180 Degree Attitude Adjustment

Today is not starting out so well. I'm searching high and low for motivation, patience and some joy in the situation I find myself in.

I have four children at home. I have five if you count the man-sized one. I woke up today feeling utterly miserable. The reason for the miserable feeling was brought about by my fitful night of sleep. Somewhere in my dreams, that man-sized child had a big tantrum, in front of many, many people - most who I knew and were very near and dear to me. The fit that this man-sized child had in my dream was a terrible, awful fit. He ranted on and on about how he was going to quit some job he had because he didn't want to support me anymore. He complained loudly about how he was done being married because it was so not worth it, and he even said I expected too much because I needed help keeping up with the household chores and the homework of four children. Clearly, that was a job only for women, and not for a man who works outside the home, so he was done. He was finished. He was leaving. Or was he shoving me out? I don't quite remember that part because it didn't really matter. What mattered was that feeling of utter shock and humiliation. What also mattered was the fact that I woke up sad, angry and upset, and my poor husband had done none of those things, but I was still upset with him. Well, he hasn't done ALL of those things, but the part about the chores and the homework was pretty realistic. haha!

Wow. It's hard to wake up from a "for real" feeling dream like that and jump to my feet with the excitement of a new day. Especially when I walk out my bedroom door and come face to face with no less than six loads of laundry that I spent all day yesterday sorting, washing and drying so my family would have clean clothes for the next week. I was happy that I'd thought ahead this time, and spent the two days BEFORE a much anticipated trip to the coast doing the laundry instead of the day OF the trip. That's more my style - wait till the last second and then get those last items that we need washed, packed and then we run out the door.

This time, I decided to be ahead of the game and I was oh so proud of my achievements. I even cleaned up each room and cooked dinner early. I might have done more the last few days except I had a kid home sick each day and that was a tiny bit distracting. The problem with doing things ahead of time, and being proud of yourself is that nobody else notices. Instead of folding and putting away all that laundry yesterday, I spent the time between loads making quick bread, rice krispie treats, make-ahead casseroles and such to take on our trip. I don't think I mentioned it yet, but we are dirt, stinkin broke right now and this trip is in no way anything extravagant. We have no plans to dine out, or to take any side trips or do anything special. When I reserved this time about a year ago, I knew that sometime during the bleak months of Fall (bleak to me, not to everyone!) that I'd need a means of escape, and so thinking only of that, I booked this time away. All it takes is a tank of gas - and so far that's all we're planning on spending. The food is coming with us from our own kitchen - food that we'd normally eat, plus whatever goodies I could whip up beforehand. The library has loaned us a half ton of exciting books, and even a few movies the kids haven't seen in ages. Our plan is to do as little as humanly possible, and to just enjoy being together and relaxing, maybe a dip in the pool or a soak in the hot tub, but mostly NO STRESS.

Being ahead of the game this time was a big deal for me! I think there's something about Mother's needing their family to be happy when we plan a family event. Clearly, there is nothing in the rulebooks that says a Father or the kids need for the Mother to be happy though, and it's got me pretty bummed. This morning, I briefly mulled over the idea of just taking this trip by myself - since apparently I'm the only one that is looking forward to it enough to do anything about it. But then God swatted me and encouraged me to stop my stinkin' thinkin'.

Some days - I wish God could just come over and fold laundry. I am looking at my house, and realizing that all those clothes just might have to sit where they are, because all of the sudden each room is messy again, the dinner dishes are still there, and the kitchen needs cleaned up again. Didn't I just do all of that yesterday? It's really no wonder that stay at home Mom's fall into depression more often. It's a pretty thankless job.

Earlier when I thought about how nice it would be to have God come over and fold laundry, you know, something practical and "useful" for me, I got to thinking about how an ungrateful attitude really does tend to make things look worse than they are. Since when does God need to fold my laundry, when he lovingly blessed me with my own two arms to do it myself? And since when does God have to help take care of someone's house, that is lucky enough to have a house at all? My children are abundantly blessed with clothes to wear, and who has the nerve to complain about having to wash it all? Why me, of course.

My purpose of this post was to talk myself out of my grumpiness since I don't have a physical person to talk to (and if you're still reading, well God bless you for being patient with my blatherings!). I know that Satan is sitting at my door, waiting to pounce on me and he encourages me to get mad at my entire family. What is the point of that? Where's the honor, the joy, or the fun?

