definitely try this strategy again.
But I'm going to be totally honest with you...my four oldest children had peanut butter and jelly for dinner, the baby I nursed on a Boppi while I folded a few items from the monstrous pile of laundry on my sofa. I can't recall any quoted scripture today, but we did administer the rod of correction to my five year old, who poked her little brother in the head with a pencil. I'm counting the days till I can send her to public (collective gasp) school. BUT, their rooms are very clean. And I still love Jesus. And, best of all forever, He loves me.

Bringing in the Whats?

My husband is the pastor of a small, mostly graying congregation. They live for a "good ole fashion Sunday singin'." We just came from one-complete with fiddle, banjo and harmonica. Only thing missing was the mouth harp and someone playing the spoons. My husband loves to request the oldest, and hokiest of southern gospel songs at the singings for our own private enjoyment. Tonight, he called for "Bringing in the Sheaves." We were in the second verse when my five year old little girl looked at me and whispered, "Is it bringing in the sheep or bringing in the shees? Like you and me are shees and Daddy and Papa are hees?" I answered "Neither, it's bringing in the sheaVes." She asked "What's a "sheave?" And I just had to laugh because I don't really know. Is it another word for a wheat stalk? And I wonder how many generations of southerners have sang that song and not known what it was. We don't even grow wheat, for goodness sake!

Just Another Day

I have no great purpose for this blog. No major epocs to chronicle in my life at present. It is, as one of my favorite country songs puts it, "just another day in paradise." I mainly wanted to be able to comment on other people's blogs. And besides, "everyone is doing it." I am the stay-at-home mom of five (mostly, but with side job so as to feed said children). We live along the Texas coast, and when we moved here a year ago, my husband started calling our home a "tropical paradise" because we have a palm tree in our front yard. The fact that the palm trees and yards in which they sit are surrounded by refineries continuosly belching cancerous polutants is completely irrelevant to him. He is an eternal optimist, and I a permanent realist. But since my family lives, laughes, and loves here, makes it--in its own way--a paradise.