Very Merry, Indeed

Ah yes, Christmas morning at our house. Most of the pictures are of the kids getting their "Santa" presents. We must have missed the big moment with Abby. She got a Nintendo DS. This was one of her three under the tree gifts--three presents because the Christ child only received three gifts and they sure do not need/deserve more than He got. Anyway I digress...Abby is holding a dress pattern and fabric for her to use with her new sewing machine (birthday present). All I've heard since her birthday is, "When can you teach me to sew, Mom?" So a good learner pattern was a must have for Christmas. Randy got a Fisher Price Barn. An absolute necessity for toddler hood, in my opinion. We had one, but I believe it was on the recall list. It lasted through the first four kids just fine, but one of the daycare kids (read hooligans) managed to find the flaw and completely destroyed it, so Santa had to bring us the new, improved model. For Marina we went with a mini-trampoline. Several of my parenting books on sensory integration/RAD/and prenatal drug exposure recommend small trampolines with handles. I didn't get why the handle was stressed until I watched her play on it. She can really put a lot of force behind her jumps with a handle for leverage. It should prove to be a great way for her to relieve anxiety, anger, aggression, etc. I thought at first that is was going to be a dud present. You can see that she doesn't look particularly thrilled in the picture. But after the others climbed on and showed her how to use it, she loved it. She is so put out with me today, because I've moved it to its storage spot in the shed. I suppose she thought it was going to stay in our kitchen? The two older boys followed a blood trail (cut up red styrofoam plate) from their stockings, out of the house and into the garage to find two beginner bows. Yes, I know, we're sick. But what can I say? This is Texas.

I have a few kids in care today, but I just got them down for a nap. Everyone had said they would probably just stay home with their kids, but then it started to rain. And I'm guessing they started to get a little stir crazy, because along about 10:00 a.m. three mommy's showed up at my door toting toddlers. Part of me (the professional) is fine with it because this is what I do, and I am being paid for it. But part of me (the fellow mommy side) wants to tell these women, "Look, you don't have to go to work today. You need to parent your children. Sunny days and rainy days. It can be done! Get a sheet, a chair, and a clothespin....sit down and play one of the dozens of new Christmas games with them....mix up some shaving cream and food coloring....The possibilities are endless. Buck up. YOU CAN DO THIS!" But I guess that would put me out of a job, right?

Rewards

Last night, the master's office celebrated there annual Xmas party. And yes, I have replaced "Christ" because--trust me--He would not want His name associated with it. But, every year, the boss buys some really nice gifts for a round of Chinese Presents at the close of the party. The master learned that for the last several years, the most sought after gift was a big screen t.v. We were hoping he would win it. Our 16 inch RCA my aunt gave us ten years ago when we were married, is on its last legs. Sometimes the on button works and sometimes it doesn't. We're not big t.v. people (we don't even have channels), but we all enjoy the occasional movie, and the kids would love the movie-theater feel of a big screen.
The original date for the party was Thursday. Then, they decided to move it to Wednesday. Um...we teach the children's group on Wednesday. But the party was supposed to be from 4:30 to 5:30. So, he could make it to the party, win the tube, and still make it on time. BUT at 5:00 he called on the cell. He was leaving the party. Everyone had started to hit the liqueur and the boss hadn't even brought out the gifts for the game. No new t.v. for us.
On the way to church, the master used it as a teachable moment for the kids. He told them about how he could have stayed and maybe won the new television or some other neat thing, but he had made a commitment to the church body, so he had to leave. They talked about how doing the right thing isn't always easy. Everyone agreed that a new t.v. would have been great. Then he said that when you've done the right thing, but it seems you don't have anything to show for it, just remember that God sees and knows and He will store up for you rewards.
He was finishing up his lecture as they arrived at the church building. No sooner had he come in the door than another church member made a bee-line for him. The first words out of her mouth: "Bro. _____, I have something at my house that is taking up too much space and I need to give it away. Would you like a big screen t.v.?"
No fooling. All the master could do was laugh. The kids' mouths dropped open. I think the lesson on rewards is LEARNED.

Truth Hurts Follow Up

I had a lot of response from the last post. Some in the form of phone calls and some in comments. Thank you all for your concern and encouragement. It is a difficult thing for both of us--but especially for Marina--and I am trying to handle it in the best way possible. You will be happy to know that she has not brought up our conversation again. Doesn't mean she won't. Could be next week, or next year, or next decade, but themes of abandonment/grief/adoption are issues we will need to approach and process for a lifetime. To answer some of the suggestions and insights:
Cari--I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that we often tell Marina God planned for her to be in our family. There have been times that well meaning, but misguided persons have asked, "How did you choose her?" or "Did you pick her?" To which we always say, "We didn't. God did." The difficulty with saying, "We were together in the mind of God," lies in the fact that a three year old child cannot grasp, "in the mind of God." Nor can any of us, come to think of it! Yes, it sounds nifty, but I'm afraid all that Marina would hear is, "We were together." It might make her feel better for the moment, but it is not true (our being physically together, which is certainly what she meant), and ultimately would not soothe her hurt. I've mentioned before that Marina adores Randy. She has always been a very loving big sister to him. However, in his infancy, Marina had moments when she absolutely loathed me. At times when I would nurse him, or tickle him, or stare lovingly into his eyes and coo at him, she would regard me with a degree of hatred and sorrow that I would never before have believed were possible of a two year old. Somehow, someway, buried in her heart, is the knowledge that those things were not done for her when she was a tiny baby. She knows. If/when it comes up again, I will assure her that God was watching over her during that time. That is a promise and cannot mislead her. He is father to the fatherless.
Mom, sisters, and non-bloggy friends--As painful as our conversation was last week, I am grateful that she is now beginning to express with words her confusion and sadness. At least she can begin to match up her heart ache with the truth. It is sad for her to know that she was alone. Hell, I cry every time I think about it, and I'm a grown person. Every baby should have a parent who bounces them in the seat, replaces their binky, tickles their feet and pats their back until they fall asleep. But wouldn't it be sadder still to think that your mommy had been there all along, but did not do those things for you? That she did them for all your brothers and sisters--and does them for every other baby that arrives on her doorstep--but not you?
Kim--I think you are right. Last week's comment confirmed a suspicion I had for some time. Marina can tell you that she is, "a-dop-ed," and that she was born in "Wussia." But 'adopted' is a meaningless adjective and 'Russia' is a place that we (Mommy, Daddy, and Marina) went to on a plane and had an extended vacation. It is just beginning to dawn on her that living in an orphanage means that you do not have a family. She is confused and frightened by this new idea--that is why she followed me into the kitchen and restated her assertion about my being with her.
I want to keep posting our adoption moments. Not because I get off on making you wonderful ladies cry, but because I need to emote and also for Marina. So that she can read a record of her journey one day. It helps to remember that Marina's story--unlike millions of others--has a happy ending even if there are some pages missing.

When the truth hurts

I am keeping a tiny baby here at Sunnyside Kids. She is only three months old and on the small side. Sweet. Like holding a loaf of bread. She has quickly become the daycare mascot, and we all dote on her. The last few days she has been unimpressed with the Randy's state of the art light-em up bubbling aquarium bouncy seat. It wasn't doing anything for her. Luckily a few months ago, I had rescued a bouncy seat from my neighbor and squirreled it away in the garage knowing I would soon be opening my own daycare. It was the old kind with no fancy toy rod or interactive screen. Just a seat. With a Disney Dalmatians print--so you know its got a few years on it. But it held her up at a better angle for watching the other kids, and she was delighted. The others gathered round as I gently bounced her and she smiled. I happen to keep the youngest child of the very same neighbor who gave me the bouncy seat, so I remarked, "Luke, this was the seat you played in when you were a baby."
Luke: I not a baby.
Me: No, you are a big boy now, but you were a little baby like this at one time.
Sunnyside Kid: And I was a baby!
Sunnyside Kid: And me!
Marina: And I was a baby, too!
Me: Yes, everyone starts life as a baby.
Marina: And you were with me.