Today I'm going to give God a break. Instead of wishing he'd come fold my laundry, I'm going to force myself to take this day by the horns. One step at a time. Eat something. Drink something (maybe it's a good day for coffee?). Fold a load. Do the dishes. Fold a load. Sweep the floors (again. haha!). Fold a load. And somewhere in there maybe I can put those clothes away - and then pack and have things somewhat ready to go by the time my family comes home today.

This will give God the time to spend with that mother who is burying her child today, or the father who just lost his job and needs extra attention - not that God isn't everywhere, but it's really not his job to take care of the physical things in my life that I'm able to do - if I just dump the nasty mood. You can bet that I'll still need God to walk me through my day, and I guarantee I'll be asking him to help me push through (because YES, the body is in some major pain after my fall the other day!) but I'll also feel more inclined to allow him to work through me, instead of FOR me.

This thought came to me earlier, and I'm pretty sure I will print it out where I can see it all day!
"A bad attitude always wishes someone else would do the work, but a joyful heart sees blessings in helping others."

I'm off to take a vacation now... and to bless my family.

The post where I try to be like Heather

Promises are cheap. A dime a dozen around here.

A few days ago, after posting about the unfortunate events of all sorts of things including my eyelashes (which are fine, by the way, as apparently the thick mascara "splints" kept them from completely falling out altogether after they were heat blasted by my dadgum stove) I vowed, no, I promised, that I would not write another post about misfortunes, but instead, I'd post about something FORTUNATE!

Well, it's not a complete lie. But just for the record (and to TRY not to share only the bad things) I'll tell you all about how both my daughters' volleyball teams kicked some major hiney this season. My 13 yr old now has bragging rights - she is on a championship team! Undefeated for the whole season. Princess D, who is now 11, made it through her first season of volleyball on a different, yet still exceptional, team - only losing 2 games the whole season. Not too shabby I say! I'm proud of those girls.

But back to the unfortunate events. As we all know, I can't go more than a day without something unusual or blogworthy happening in my life. I just tend to keep most of it to myself for fear of making others continually worry about my safety. You see, I worry about you worrying. Does that make sense?

In my dream house, I will have rubber bumpers on each corner. Doors will not stop at half of an inch above floor level (which is precisely the height it takes to completely scrape the top of your toes off). Wood stove handles and all things that contain any source of heat will be wrapped in silicone - seven layers of it, to keep the user from burning themselves. Safety goggles will be required while cooking, as well as a silicone full-length apron to protect oneself from scorching or splashing any body parts with hot water or grease that is on fire.

Within this last year, I made a new friend. Her name is Heather. (It may or may not be a false name to protect the innocent. Let's just say her name is Heather.) So this friend Heather is a wonderful human being. She is sassy, she is strong and she is determined. She's a little bit older than me, but we're the same age in the attitude department. What I mean by that is about the time I was being conceived, she was graduating from High School, but we don't notice that part.

Heather is someone I look up to. There are many reasons to look up to her, but one of them is because she is a triathlete. Now I don't know how long that crazy idea has been in her head, the idea to do the triathlon thingamajig, but she's trained, she's worked hard, and by golly she is making other women look really bad. What I mean by that, is all those ladies that let themselves go just because they see their first gray hair are being put to shame by someone who is just starting new, exciting adventures. Heather has been busy doing a lot of training (for how to get in and out of a wetsuit, which I hear can be the most challenging part of a triathlon thingamajig for anyone over the age of 50) and she's got my vote for Most Confident and Daring Woman of the Year. But just a couple weeks ago, my favorite contender for Woman of the Year fell on a hard stone floor and injured herself.

Yes, it appears that Heather and I have more in common than our attitudes. Apparently we also like to make scenes and draw lots of unwanted attention our way. I'm many miles away from Heather, so providing emotional support and prayers is what I've been able to do. I am also able to sympathize with her, because I feel that we often live parallel lives. So parallel, in fact, that I decided to do exactly the same thing as she did. With that said, here's my letter to Heather.

Dear Heather,
I admire you, I want to have that same drive and determination when I'm well past forty to do something new, exciting and different. I want to run in a triathlon. Well, maybe not so much a triathlon, as I want to still be able to be walking upright by then. I want to be like you SO much that I am trying to mimic everything you do so that I can say I lived a life that was adventurous. Just last night, I saw that "wet floor" sign outside the bathroom at one of our favorite neighborhood eating joints. I saw the sign, I stepped around the sign, and through the doorway.