I just let it go and didn't make a comment but replaced the the baby's binky and started to get lunch ready. Marina followed me into the kitchen.

Marina: And you were with me.

Clearly she was wanting some validation for her statement. Sigh. This is when the truth hurts.

Me: No, sweetheart. I wasn't with you. But Mommy came just as soon as she could.
Marina: angry NO! You were with me!
Me: No. When you were a tiny baby like _________, you were in the orphanage in Russia. The caregivers took care of you. Mommy and Daddy came when you were a little smaller than Randy. And we adopted you, and brought you to our home to be our little girl forever. Maybe they had a bouncy seat like that one in the orphanage.

Because not having something is a huge trauma trigger for her. We had a hard time over items for babies when Randy was born. As each new item was introduced, (baby tub, crib, pacifier, mobile, etc.), she would just dissolve into hysterics. We had to explain to her that it was for a baby, and why. We had to go over and over that she was not a baby and she did not need those things. She has better things--things for a big girl. But the grief was there in her eyes. We found that telling her that she had played/used that when she was a baby helped. Some of the things we know for sure because we had them for her in those first few months after she came home (like teethers and play yards). And some of the things we know she had in the orphanage (like a crib). And yes, for others we have said, "Maybe you played with one like that in the orphanage," even if we are quite sure that they did not have any such thing. I thought she may be having an issue with the baby obviously enjoying a baby seat that she could not. But I don't think that was all this time.
Because after a few moments she said again, quietly and with pleading in her voice, "And you were with me?" Of course, I could no longer trust my own voice, so I just shook my head 'no,' and hugged her. Afterwards, she went into the living room and sat down on the couch for a while, subdued. I heard her say, "Maybe in orf-nage, I have one." And then she went off to play. What I wouldn't give to be able to tell her, "Yes, I was with you every day." To be the keeper of her story from the beginning--with no pages missing.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

Our trip up north was an overall success. No breakdowns (vehicular or mental) and no illness/accidents to report. Marina gave us one scare at a rest stop-- when the automatic toilets triggered her fight or flight reflex and she ran pell-mell out of the john and into the parking lot--but other than that, we were good. The extended family embraced us all with warm affection. And I am glad we went. Grandma kept saying with conviction, "It is so good to have you here," and I felt ashamed that we have not visited more often. The kids reveled in having cousins to the infinite power and the food was wonderful.

Here are some pics of the famous Grandma Z and the kids down (or is it up?)on the farm.

Happy Thanksgiving

It is almost midnight and I am waiting up for the master to come home from a frenzied evening of stocking vending machines. We are trying to get them stuffed full and in tip-top shape before leaving for Illinois.
That's right. We're headed to Illinois for Thanksgiving. We leave Tuesday night. No offense intended to any extended in-law relations who might be reading this blog, but I'm not looking forward to this trip. Do you realize it is stinking COLD in Illinois? We are still wearing shorts down here. My kids do not own coats. We have wind-breakers for the two days each year that temperatures drop below 50. The master is estimating the cost of fuel for our voyage in 'ye olde 15 passenger will run around $400. Yikes!
I keep telling myself, "It's for Grandma Z____. It's for Grandma Z_____." Grandma Z______ is an amazing woman. She raised 10 children, has untold number of grand and great grand children. And she never forgets a birthday! Every year, for every child a birthday card arrives right on time. Even one for me. The interloping spouse. K met her first as a toddler. Then on our last trip, the kids were five, three, and one, respectively. Yet, a week does not pass that the children do not make fond mention of her or wonder aloud when we will see her again. Marina is excited that she is finally going to behold the famous "Grandma Z_______."
The only question is: will seeing Grandma Z________ be enough to keep them pleasant for 14 hours of driving?

Digging In

Today we were supposed to send our first payment to the facilitator in Ukraine. We were going to wire it, and he sent very specific instructions with detailed information, account numbers, etc. that we took down to our bank. Unfortunately, we live in Podunk, USA. They don't send too many of them thar forin money teli-grams.
They thought that maybe they would need some routing numbers. Though he provided the swift account #'s. The master was like, "This man has done this thousands of times! I'm sure he has provided you with all the necessary information." But they wouldn't listen. Humbled, I had to e-mail the facilitator and tell him we failed in our very first mission.
Welcome back to the world of international adoption.
Then this afternoon our homestudy packet arrived. It is a large notebook. I thought I would be excited, but instead I felt a sense of dread as I flipped through the plethora of paperwork that has to be filled out, all the financial information that has to be tracked down and tallied, the medical exams, the copies...I closed the notebook and walked away. I looked around the dinner table and thought, "We are such a nice family. We are happy. Content. Comfortable. Now why did I want to change that? International adoption is such a hassle. So expensive. So draining."
Right now we would only be out $50 bucks. I don't think the church folks will even remember. Oh sure, a year from now, someone may make the off-handed remark, "Hey, weren't ya'll going to get another one?" But we could always drum up some church excuse like, "Well, we prayed some more about it and decided it wasn't what God had for us." Easy. I could just go in and delete a few drafts from the blog and that would be that.
Then tonight I read Tami's blog and she posted this video. **Grab some tissues before you click**
Ukraine here we come!

Moving along

Today is a big day in the adoption. I found out our home will pass as is. We are within income requirements. Tomorrow we will mail off the application for the homestudy. And our facilitator will e-mail the list of dossier documents. It seems like we are doing this all backwards--dossier BEFORE homestudy? But he is the one who has brought hundreds of orphans home. I've brought one. So I will do whatever he thinks is best.
He is planning to get our file on the list before the "big ones" come through (homestudy and INS). Even so, we will not travel before August. Which is fine with us. That is a good time frame. But we learned with Marina, "time frame" is an oxymoron in the international adoption world. There is no such animal. So we shall see...

First Kill

So I'm wondering if my son became a man on Saturday? He has slain a wild beast. My dad started taking K out to the lease as soon as he cleared diapers. And I potty train 'em early. At age five, he actually wounded a buck that they never recovered.

This was youth weekend, and Papa and the master had been totally pumping K up that this was THE year. I worried that he would be too nervous to shoot. K cannot bear to let anyone down. Sure enough, the master says that K was trembling. He watched the little doe for a good ten to fifteen minutes, while the master whispered encouragement. K kept saying, "I can't do it, Dad, I can't do it. I'm shaking too bad." The doe disappeared behind an oak. In desperation, the master appealed to K's sense of duty and said sternly, "Now Son, it is getting dark and this is your last chance to shoot. When she comes out from behind that tree, you put a bead on her and pull the trigger.....YOUR FAMILY NEEDS THIS DEER."

When she emerged a few moments later, K dropped her. When he called to announce the big news, I was at first puzzled and tickled by his closing remark, "And now, the family will have meat!" (As if we do not have a freezer full?!!)Later, as the master explained the scene in the stand, I realized how sweet it was. 'Providing for the family' gave him the extra bit of calm and courage he needed.

Of course, our horde will finish off the ground round from that little deer in two sittings, but he doesn't have to know that now, does he? And it sure will be some tender meat.

Fall Scene

I don't usually post alot of pictures all at once, but I just can't help myself tonight.

I got some really cute pictures of the kids this weekend. As you see, we are doing a StarWars theme. Isn't baby Yoda, too much??!! And no, I didn't make their costumes. We drove to PartyCity this year so that Mom could remain in Saneville.
Cooler temperatures finally arrived this week, and the Sunnyside gang and I stuffed a scarecrow. They named him Mr. Acorn. Afterwards, I gave rides around the backyard in the wheelbarrow. Marina is too funny! She was well bundled, but every time the wind would blow she would suck in her breath and then let out a low moan. And the girl that LOVES to be outside, kept saying, "Mommy, the wind not blow in the house." The good Lord knew what He was doing when He put that baby on a plane to Texas, 'cause no way would she have survived St. Petersburgh winters! She has on her 'cool girl' jeans and jack-o-lantern shirt in the other picture. I had just brushed her hair out from tight french braids, so she was sporting her mock-spiral-perm-do. I thinks she looks entirely too grown up, don't you?

Hard to Miss

We took the kids to the first fall festival of the season tonight (pictures forthcoming), and afterwards we went out for Mexican food. Not wanting to take the time for a complete wardrobe change, my kids went in their costumes.
My parents were with us and there was no available seating for a party of our size in the regular dining area, so the hostess asked if we didn't mind a table in the lounge. Don't you know the other patrons were overjoyed to see her seating five small children in the bar? I wasn't exactly thrilled with the arrangement myself, but it was getting late, and I didn't want us to have to wait.
We waited, anyway. Our food was taking forever to come out! My dad made a comment about how two other tables who came in after us had already been served, and then my mom said that she was starving, and I finished up with, "We must have been forgotten back here"
K looked around and said, "We're kids....in capes....in a bar. How could they have forgotten us?"
He has a point.

Scary

This is a great web resource I visit almost daily in my line of business. Take a look at the model in the add at the top of the web page. That is exactly what Marina will look like in 15 years or so. I'm petrified. Anyone know where I can buy a chastity belt?

The Die is Cast

I have a quirk that drives the master crazy. Whenever we are finishing a room, before we put away the supplies, I grab a brush and in some way, completely screw up the next room on our list to tackle. I look at it as a way of guaranteeing that we won't procrastinate. I grew up in a household where every home-improvement project was placed on the Thirteen Year Plan. Except now that my parents have lived in their home for well over twenty years, we may have to rethink that title. I guess the pendulum swung in the opposite direction for me, because I want it done yesterday. For some things, the pocket book demands that we wait, but we can almost always can afford paint, so brush in hand I grab the KILZ and go at it. The master calls it, "painting the doorways."
And he says I don't just do it with home remodel.
Yesterday we announced to the church that we were hoping to start our second adoption. We asked for them to pray. We don't have a homestudy. We haven't filed with INS. We still owe money on Marina's adoption. But I feel that October 14th marks the beginning of the journey to S_____ #6.

Social Worker's Visit (Past Tense)

Maggie was asking about times in our home life that we would not want our children's teachers/doctors/social workers to hear. It made me think of our homestudy visit for Marina. I started to post it as a comment, but decided it was in poor blogger form to leave so much in the comment panel.

Oooh, do I have a story for you! One that actually did go straight into the social worker's ears.
Preface: We spank. Always have. Always will (till the youngest one doesn't need it anymore). I know you are probably totally against that, but it works for us, and we do it in love. Our oldest (8) has not been spanked in almost a year.
Anywho--all of our kids have gone through a "spank the baby" stage. Around about three they start playing house and they feed their babies, and rock them and burp them, and take them to the zoo....etc. They do everything with them that they see us do. Well, just before we had our homestudy, Abby hit the "spank the baby" stage. For about a week, her baby dolls were constantly being caught doing something she had told them NOT to do. And she could be heard all through the house giving them spankings. Only my drama queen attended her disciplinary task with much more gusto than she had ever had performed on her own little hiney, AND instead of using the words WE used when spanking her, she preferred the verbiage reserved for the dogs when piddling on my carpet, "BAD, BAD, BABY!!!! You are a VERY BAD BABY"
The master and I did not know what to do! The social worker was coming at the end of the week! Of course, we had been completely open with the agency and social worker about our family practice of spankings, but Abby's whippings were horrific. Should we coach her? Should we not? Would she say to the SW, "Mommy and Daddy told me what to say." Would she "spank" a baby while the SW was there? We tried gently coaxing her during play, "Oh, no, the baby is not bad. Give sugars to the baby." "She is just a baby! She doesn't know any better." "Mommy did not give you spankings when you were a baby." To no avail! She was still beating the stuffing out of the dolls on Friday. Finally, we sat both the kids down and had a heart to heart with them. We told them that a lady was coming to visit with them the next day. She wanted to make sure that our home was a safe and happy place to be. We told Abby that if she kept spanking the dollies, the lady might think that Mommy and Daddy gave them spankings all of the time. And that wouldn't be right, would it? They both agreed. She might think we were not a good Mommy and Daddy and that it would not be a good idea if any more children became part of our family (we didn't mention that she might decide to take the three we already had!) "So, tomorrow, Abby, please do not give your dollies any spankings while the lady is here" Our speech seemed to work. They went back to playing and no dolls needed "discipline" for the rest of the day.
On Saturday, the SW arrived right on time. She visited with us for about and hour and commented often on how well the children behaved and amused themselves while we chatted. Then she asked if she could talk with the children privately. We knew this would be part of the visit (hence our panic at the dolly beatings). She went to where the children were playing quietly in the bedroom. Peeking around the corner, I saw that the children were reading. Good. Not a doll in sight. I listened with bated breath as the SW introduced herself.
Not a bit shy, my oldest piped up. "Hello! I'm K____ and this is my sister Abby, and we don't get beat very much!"

Blog Hi-jacking

My blog was temporarily hi-jacked today. They hacked into my template and pasted it all over with a frog advertising some website. You couldn't even read a word! I deleted big portions of my template and this was as close as I could get to normal. I lost my light blue background and could not get it back, but at least the obnoxious amphibian is gone. Scary that people can do that. Got no help from blogger either about how to fix the problem. Ugh!

Where We Are

Well I'm settling into the whole daycare director thing. This is going to work. Sunnyside Kids is off and running. I have a daily schedule with set circle time, where we concentrate on colors, rhymes, vocabulary, names, shapes, counting, calendar, etc.; a themed learning activity (we're on nursery rhymes at present); and of course, STORY TIME with the selected books keeping with our theme. I'm into themes. It is very time consuming, but a meaningful service to provide, and I love working with the children. "To love what you do and to feel that it matters, how can anything be more fun?" That is in quotes, because it is not original to me, but I can't remember who said it. Our rhyme today was "Hickory, Dickory, Dock." We made felt mice and using a dishwasher box disguised as a clock, we acted out the rhyme. We also worked on positional words. "Can you put the mouse in the clock?" "How about under the clock?" "Make the mouse run around the clock!" The kids LOVED it. They played in it all day. Then when the older kids came home from school, it was "AWESOME," "Mom, you know just what kids like," and "How come you never made a giant clock for us?" They all three got in it and recited the rhyme at least once--even the eight and a half year old. Though he tried to be cool about it, walking around the clock and mumbling the words under his breath. Then climbing in "to say hello to the little ones." Yeah, right, uh-huh. He can't fool me.
The sad truth of the matter is I'm a better mom now that I'm keeping other people's children. I'm the kind of mom I used to be when K and baby Abby were home alone with me. When I taught K to read at the ripe old age of three, and how to solve word problems, and write books, and calculate the volume of a cylinder. When I took Abby to Kindermusik class and we spent an hour every day listening, dancing and making music together. When there was 4 loads of laundry that had to be done in a week--not four in a day. When I ran the dishwasher once a day, not once every hour. And also, truthfully, back when I did not have blogs and high-speed internet access. You will be hearing from me much less frequently in the future, for sure.
Marina is in heaven. We've had her on a set schedule from the beginning. It is the only way she can function. Even when I was teaching full time, we had a private nanny that came to the house instead of daycare, all for the sake of maintaining Marina's schedule. But we've stepped up from predictable routine, to a precise, orthodox, down-to-the minute regiment. When you are orchestrating a day for five to six kids under the age of four, it just has to be that way. Marina is plum giddy about it. After breakfast we potty, then we wash our hands, then we have circle time, then we do our table time (themed activity), then we potty, wash hands, go outside....etc. She takes great delight in doing the same things at the same time in the same order, yet...I'm not sure it is a good thing for her. We were trying so hard to reverse her obsessive compulsive tendencies and I wonder if the daycare is a step back for her in that department. Like today, I caught her doing the pee-pee dance:
ME: "Marina, do you need to go potty?"
MARINA: reluctantly "Yes, ma'm"
ME: "Then why are you standing there? GO!"
MARINA: whimpering "But it is not time to go to the potty."
Now this is a kid who has been toileting %100 independently (no reminders, no set bathroom time, no putting her on the potty) for over a year now. She was standing there--in agony--about to urinate on herself, because she didn't want to go before it was "time."
In other respects, this home daycare business is wonderful for her--or perhaps I should say for me. She is surprising me in so many ways every day. I think I had my expectations set too low for her. I don't know how to say this without coming off as sounding like a class A mommy snob, and that is not my intention, but here it goes. When I consider Marina within the subset of our children alone and only see her move within that group from day to day, I am often discouraged. She doesn't speak as well as the others did at that age. She isn't able to relate concepts or predict outcomes. She doesn't obey as well. She is a much more anxious, worried child. She isn't able to regulate her emotions or communicate love--even when she desperately wants to. She often regresses to much earlier stages of development. She can become intensely jealous of her siblings and will often steal or destroy their prized possessions. These are all issues related to either her attachment problems or pre-natal drug exposure, or both.
But what I'm discovering is that Marina is completely normal! No, she is BETTER than normal--she is above average--maybe brilliant! She speaks far and away better with a wider vocabulary than the other children I have in care. She knows how to share, how to take turns, how to problem solve. Compared to her peers she is curious, eager to learn, coordinated, and attentive. And if my daycare kids were dogs--Marina would be Lassie. My child is polite, obedient, and helpful.
And who among them has her excuses for developmental gaps? Anyway, I feel so much better now, about where we are and more hopeful for the future.