"Splat" was the only thing I heard as I went down faster than Bambi learning to ice skate. Maybe it was slower than that, because I had time to wonder if the door closed all the way before people out in the restaurant could see me flailing in mid-air, grasping for air handles. (You know what I mean, those things people grasp for when falling, but there's nothing there?) Go ahead and laugh at my expense, I'll wait.

So anyway Heather, I look up to you so much. And in that moment, when I was laying sprawled out on the hard, stone bathroom floor I looked up and I swear I saw you - giving me your hand. Not the one with the pretty blue cast on it from your recent fall, but the other one. You helped me up, while bracing your injured knee (the one that still needs the MRI - yes, that one) and you helped me to my shaking feet. You brushed me off, and gave me a little pep talk. It went something like this:

My Dear Friend,
Words just can't express how I feel (as much as my hysterical laughter can). You know you can't be just like me, so quit trying so hard. You need to learn to be your own individual self, with your own stories of misfortune. Now get into that bathroom stall before you start to cry, or notice that your kneecap is misaligned. Don't pay attention to the location of the pain. You need to go to the bathroom - that's why you're here. Go get the job done. THEN you can figure out what needs to be attended to! You could end up getting stuck in urgent care or something, and then what would you do with that full bladder. Get busy girlfriend!

So... with that wonderful advice, I drug myself into the furthest stall from the door (the one labeled "Handicapped" because quite clearly at that point I WAS) and I did what I needed to do. Then, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, and called for my husband. I heard muffled laughter on his end, and then a bit of actual concern, and then I hung up.

One thing I can always count on, is that he will take me seriously when I call for help. Nine times out of ten I don't call for his help, and so when I do, he knows I'm not joking. I sort of felt silly calling him, because after all I was able to be on my feet, although my right knee was starting to throb like the dickens and my hand felt all weird. However, I didn't want to flop down in the middle of the restaurant on the way out, so I figured I'd shove my pride into my other pocket and let him help me out.

I gingerly stepped across the remaining stone tiles, which were as slick as algae on a river rock, no exaggerations there whatsoever, and met my husband at the door. He, too, agreed with my assessment about the stone floor, and I felt justified that my injury wasn't entirely the result of my being a total nincompoop. (It may have been somewhat the fault of the Tylenol PM I took an hour earlier, but we'll pretend I didn't actually do that).

Heather, thanks for helping me up to my feet last night. If I'd really paused to think about it, I might have just cried like a baby, but instead you helped me laugh at myself, and realize that things like this happen - and we just have to take it all in stride, we have to let it make us stronger (more humorous) individuals, and help us to appreciate those days when we CAN do the extra things like run, swim or ride a bike. I'm still working on just walking a straight mile, but with your delightful example, I'm pretty sure I can get there.

P.S. I didn't end up in an E.R. or an urgent care, I was too sleepy to care much so I went straight home, couldn't find the ice pack and I went to sleep. I woke up this morning with very little pain, unless I'm putting firewood in the stove and have to bend my knee that certain way *ouch!* Hopefully this is the worst of it... although I'm keeping a close eye on what hurts. I learned a good lesson: Stick to taking sleepytime drugs at sleepy time and stay off wet floors lest ye MAKE a wet floor.

And then the eyelashes melted

A few days ago, we spent some hours cleaning out our little corner of the shop. Not little shop, just my little corner. It's the corner that my in-laws nag me about because it's loaded with our stuff. I'm not going to say anything snippy about it being OUR shop (since we bought the farm and all and nobody else makes any payments) it's just that the one corner is something I'm always getting picked on about because I have stuff there. Stuff. Just things that have traveled along on my life journey with me. Mine.

Long story short - when our shop floods in the winter (doesn't happen too often) but when it did last time, it was never completely cleaned out. We're always too busy after a flood to sweep the shop - it goes at the bottom of the list, know what I mean? Somewhere below wringing out goats, fluffing up chickens and mopping seventy times a day. So, the floors were left to dry naturally and whatever silt seeped under the doors made a nice dust covered floor that could possibly keep a sparse lawn in place. Some of the shop floor is raised and doesn't get wet - that's where my stuff was. So naturally, after I had about an 8 foot by 4 foot section all nice and decluttered, I wanted to make the floor clean too. So, I swept it. It was after dark, and I had only a little bit of light in there, but I could see dust - and when I swept there was no more dust. I felt so good to make a clean spot! Yay me!!