Women 101

In yesterday's mad rush to make it to Sunday school on time, I assigned my oldest son, K, the task of finding socks for Randy. He found the socks in short order, cornered his brother in the bathroom, and made a valiant attempt to put them on his feet. Abby and I were in the bathroom primping at the time and we watched the wrestling match unfold.
K: If you would just be...still....wait a sec' would ya?...no, come back...give me back that sock....RANDY!!
Abby:interject long suffering sigh Would you like my assistance?

(And yes, my kids really do talk that way)

K:sounding doubtful Sure, if you think you can do any better.
Abby: plopping down and shodding Randy in all of two seconds There, that does it!
K: in astonishment How did you.....
Me: not wanting him to feel bad Well, Abby gets lots of practice dressing her baby dolls
Abby: as the angel of encouragement Don't worry Bubba, your wife will help you get your babies dressed. I don't think she will mind as long as you take out the diapers and help feed them, and you're real good at those things. As if to say that otherwise his inability to put socks on a toddler might seriously hamper his matrimony prospects.
K:thinking it over carefully You're probably right. Anyway, when it comes to having a wife, I'm still working on the basics....like remembering to put the toilette seat down.

Hey, even Don Juan had to start somewhere.

Surprise! It's a Hurricane!

Tuesday afternoon the weatherman said that there was a 30% chance of spotted showers and thunderstorms on Wednesday. This is our standard weather report. Wednesday morning there was a MONSOON. I waded through a foot of water to get to the post office. What is up with this? The weather report said that the rain was a result of a tropical depression that was just forming in the gulf. Wednesday afternoon the kid's school sent home a letter saying that class was canceled for Thursday because of the tropical storm. What tropical storm? Who said anything about a tropical storm? Wednesday night, the master woke me up, saying, "Babe, do you hear that wind? I just checked on-line and we are being hit by a hurricane. Come look at it! Wow! I'm going out to see." I roused long enough to grunt and think, "I hope he doesn't get hit with a cinder block." (In Rita, we had two cinder blocks in our back yard that were blown over the house and into the front yard). I've always wondered, and now I know, I can sleep through a hurricane.

Yesterday we woke up to a huge mess in the back yard. As the kids wandered into the living room and peered out, they exclaimed, "Mom! It looks like a hurricane has been here!" "It looks that way because there has been a hurricane." Now, for them, a hurricane is anathema ultima. Rita took their possessions, wrecked their home, and displaced their family for weeks. They still refer longingly to objects that were "lost in the hurricane." When we pass a house in disrepair, Ian always asks, "Did they have a hurricane here?" Whenever we have a storm, they cry, "Mom! It's not a hurricane is it?"

I told them gently that though there had been a hurricane, it was only a CAT 1 (they know all about levels of windstorms) and other than a big mess in the backyard and no electricity everything was fine. No, we will not have leave our house. No, the storm has already passed over, there won't be anymore Hurricane Humberto (I know better than to promise that there will not be another hurricane).

Working in electrical supply, the master was hard at work at the warehouse, and the kids and I hauled limbs all day at home. There were some that will have to wait for his chain-saw, but for the most part, it now looks less like a hurricane and more like a really bad storm came through. The kids are calling it the "little hurricane." An appellation they decided upon after concluding that there was no such thing as a "good hurricane." I agree. But I'm so thankful it was not a "bad hurricane."

One good thing that happened yesterday (besides the fact that my home and family were spared a second major disaster) was that we found a new piece of playground equipment. We drove over to the Market Basket for a loaf of bread, but our normal route had a tree across the road. On the detour, I spotted a little tikes fort set out on the curb. Upon closer inspection, I found that it was in no way damaged. I asked the guy smoking a cigarette (the cajuns in this area missed the Surgeon General's memo on the effects of tobacco use) on his front porch if he minded if we took it. He said "Go right ahead," and we loaded it up. Randy is ecstatic. It is just the right size for him.

Crocodile Smiles

For Ian's 5th birthday! I planned a last minute party--as in the day before--for Ian's birthday. This was the weekend closest to the date, which is today, but originally thought that we would not have it until next week because of the holiday. Then something came up for the the next week....and then the next....and finally I just said, "Phooey. If we don't celebrate the kid's birthday this week, it will be October before we get around to it." I decided this on Friday afternoon. I printed some homemade invitations up and rushed down to his school to pass them out as the last bell rang. We had the party on Saturday. I had planned a StarWars party at a Laser Tag place in the morning, and what we had was an Alligator Party at a Gator farm in the afternoon. But the birthday boy had a blast, and that is the important thing! He is my go-with-the-flow kid, so no worries about places or times for him. Several of his new school friends came and he LOVES the Gator Farm. They have several varieties of reptiles--crocodiles, and turtles in addition to alligators--and a very educational, hands-on presentation of the park. The highlight of the day was watching Gwendolyn, their new Nile crocodile, take a snap at a chicken leg. The pop of her jaws sounded like a gun shot. Seeing how fast that crocodile moved, it is hard to believe that Steve Irwin was killed by a sting ray.

It was a fevered few hours trying to pull off an impromptu 3-D alligator cake, but the result was so cute! The general idea I stole from a website but made a few adjustments. I used the Herbie cake pan from K's birthday, my bundt, muffin, and round cake pans, two big marshmallows, fruit slices candy, one rolled out tootsie roll, and lots and lots of green icing. Ian said that I am very 'creatable.'

Happy Birthday Ian!

The Best and Brightest

It has been the wettest summer I can remember in Southeast Texas--and I grew up here. We have a permanent bog in the backyard and all the neighbors do, too. Toward the end of July, the kid's babysitter brought them a large jar of tadpoles scooped from her puddle. Ian, or resident zoologist, was beside himself. We read our From Tadpole to Frog, and Toads and Frogs books, observed their habits, and kept adding fresh water to their habitat. It would appear that our jar had several different types of frogs, because one grew legs within two weeks and freed himself from the jar in a single bound. 'Jumpy' (as he was appropriately named) was re-captured and released into the wild.
Several nights ago, as we were making preparations for the state rep's follow up visit, the kids became convinced that they had spotted their beloved 'Jumpy' in the yard. I didn't bother to point out the statistical probability of such a reunion. I just smiled and said, "Oh, wow! And does he look well and happy?"
On a second trip out to the yard, I found them clustered around the dachshunds who were evidently toying with some small critter before the final kill. Ian called to me excitedly:
Ian: Mom, Mom! Sally and Gigi are after a frog! They're going to kill it I think! But don't worry, Mom, it is not Jumpy.
Me: Oh?
Ian: No Jumpy, is safe way on the other side of the yard!...He is hiding...He is a smart little jumper...'Cause we don't raise no dumb frogs!

That's right baby, only highly intelligent frogs found here.

First Day Of School

First day of school for the three oldest Su_______ Children. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in Mrs. Harris's pre-K classroom! I'm not a big proponent of putting your child in pre-K, but since it is offered at their school regardless of income, and because he just missed Kindergarten by three days (and because another year of Marina and Ian constantly at each others' throat would put me in an assylum), Ian is off to school this year. Abby can't wait to display her academic talents in first grade, and K will be the teacher's aide for third.

Love Note

My last entry was the post that broke the master's back. He kidded me about it, but deep down, I think his feelings were hurt. But C'mon? Dishwashing gloves and rug tape? How could I pass that up? He says that I paint him to be a ignorant, neanderthal, sexist pig. Out of the seven people who read this blog, five of you know him personally, so you know that nothing could be farther from the truth! That is what makes it funny. I do poke fun at him on this blog. Too much. I tell him it is payback for all the times I've been used as a sermon illustration (which is more times than I can count). At least he doesn't have to smile and hug your neck as you exit the blog.

I promised him that my next post would be a love note. I don't think he believed me, but here it is. Read quick, because chances are he will beg me to take it down as soon as he finds it.

Five reasons I love my husband:

1. The way he loves children. Not just our children--and he loves them a whole lot. But kids, in general, flock to him. Case in point, I went up to the warehouse one day last week when the kids were with Nana. The first sound I heard was a little girl's bubbly giggle. I followed the sound, knowing it would take me to my husband. Sure enough, I found him. A coworker's granddaughter--down for a visit and stuck at the office for the day--had drawn him into some silly game. She was having a marvelous time, and truth be told, so was he, though he claimed "he hadn't got any work done because of that pesky kid."
When we were dating, we went with his church group one weekend to lead an outreach event at an inner city, HUD housing complex. I remember watching him play with a group of 20-25 kids in a wild and woolly round of chase. When they finally brought him down and dog piled him with their snotty, sweaty, stinky bodies I thought, "Yep, that is the man for me."
2. The second is closely related, but not the same. Alot of guys can play with kids and be the "fun" parent, but not so many pitch in when it comes to the nitty gritty. What I'm talking about here is domestic support. Women ask me all the time, "How do you manage with five?" The answer is, "I don't!" We manage with five. When he is here, we are equal partners in parenting and household work. The mom of my daycare kid tells me, "Oh, my husband hasn't changed a diaper yet. He doesn't know how." And then she laughs, as if that is something to be proud of?! Randy vomits? I bathe the baby and he mops the mess and changes the sheets, or I change the sheets and he bathes the baby. Company is expected to arrive in 30 minutes? I finish putting supper on the table and he scrubs the toilettes. Out of groceries and I have a meeting? He goes shopping (though not for daycare supplies--HE, HE!). It doesn't matter if we need milk...or tampons...or Monistat 7. He's out of clean underwear? He gathers a load and puts it on to wash. My point is that there are few, if any, "Woman's Work" jobs in this house. And these are not rare instances when he decides to lend a hand--it is the way our home functions day in, day out. I know I take it for granted. When I was trying to get a MOPS group started in our old home town, I kept planning meetings for the evenings and the women would say, "I can't come because I don't have childcare," or "let me ask my husband if he can babysit the kids." You're married, but you don't have childcare? Ask your husband if he will babysit? I don't know how many times my friend Cari had to slap me up side the head saying, "But, Jessica, your husband is different." She was right. He is, and I'm SO thankful.
3. I love the fact that he knows everyone by name--the mail-lady, the guy at the hardware store, the drunk that hangs out at the gas station--but only ever calls me "babe."
4. I love the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I love that he smiles often.
5. Did you ever play the word association game in school? The teacher would call out a word or phrase and you had to write down the first thing you thought of? Whenever I hear the word 'righteous,' I think about my husband. I love that.

There you have it. For as long as it lasts. And not a trace of sarcasm.

Not Up to Par

Doesn't that look like a wonderful place for children to learn and grow? The licensing representative just left my lovely little house. I didn't pass. Ugh. Oh, well, I didn't figure I would, but it would have been nice. Here is where my home is "deficient:"

1. Swing arm of Rainbow Play Structure is attached to Tree Fort portion. A $4,000 safety hazard. Now, just look at the picture. Does that look like a deficiency to you?
2. Required postings were not posted. I had them laying out on cubbie shelf, though. I had sent the master to Wal*Mart for a bulletin board and he brought back a teeny tiny version. Um, baby, I've got to tack up 15 ginormous posters. But I set out the posters with the wrong size board right there, so obviously, I knew what had to be posted and where. But apparently a miss is a mile for the DPS.
3. No child locks on bathroom cabinets.
4. I have to keep diaper cremes locked up??!!
5. Tire swing rope "looks worn"??? It didn't to me. Last night four of the kids and two of the dachshunds were swinging on it as high and fast as it could go, and it did just fine, but I didn't bring that up to her. She probably would have cited it as serious safety violation--not to mention the contamination issues associated with children actually touching living creatures. I swear, if the state has their way, pretty soon our children will be taken from us at birth and zipped up in little plastic bubbles. They're safer that way, 'ya know.
6. No adhesive tape in first aid kit. Another one I can blame on hubby. I said, "I need adhesive tape for the first aid kit," and he brought me rug tape. For making sure your throw rugs don't slip. Mixed signals, I suppose. I also needed surgical gloves. He brought home dish washing gloves. The lesson here is never send your husband to the store when purchasing articles for a home daycare.

Instead of dismantling our children's dream backyard, we will stretch a chain link fence across a portion of it. A bare, lifeless, small, but very, very safe corner. I will take the daycare kids to this prison for one half hour every day and they will stand and look over the fence as the Israelites looked over the Jordan, and the state will say, "Well done!" I will go to Wal*Mart and make a few exchanges, and the master will install a few more child locks and we will be good to go.

I'm alive

Yep, I'm still around. I left the blog so long, friends were starting to e-mail--concerned for my health and well being. Health is o.k. Well being? Iffy. I know I've said this before, but things are crazy here. They're out of control at present. Where shall I begin?
The master (well, the whole family really), has been much involved with getting the vending machine business off and running. It takes alot of snacks to keep 13 vending machines filled!! We've added bi-weekly trips to Sam's and stocking time to our family schedule. The word has gotten out about our new venture and through friends of friends (you know how it goes) we've already added three locations to our business. Only problem is, we either have to buy some more machines or move some of our machines from a weaker location. Our smallest machines weigh 900 pounds! Rich Dad would say, "Expand." But our long held, Poor Dad mentality screams, "Wait and see before getting in any deeper." Fat and Lazy Dad says, "Don't you dare try to move one of those puppies. You could pull something!"
I hate to tell you this, because I promised I would NEVER, EVER do it again, but I'm trying the home childcare thing again. Have I ever told you I don't handle failure well (read "at all")? I decided I went about it all the wrong way. So I took a new tack and instead of registering as a home provider, I went straight to licensed home center. Which means that the state will be coming to do an inspection on my home within a matter of weeks. You think a homestudy is rough? You should see the minimum requirements law book for a state licensed childcare home. Yikes! I also have decided to do the Food Program, which means that the government will pay for all of the meals I serve (even the ones to my own children). The good news is that, because of the school district we are in, we qualify for the maximum amount of reimbursement, the bad news is more mountains of paperwork.
I have already started keeping one nine month old little boy. Guess what? He's a screamer. It' his third week here and he is still screaming the entire time he is not eating, sleeping or being rocked. And when I put him down and leave the room? Freak out city! I'm starting to remember why I said I would never do this again. Come Thursday/Friday, he starts to realize that this is a pretty cool place after all. He finds peace in that--while he isn't held non-stop--there is a predictable schedule to his day, lots of fun people, and cool things to see and explore. Then the parents (or worse, the grandparents) take him for the weekend, and we are right back to square one on Monday. People tell me all the time that they don't know how I do it with five. I don't how they do it with one! When all you do is carry your baby constantly, around the clock, they think they will not survive if they get put down. They can't do the things babies are supposed to do if they are on always on your hip! They need tummy time and crawling time. A chance to pull up and cruise. Opportunity to experience object permanence. Mommy/Caregiver goes away...Mommy/Caregiver comes back. Mothers of America--PUT THAT BABY DOWN!
We joined a church yesterday. The master is already installed as adult Sunday School teacher (they are in the middle of a building program and all of the adult classes are meeting together), and folks are calling him Bro. John. It is good to hear that name again. It sounds right. Of course, the master couldn't care less if the called him "Mud," just so long as they let him teach and preach.
In the midst of all this, we've had a crisis within the family. It is not our immediate household, so I won't post it on the blog, but it has been a gut-wrenching, extremely upsetting ordeal, nevertheless. Please keep us in your prayers.
O.K. ladies, I'm going to bust my all time record on groceries this month. Are you ready? $118.00!!! Is that wild applause I hear? I thought so. How'd I do it? I ordered through Angel Food Ministries. It is a non-denominational (though most of the distribution centers are in churches) grocery relief program. There are no income limits, no stupid classes, no personal questions, no strings at all. You just show up and pay your money and your meal packages arrive two weeks later. $25 dollars buys a grocery package meant to feed a family of four for a week. I ordered four units for my family of seven, so we'll see. I also bought the optional chicken pack. I think by adding our WIC allotment, we'll have enough for the month. Go check it out! It could save you PAPs a few hundred dollars a month. There is probably a distribution center near you. If not, ask your church to become one.