It felt good until the next morning anyway, when I realized all that dust went into my lungs and was sitting there like a gooey lump of mud. It's been three days now, and everytime I cough, only the equivalent to one dust particle comes up at a time. Steam helps - so I've been on a hot tea diet.

Yesterday was a little bit better, so I decided to keep up the hot tea diet and I went to put the pot on to boil. Now this newfangled, completely digital, touch pad display on my stove is great, if you like runway lights in your kitchen. I don't complain though because I picked it out. So I shoved the leftover pan from the night before aside, grumbling at one daughter or another who neglected to clean it up, and I started the burner for the water. I then went about composing a rather lengthy letter to a family member, knowing that my teapot would alert me when it was ready. All during the letter writing, I thought I heard strange noises. My dog alerts me to strange noises that I need to pay attention to, and since he kept sleeping, I just kept writing. Then I realized that the noise continued, and it sounded as if it were inside the house. We've had just enough critters running loose, that I figured it was worth checking out.

I would describe the noise as a popping and squeaking sound. For your reference, it's exactly the kind of noise you would hear if you were to put a partial pan of refried beans on the stove, use the turbo-boil setting, and just let it go. The popping noise was those little beans exploding and when their skins were torn off, the squeaking was their screams of horror. The pasty bean substance on the sides of the pan (because it wasn't a FULL pan of beans of course!) was burning, then crackling off of the stainless steel, and making a very potent billow of smoke at the same time. Too bad it wasn't Halloween... I had my own (do NOT try this at home) smoke machine! Wait till I tell the kids!

Covering my mouth and nose with my shirt (just like they taught us in elementary school) and waving my arms to clear the air so I could see, I made my way into the kitchen to grope for the handle of the pan. I forgot to think that maybe I should have grabbed a different piece of clothing than the one I was actually wearing to put on my face, because when I ran back and forth with that pan, trying to figure out how to get the door open without removing my shirt from my face, I'm pretty sure I flashed our neighbors. (Betcha I looked smokin'!) I finally put the pan back down on the stove, opened the door, and then went to relocate the pan outside onto the deck. On a hot pad, of course, because I didn't want to mar the surface of our deck. *sigh*

Windows flung open, fans going, air conditioner on high and doors wide open all day still did not remove the nasty stench of a near kitchen fire. I soon realized that smoke inhalation coupled with the gummy dust layer in my lungs was causing me quite a bit of grief. All self-inflicted grief, of course. Not to give in to defeat, I decided to help eliminate the smell on this fine rainy afternoon. I had the perfect solution. I'd make cupcakes! Dark chocolate cupcakes would counteract the burned bean smell and my family would be coming home happier today (instead of their usual gagging behavior). I was sure of it.

The meticulously prepared cupcakes were placed, ever so carefully, into the lower oven on my new range and I proceeded to wait the appropriate nineteen minutes. The instant that timer went off, I lept to my feet and (without spraining anything) hurried to the kitchen to see what glorious delights awaited my eyes. I bent down and quickly pulled the oven door open. Instead of seeing delicious little cupcakes, I was met with a face full of heat and steam that instantly loosened seven layers of the dust and smoke in my lungs while simultaneously clamping my eyes shut and melting my eyelashes together.

My top lip now feels like I've just got a fresh wax, my forehead is really shiny and my nose feels like I just got back from a day at the lake without sunscreen. I'm not really sure if there's more damage, as I still can't focus through my steam-cleaned contact lenses, but I'm pretty sure my eyelashes would have just dropped off my face entirely if it wasn't for the mascara holding them firmly in place. The bad news is that neither of our smoke alarms went off. That is alarming. The good news is that the cupcakes turned out just fine. From what I can see anyway.
Yay me.

Last Will & Testament

To whom it may concern,

I am a few days short of dying. It's all because of my treadmill. The last time I got on it, I felt every extra part of my body scream like never before. My hips are arguing with my every step, and now my upper back hurts as much as my lower back. Since we are all aware that my death is quickly approaching (it's a shock, I know), I would like to bequeath some of my most special belongings to those who have tortured me the most that I love and cherish. Please follow the directions or you will receive seven lashings with a wet towel.