A Little Help Here?

A few months ago, the master and I read Rich Dad, Poor Dad. I don't say this very often, but that book changed our lives. It basically took most of our beliefs about finances and turned them on their ear. [A few of the book's precepts are NOT Biblical. For instance, Rich Dad says that "it is not the love of money, but the lack of money, that is the root of all evil." Enh. Wrong. But as I've said before, keep what you can, and throw out the rest]. Since reading the book, we've been looking for ways to "grow or assets," and we've brought the kids right along with us on our new journey to entrepreneurship.
Last week, God blessed us with an unbelievable, once in a lifetime, nothing short of miraculous, deal. For the price of what two vending machines cost, we were able to purchase 13 machines (nice, new ones) in already established, prime locations! We're talking about W*lM*rts, DMV's, Post Offices, teacher lounges, etc. L*nce snacks (they make the peanut butter crackers) is phasing out their vending business and are basically giving away their machines. We jumped on it! There were some stressful days of trying to decide how many of the machines to buy, gathering the collateral, and worrying like crazy that somebody else was going beat us to the purchase, but by Thursday, the machines were ours!!
Thursday evening I called the kids to the kitchen just before supper. I told them that they had a choice for dinner. They could have black bean pie (it really is a super scrumptious dish--it just sounds yucky), or they could choose to sit at the table with the rest of the family and sip their milk. Lest you contact CPS: I'd cut them all generous bars of cheerio treats in the late afternoon, knowing that some would choose not to eat. They weren't going to starve. Also I knew that Marina--who has true food scarcity issues--would gratefully wolf her black bean pie down and ask for seconds. I planned it as a sort of reality check for the kids. With these frozen meals, I'd let them slide into a bad habit of requesting what they wanted for dinner. It wasn't that much more trouble to heat up two entrees as it was for one, and they were all starting to feel pretty entitled to dinner menu options. Time to nip it in the bud.
Abby replied rather haughtily that she did NOT like black bean pie and she would NOT eat it, but she was much more subdued when she was called to the table a few minutes later only to find the promised solitary glass of milk at her place. It was a, "guess she really means it" moment, and her eyes filled up with tears. The master being absent from our dinner circle, I called on the drama queen to ask the blessing for the meal.

"Dear Lord, thank you for this.....[significant pause]

food.

And please Lord, let us get those machines soon....

'Cause I don't know how much longer we can hold out!"

Amen.

Sad News

My dear friend, Suzie, who was such a comfort to me when were adopting Marina, lost her daughter yesterday. Please lift a prayer for healing for her and her family.
Their story is becoming far, far too frequent in the blog roles. They made their first trip, bonded with the child, and even made a second trip to visit her. Now, a year and a half later, the child they love is shown to a Russian couple who decided to adopt her. Why are these children--who already have parents who have spoken for them--being pushed at Russian families? It is not like they don't have more than enough orphans to go around. Something sinister and evil is going on. For me, Suzie's sorrow is the last nail in the coffin for any dreams I held to return to Russia for a second adoption. As much as our hearts break at the thought of children left in the orphanage system, I feel powerless to do anything. At one time I thought, "I can help one. I'll do whatever it takes to help just one." But when that 'one' is ripped away, what can be done? Emotionally and financially we would be devastated--unable to complete the adoption of another child. The Bible says that only a fool begins a building without first carefully counting the costs to see if he has the ability to see it through. (Luke 14:28-30)
If we adopt again, it will be a domestic placement.

Yo Hablo Espanol. And Yes, I Do Know Who The Father Is

I own a contract with the U.S. Postal service. Let me assure you that the postal system is as inept, backward, and overpriced as it seems. All of the jokes are true. They make the Russian bureaucracy look like a well oiled political machine. They send you a letter that states that they are going to send you a letter that will precede three forms that will stipulate the changes they are making pursuant to your contract. Notice the word CONTRACT. There seems to be a large amount of confusion regarding this word. A contract is a legally binding agreement in which two parties agree to certain terms for a specified length of time. Now the postal systems says that they have changed my contract?! Um, they can't do that.
But anyway, I did not feel like taking the U.S. Postal system to court over $120.00. Which is what it cost me to have the drug screens for myself, the master, and our relief driver. When it comes time to renew the contract, I will simply add the amount--along with ample padding to cover any other new additions--to my bid. Two can play at this little game.
So yesterday, I loaded up the van with the kiddos and hied myself to the workforce drug screening place to pay for the tests and make my deposit. I sternly warned the children that we were going into a place of business that was not used to having kids in it, that I regretted that they would have to wait with me but that I would get done as soon as possible, and they had better remain calm and quiet OR ELSE. When we stepped in to the waiting room, the kids eyed me suspiciously. There was a large banner pinned to the wall featuring children of all ages and races with the words "PARENTAGE TESTING--100% Accuracy." There was a leggo table and two bubblegum machines, and lots of Highlights lying around. I never thought of that particular market for a lab. I grinned sheepishly at the kids. Ooops. My mistake.
We took seats on the front row. There were four men dressed in the plant jumpers and a long line of Mexican laborers along the back. Raucous laughter from this latter sector erupted as soon as we came in to sight.
Mexican 1: in Spanish One, two, three, four, five...It is taking her a while to figure things out, no?
Mexican 2: in Spanish Maybe she just doesn't pay attention.
Mexican 3: in Spanish Someone should get that woman a calendar!
Of course, they never dreamed that I could understand them and they couldn't see my face turn a dull red. Then one of their amigos came out with his test verification and they lost interest in me. (following conversation in Spanish)
Amigo: Hey, Robert, where are you going now?
Robert: To the house.
Amigo: You aren't going to take the paper to the office?
Robert: No, I'm going to fax it.
Amigo: All right then, good by.
Robert: See you tomorrow.
For some reason this exchange attracted Abby's attention and after Robert had made his exit, she asked loudly, "Mommy, what did they say?" I turned to her and with an equally loud voice translated the conversation. Silence from the back row. I almost feel bad for them. Almost, but not quite.