Considering that my impending death is due only to my numerous attempts to use our stupid treadmill, I would like to make it very clear that my treadmill is to go to my husband, and only my husband. It was his stupid idea to buy the thing in the first place. I know that in all of his grief over my death, he will feel inclined to get on the treadmill to sweat away his sorrows. He might even feel inclined to use the incline feature. I don't know if the incline feature actually works, because I've never quite got the idea of attempting suicide on a treadmill, but I know that once he starts using it, he'll keel over (incline or no incline) and die too - that will be my way of getting back at him from beyond the grave.

Once he arrives in heaven with me, with our new and wonderful bodies, we will no longer need the recumbent bike that sits, in all hostility, next to the treadmill. I would like the recumbent bike to go to my children. They can fight over it, and may the biggest whiner win. All of the "it's MY turn" will not be heard by me any longer, so I really don't give a care. Hopefully when someone cleans out my exercise room/laundry room/library/storage room they will come across the dag-blasted power cord for the recumbent bike so that anyone who peddles more than a quarter of a mile won't blow out their knees like I have.

Among my other prized possessions is my exercise ball. The big, giant formerly-inflated piece of junk goes to my youngest child. Since he's the one that insisted on bouncing around on it immediately after he broke a jar in my living room, he can have the shredded pieces of rubber as a long-term remembrance of how much his Mother's patience was stretched thin.

My daughters will receive my sweaty workout clothes. This is a special payback for all the damp, stinky, sweaty gym shorts and volleyball uniforms they have left for me to take care of every day of their middle school lives. I would also throw in all of my bath towels, except they probably already have 27 of them in their room, in a wet heap on the floor.

My elder son will be the recipient of my walking shoes. He can't ever seem to find more than one shoe at a time, so I'm hoping that by giving him a pair of shoes that have always sat side by side, he might feel inclined to follow suit and give his next set of parents a more harmonious home.

Sincerely,
(and while gasping-for-my-last-breath)
~The girl who's dying from treadmill abuse

I am smarter than an 8th grader

Just so ya'll know, I have never been one of those people who just wanders around outside the house in my pajamas. I've never quite gotten the reason why people can't just slip on some clothes and go about their lives and leave the pj's at home - where they belong. Now on the nights I wear pajamas (shush, I know what you're thinking) I prefer to have very comfortable pajamas. Just this past year, I actually bought some pretty AND comfortable pajamas. I love them. I love them so much I could get rid of all the others and be happy with this one set. Unfortunately this kind of thinking tends to make people want to wear their pajamas outside of the home. This case is no exception.

In the mornings at our house, it is always a lazy wake up time, followed by a rushed feeling to eat breakfast and get the teeth clean, followed by a complete panic and frenzy to catch the bus. The bus stop takes forever to travel to, but only if you're late. It's at the end of our driveway. If one kid doesn't catch the bus in time (missing shoe, misplaced homework, etc...) that kid gets a free ride to school courtesy of Mom. I don't mind doing it, the school isn't that far away (and truthfully it gives me a few extra minutes to apologize and get forgiveness for yelling at whoever is in the car for not hurrying up earlier) but it does mean that I have to change out of my favorite pajamas lots sooner than I had planned (which is sometimes a really good thing, if you know what I'm saying).

A few days ago, my firstborn asked the question. You know, the one question you've been asking yourself inside your own brain for weeks, that when someone else finally verbalizes the question, it seems to makes things completely legitimate just because someone else spoke the words? "Mom, why don't you just wear your pajamas instead of getting dressed?"

The girl is a genius. Why I had never thought of that I'll never know! I gave her some lame reason like, "Well, you really just never know when you need to be dressed in clothes when you go outside." I then proceeded to explain how one of my favorite speakers at our recent Women of Faith conference talked about wearing "Flu" pants outside to take care of a dead goat. We've all got Flu pants, she stated. The kind you wear when you're sick, and you may or may not be wearing underwear under them? The kind that, in her story, tend to fall down when your hands are occupied and you can't pull them up - but only when you're in your own field in full view of a busy highway, and it's either drop the dead goat or drop your pants? Yeah - I gave my daughter that excuse, and she just rolled her eyes. "Like stuff like that actually ever happens! And who doesn't ever wear underwear??" Ahem... carrying on...

So yesterday, we had one of those days where the kids scurry around like just-discovered-barn-rats, and as luck would have it, one of them needed a ride. Either that or I forgot to wake them up in time, I just don't recall. (Hey, it's hard to make sure four kids are actually out of bed before I've even had coffee, ok?? I see kids moving about, I just assume there are four of them.) So I don't exactly recall which school I had to visit that morning (seeing as how if three of them miss the bus, I literally have to travel to three different schools) but it was one of them, and it was a short drive, and I was really, REALLY tired. I had all intentions of going straight back to bed as soon as I heard the bus drive away. But here I was thinking of how to expend the least amount of energy possible.

So - I put the good advice of my thirteen year old daughter to use. I put my coat on, shoved my feet into my Nike's and grabbed my car keys. I gingerly stepped out the door into the carport, noticed there were no other parents driving by and proceeded to thank the good Lord that I always park with my drivers side to the field and not the road. I made a mad dash for the car before anyone, including our early riser neighbors, could spot my really loud pajama pants. There was no mistaking they were pajamas. If you saw someone who normally only wears some shade of denim on her legs wearing a flashy white and black scroll motif instead, you'd know they were pajamas from three acres away - in the fog.

I was home free. I drove my kid to school (still don't recall which one) and I watched every stop sign, left turn signal and speed limit too, just to make sure I didn't have any reason to get pulled over by one of our town's finest. I just knew it would be my luck that if I got pulled over the apple juice sitting in the furthest seat back in our suburban would have become fermented, leading to a search of my vehicle, and an arrest for open container, all in my pajamas while all the other parents who always wear clothes and underwear drove by and laughed at me. I had to make myself scarce. Fear gripped my heart.

The drive home was pretty slow - because apparently on all other mornings I don't see speed limit signs? Either that or I was just paranoid. I was so relieved to pull back into our driveway and release all that pent up paranoia when what did I see? No less than 13 farm workers had descended on my field and were busily picking lettuce. Oh good gravy, who on earth scheduled that? So carefully, I pulled into the driveway, made a big display as if I had something that burndoned me to unload from the back of the Suburban, and I backed up as close to the carport as I could get. Nobody would see me now! Of course all of my maneuvering made every one of those 13 farmer guys watch to see what I was up to, when in all reality they might never have noticed me in the first place, seeing as how they were knee deep in lettuce, kale, chard and all sorts of other things green.

My plan appeared to be working though, because there was only about two feet of space that they might catch a glimpse of me zipping by in my brilliant black and white get-up. They'd probably think I was wearing a lovely flowing skirt - or perhaps dress pants - yes, they'd think that. What with my flurry of fuzzy hair sticking out all over the place and my raccoon eyes from the makeup I'd been too tired to wash off the night before. Yeah, they'd totally go for that.

So, blissfully unaware of my surroundings, I stepped out of the car. I proceeded to gather my purse and other things I evidently left in the vehicle overnight - all while gleefully smiling at the fact that none of the farmers could see me, and I was wearing my pajamas! Neener neener! I'd done it!

Boy had I done it all right. It suddenly occurred to me that the one child I had taken to school was the one who had to arrive EARLY and that the strange noise I was hearing behind me was the brakes of the school bus pulling up, and all the cars before and behind it coming to a stop. How, in the name of all things rational, could I have let THIS happen? My raccoon eyes were WIDE open and the grin still plastered on my face as the bus driver waved at me, and I frantically waved her on by. She probably thought I was sure a friendly sort, with all the smiling and waving and such. Little did she know that right there, in that very spot, I was making new committments. I was committing to never wearing my pajamas outside the house ever again, and I was committing to never doubt the fact that I AM smarter than an 8th grader.

Now where did I leave my wagon?

Weight loss isn't easy. It sometimes gets in the way of other things, like dessert, and free time! Weight loss has to be something you really want, or you're going to get exactly what you put into it. Nothing, equals nothing. That's exactly what I've gotten these past few miserable weeks. Nothing!

I check my scale from time to time, just to see how bad things are, and thankfully it hasn't gotten much WORSE, but knowing that I won't ever move forward towards my goals unless I actually PARTICIPATE has gotten me to get back on the wagon again. I'm picking up where I left off. I'm doing it today.