Happy Thanksgiving

Yum! I just finished two pieces of the best pumpkin pie I ever made. We had turkey and dressing for dinner. I'm in the cooking cycle again and you can get five good meals out of one $13.00 turkey. I brine my turkeys, which makes them juicy and flavorful. We had the "Thanksgiving" dinner tonight. I've never understood why we only eat a meal that tasty once a year. To finish off the bird we'll have turkey casserole (there will be leftovers for lunch the next day), and two meals of turkey soup. But, they are frozen for later in the month. I'm trying to avoid turkey overkill.
Some questions from comments: Esther, we have five kids: 8, 6, 4 (almost five), 3, and 1. I did only spend $250 for all of last month ($200 this month, woohoo!), but to be completely honest we qualify for WIC, and I'll attend all of the demeaning classes necessary to keep it current. I have no pride. That means that all of my cereal, milk, cheese, peanut butter, beans, and juice is free. That's right--0.00 dinero. It makes a big difference in my week to week spending. Especially when you consider that we consume one and a half gallons of milk per day. Jenny, we are not still selling our house. We were sure when we put it on the market that God was going to be moving us out of the area in the imminent future. When the master changed jobs/careers/life situation, we decided we might as well continue to put equity into this house for the next few years instead of throwing it away in rent--which for this size house would probably be as much or more than what we are paying on the mortgage.
Haven't been posting lately, though I'm keeping up with everyone's blog. I'm kind of...bummed? Bored? Busy? All of the above and none of the above. I dunno. So glad to hear for my adopting friends that Russia is granting accreditation--and that Slugger is home with Maggie.

My Weekend

I survived the weekend. It was pretty uneventful after all. Friday night I stayed up late finishing a good book: Fair is the Rose. I got all the way to the end and discovered that it was one of a set. UGH! Don't you just hate it when that happens? They should put a disclaimer right up front: THIS STORY TO BE CONTINUED. So, I took the kids to the library on Saturday, hoping to find the next book and finish the story. Of course, they do not have any of the other books in the series. The kids got some new books and a couple of DVDs. I left a bag of express mail on the dock Saturday, so I'm probably going to get my butt chewed tomorrow, but I'll get over it. We're eating off the freezer meals now. About five minutes before dinner, I just pop a zip-lock in the microwave and fill up some milk glasses. Yeah, I'm warming up to the once-a-month thing. Except the potatoes in today's pot roast had a disgusting texture. I'm going to have to work on my spud freezing finesse. This morning, I got everyone that was here to church on time. During the sermon the guy mentioned Cinderella, so while I folded clothes this afternoon, I watched Ever After for the hundredth time. I don't remember much else from the sermon--too many stories and anecdotes. Like a recipe from the once-a-month cookbook, I found myself wondering, "Where's the meat?" I miss my old pastor. And I'm getting tired of visiting churches. I thought that by leaving the pastorate, we would be able to explore new churches unobtrusively. Move out of the lime light, so to speak, but so far, it hasn't played out that way. We are simply fawned over wherever we go. It makes me uncomfortable, and I can't help wondering if all visitors would be treated to such an enthusiastic (bordering on desperate) welcome. What if we didn't know the lyrics to the songs, the order of service, carry our Manual, or speak the language? What if we weren't a white, middle class, nuclear family? How would we feel? How would we be treated? I'm sure once we get settled somewhere and join we'll just be part of the family and not a prize to be won, but this visiting is rough. Tomorrow the three oldest head back to swimming lessons at Nana's, and me Rina, and Randy will hang out at the old homestead. It was VERY quiet around here last week. Visions of things to come.

Deer Hunting

Interesting title for a June post don't you think? But deer hunting is the pressing issue at hand, nonetheless. I briefly considered "Why I Changed My Name and Took a One Way Flight To Aruba," but decided to go with the simpler, less emotionally charged introduction.
My father, the consummate buckmaster, has succeeded in his quest of securing a position for his son-in-law on a lease. Now, a lease is defined by Webster's as a contract by which one conveys real estate, equipment, or facilities for a specified term and for a specified rent. To the deer hunter it means they have been granted permission (for a sizable fee) to attempt the recovery of (often elusive, underpopulated) game from a small tract of (heavily hunted) wooded land. My dad, Lord bless him, has had this dream for many years. He has pursued it, nursed it, and now finally has brought it to fruition. This is HIS baby. The master, for his part, made the mistake of not telling him, firmly, "NO!" The first time it was brought up, and every time thereafter. He allowed his name to be put on the waiting list. He did not wish to disappoint his father-in-law, loves to be outdoors, and "does not mind deer hunting." I knew someday we would have to pay the piper, I just knew it.
So now, we are three weeks into the "great news" that the master has "made it" on to the lease. The master and I have had two fights about deer hunting. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. You want to spend what on the latest in pop-up blinds?" Master spending money on deer hunting + Me after three weeks of slaving in the kitchen so we could save a few dollars on groceries=marital unrest. Our immediate family has surrendered one entire weekend to the pursuit of a bigger and better deer stand. This coming weekend, Dad "needs" the master for two full days to do some "work" at the lease. I (with two hours of assistance from my mother) will be expected to do the mail run, laundry, feed and care for five children and get them to church on Sunday. The logistics alone of this venture are enough to turn my stomach. And guess who has been left to plan the details? Do you suppose the men have, since it is their absence that is creating the chaos? Oh, no, no, no!
My mom and I began this morning to work out how all of this was going to happen. We had a fight.

ME: (as the voice of reason) This is not going to work.
MOM: I put up with much more when I was your age, yada, yada, yada....you need to let your sons bond, yada, yada....________ needs his time off, too yada, yada.....this is very important to your father....

O.K. mom, some points I would like to make:
1. I honestly did not remember that Dad was away hunting during all those family disasters (gas leak that almost exploded the house, wood burning stove bursting and sending burning logs across the living room, terrible sickness that afflicted us to the point we were praying to die, etc.), but I do recall that you were always mad as hell at him afterwards. AS YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN! I also cannot pull from my memory files any hobby, pleasure, pursuit or pastime of yours that required substantial funds, time, inconvenience, or sacrifice for the family. Because you have put up with the injustice for thirty years does not mean that I want to. Perhaps the answer here is not that we women suck it up, but that the men do.
2. Why can't the men "bond" while cleaning the gutters? What's wrong with swapping stories over the toilette that needs fixing? When I have woman "bonding" with the girls, we check out a chic-flick (from the library) and I paint their fingernails. Takes two hours--tops--and costs 1.00 for the whole Bon-Bon bottle. Or we bake--and then everyone takes part in sharing the treat.
3. You'd have me on that third point. You really would. John does need his time off. Except for that one little word, and it's the clincher: too.
4. Bingo. I think we have arrived at the root of the issue. It is important to Dad. He loves to hunt. It is his passion. Right now it is something that my husband "does not mind doing." His feelings toward deer hunting are ambivalent. Much the same as a kid feels after his first cigarette, or his first drink of beer. Dad is the hunting equivalent of a chain smoker or alcoholic. I don't really want to see the master develop the same addiction.

My arguements are all very good, quite sound, and will be generally ignored. And to think, we still have four months til opening weekend. Heaven help us!

Cooking For a What?

So for the last two weeks, I've been trying my hand at once-a-month cooking. If your not familiar with the term 'once-a-month cooking', also know as 'cooking for the month' it is an idea that is supposed to "revolutionize" the way you prepare food for your family. The method is heralded as an EASY way to save time, cut cost, and conserve energy. All under the banner of their catchy slogan, "Cook for a day, eat for a month!" Horse hockey.
I've been reading about once-a-month cooking for years, and have tried a few variations of it. I almost always cook several meals on the weekend and have them ready to go in the fridge for weeknights. And cooking double batches and freezing half for dinners down the road, saved my butt and my budget when I was teaching full time. When we went to Russia, I had extreme guilt about leaving my mom to cook and care for the kids (not like she hadn't been doing it for 30+ years, but still...), so I prepared and froze a bunch of yummy dishes that she could just pop in the microwave and serve. But I've never been consistent, and I've never done an entire month. Since the master has taken this new job (which cut our monthly budget by $1,000), and taken over the money management department of our marriage (read--reduced my grocery spending allowance to 500.00), I figured that it was now or never. Or maybe I should say, now or starve. Doing the mail run at four in the afternoon, which was my normal time for supper preparation, is an additional factor. I was having to choose between getting dinner ready and getting my nap. Sweating in the kitchen or lazing in the bed, sweating in the kitchen or lazing in the bed....zzzzzzz
I started out on June first with my $250 determined to buy enough to eat on for a month. Ha! Ha! Give me $500, I'll show you! I'll only use half. But I think the joke is on me. I've put far more than $250 dollars of labor into this project (which has stretched from one day to ten) and I still don't have a month's worth of meals in my freezer. I only have 20. Now they say that you should not make any decisions about continuing the once-a-month method until you have enjoyed your frozen bounty for a few cycles, but this cooking marathon is hell. Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, "Having my monthly," let me tell you.
For those of you considering taking the once-a-month plunge here are Jessy's Pros and Cons.
PRO

1. Does save money. Even for someone who never bought prepackaged or prepared foods, this has reduced my grocery costs still further. Because, I bought like a half a pig, 10 pounds of potatoes, vats of tomato sauce. The larger the quantity the cheaper per ounce/pound. Also you go to the grocery store less, so save on gas and eliminates impulse buying.
2. Able to combine steps. Instead of browning ground meat three times a week, you brown 10 pounds of ground round at once and use it in three different meals. Same with marinara--just cooked up a soup tureen of the stuff and used it in four different suppers.
3. Those are actually all the pros I can think of at present. But keep in mind I'm still in the trenches of getting this thing accomplished. Perhaps I will feel better about it, when I've spent five minutes defrosting instead of five hours slaving. I'll keep you posted.

CON

1. Arrrghhhh! The mess! The mess in my kitchen. The mess in my house. The books say you should not clean your kitchen until you are done, but in my case, that would be leaving the filth for 10 days, which is out of the question, and besides where would I continue to cook and what would I cook with? After each cooking session, every utensil/pot/pan/dish is dirty and the counters are spilling over with food and packages, and it's a real nightmare. My house is a wreck too, because all I've been doing is cooking and all the other housework has fallen by the wayside. Guess my savings would be lost if I hired a maid?
2. Whoever wrote these books do not have real husbands or real children. Because they set the same dinner on the table five times a month with every meal having one ounce of meat and everybody in their fake family says, "YUM! YUM! Thanks, Mom!" If I followed their meal plans, I'd be hearing from my folks something more along the lines of, "We just HAD cheesy potatoes last week." "We're sick of spaghetti!" and "Where's the beef?" At the Su_______ house we are accustomed to greater variety and much more protein than the once-a-monthers generally allow.
3. You have to plan every teeny, tiny, detail for the whole month. Have I ever mentioned that I'm not much of a planner? I'm more of a free spirit. I liked the, "Hmm....what sounds good tonight?" way of life. Now I have to decide a month in advance what will sound good on any given night. It is really cramping my style.

Some things that I have learned from this experience:

1. The old fashioned way of cooking truly is the cheapest way of cooking and it still works.
2. The old fashioned way of cooking is the hard way of cooking.
3. My family consumes on average 5 gallons of marinara a month. That boggles my mind.
4. When all of these children are consuming adult size portions, we will have to move to Montana, where we will kill and eat elk and forage for roots all winter long, and till the ground and scavage for berries in the summers.

Kid Swap

Everyone should have a friend like Abby. Ardyn and Abby have been best friends since, as they like to put it, "the nursery." It doesn't matter that we moved half a state away two years ago. Ardyn is Abby's "bestest" best friend. She has a school best friend and a neighbor best friend, and hopefully one day soon, she will have a church best friend, but the title Best Friend, sans adjectives, belongs to Ardyn alone. They do not see each other above twice a year now, but they just pick up the friendship right where it left off.
Last week, I sent K up to our old hometown and we brought Ardyn here. In a rare stroke of genius, I enrolled them both in theatre camp. They went as students-- not instructors. If you are intimately acquainted with either or both of these ladies, you know why it is necessary to make that stipulation. At camp, they could have all the drama they desired--elsewhere! Seriously though, camp kept them active and provided just enough structure and interaction with others to prevent them from driving each other (and everyone else in the house) crazy. Camp was held from 9:00 to 5:00, every day, with a full production on Friday evening. The play was the Lion King and the kids made their own masks, created the sets, memorized their parts (each kid playing several different roles), and mastered songs with choreography. It was a lot for two Kindergartners going on first grade, and they did an excellent job. We also squeezed in a trip to the beach, the lake, and a tea party. Abby had a wonderful week which she will relive through her artwork, imagination, and speech for many months--until the next kid swap.

Eight Random Things

I've been tagged for a MeMe by Tami. Haven't done one of these in a while, and haven't done any this open ended. Eight random things about me? Not eight random items under my bed? Not eight random moods for the month? Not eight random people I've been? Just eight things about me....
1) I have six scars. A white patch on my forehead where I scratched off a mole when I eight years old and decided I did not want to go through life with an Islamic dot. Two tiny marks under my mouth where I bit through my lip falling off the monkey bars. A small raised line on the back of my right hand, beneath my thumb where I pinched my skin in my trombone slide one morning in first period band. Large ugly scar across my lower abdomen from four "bikini" C-sections. Now, supposedly this type of C-section got its name from the claim that women could still wear a bikini after the procedure. Further proof that doctors have a sick, twisted, bizarre sense of humor is not needed. Just beneath this gruesome incision are two faint lines from having a Hernia repaired at four years old. I have one tiny scar on the back of my left ankle where I was cut by a glass bottle explosion. The cut was very deep and long, and needed stitches, but the idea going to the hospital kept making me pass out, so a friend of the family told us to bandage it with a cloth dipped in turpentine and heavily sprinkled with sugar. We did and it healed beautifully, you have to look close to see the scar, and if one of the kids ever gets a cut like that, I'm going to try it again. If anyone can explain to me why this crazy home remedy worked, I'd be most appreciative.
2) I'm a two time world champion yodeler. Nah. But that would be a super cool thing to be able to put in my list, don't you think? I really have no remarkable talent. No special skills. No claim to fame. So, I guess that will be number two. I'm just your average girl. I'm good at most things I put my mind to and great at nothing.
3) I don't believe we will know each other in heaven. That is to say, I believe we will know each other, because we will have perfect knowledge, but it won't matter to us, because we will will "know" and love Mr. Harry Whose-a-ma-callit as much as we know and love Great Aunt Sally Sue. In other words, we will have no particular connection to any one person (say our earthly spouse or child) because we will all share perfect union with Christ. This one drives the master WILD. We've had the debate at least a dozen times in the last ten years, but he still hasn't convinced me. I've also never heard of anyone who shares my view, so if you do, or think you can persuade me otherwise, chime in.
4) I cannot abide flies in the house. And this is the time of the year when they come in by the droves. I can't eat without a swatter in my left hand and my fork in my right. The kids live in fear that one will land on their milk glass, or worse--their head. I get tunnel vision, and the fly is all I can see. MUST KILL FLY. I can't sleep if I know one is still alive in the house. I haven't been able to type this post without making two circuit patrols of the kitchen.
5) I love books. I'm addicted to books. Especially children's books. One day, I'm going to count how many children's books are in our home, but there has to be close to a thousand. Each kid has their own large bookshelf (though the books themselves are considered communal property) and each shelf is packed. And there are books on the floor and under the bed, and on the coffee table, in the van, beside the pot....
6) I'm writing a book. The title is: 52 Fabulous, Fun Family Nights: A Year of Loving, Laughing and Learning With Your Kids. Look for it soon (read someday) in a Lifeway store near you.
7) I think Patrick Swayzee and Patrick Stewart are incredibly sexy. Is it the name? I don't think so, but 'Patrick' is what the master has christened the body pillow I sleep with. I can't sleep without Patrick.
8) I don't eat vegetables.

Well, there you go. I tag Lisa and Cari--fellow bloggers. And Jennifer--my space.