Over the past few weeks we buried a family member, I suffered a really deep and sudden bout of depression, I had terrible back pain, we ran out of groceries and money at the same time, my marriage took a nosedive, and I lived to tell about it. I'm refocusing. I'm directing my gaze towards what I can accomplish instead of what I feel helpless about. (And I still haven't had hardly ANY soda since August 1st - a goal that has far exceeded my expectations and become a habit!) I'm grateful for every day that I get a chance to wake up and breathe clean air. I'm happy that my husband insists on sticking by my side no matter how obnoxious I can be, and I'm glad I am learning how to put up food for when the finances get lean. I know I can do this, it's just going to take more effort for me than most. But let me tell ya, I have a God on my side that is far bigger than any problem or pain I could ever have.

Time for breakfast... where's my wagon?

Can I get a side of Peaceful with that?

I did it again.

With full intentions to sit down and blog more, I have realized that intentions only go so far. Not a day passes that I don't have thoughts that I'd like to put into words. Unfortunately my thoughts lately are not the type that I prefer to share with many people. Particularly the thoughts of pulling myself out of this funk that I've been lounging around in for a couple months or so. I've probably spent more time thinking about how to make myself comfortable while I'm IN the funk, than how to actually get out of it. I suffer annually from S.A.D. It feels like this problem has made a grand entrance months too early this year. When I really think about it, I have to realize that my series of life events is probably the only reason I feel blue, and it has not a thing to do with S.A.D. (until today, it's our first real fog of the year, while my brain, on the other hand, has been in a real fog for months.)

My day is pretty much the same every day. I get up, kiss my husband goodbye, I get my kids going, I fuss about the condition of the kitchen, I do errands and chores all day, I spend a few days a week at the middle school helping out, I taxi kids to practices, games and events all evening, I try to make dinner (haha!), I help with homework, I read bedtime stories, I fuss about the kitchen again, I go to bed. Somewhere in there, I make occasional retreats to my husband's computer to read a blog, or play a game or respond to a lengthy email or look at our budget with wondering eyes. (Wondering how on earth we're going to make it this month, that is.)

My days are full, but in my mind, not full enough. Nowhere in there do I have actual scheduled time to sit and read, or pray, or spend time with my husband, or just do something for myself anymore. I think that I'm afraid that if I do, the floodgates will open and all my feelings of grief and loss over the past few months will come pouring out.

In January, when I lost my Grandpa, I don't think I could have imagined anything more painful or heartbreaking. People say to be happy because he's in heaven - well I AM happy about that, but it doesn't lessen the pain of just plain MISSING him. The hurt of wishing I'd been able to spend more time with him doesn't go away very easily, and knowing my kids won't be growing up with him isn't ever going to feel good.

Then in March, I lost my Grandma and all those fresh, raw feelings from my Grandpa's death never really had time to be dealt with and sorted out in my mind. My Grandmother's death was different... different feelings, different emotions and different side of the family involved. Still - heartbreaking. I can't believe how much missing someone forever feels like. I hate it. I think that if my heart was broken in half with the first death, that it got quartered the next time around. I loved her phone calls and her cheery voice. Memories I will treasure forever.

In May, my Great Aunt Mary passed away. She didn't live near to us during my life, but whenever she entered our presence (from the far off land of Virginia), it was like a grand parade. She was lively, exciting and most of all, she loved us like we were all hers. My most vivid memory of Aunt Mary was when we all attended the funeral of my Great Grandfather Ash. Her own father had died, yet here she was, hugging my younger cousin and I as my cousin wailed and I cried because she was crying. I think we were about 7 and 8 years old at the time. I don't remember Aunt Mary's tears, I just remember her making ours all better. Her death left a hole in my heart, and although it felt like a small hole compared to the other two deaths, it still leaked the same brand of grief.

Throughout all these months, things had been changing a lot at our church. My husband had been asked to discontinue one area of our ministry, which he did with a heavy heart. And then the other area of our ministry, which he enjoyed the most came to an end for both of us as well. This opened up a whole new category of grief that neither of us had really ever had to experience before. Our hearts hurt from the abrupt, and business-like loss of our passions, and our spiritual health suffered from the loss of those people who used to mentor us and care about things like that. It's really sad to learn that people are really interested in your spiritual health and hold you accountable when you are on stage, but they could care less if you're sitting in the back row. Feeling unliked, unloved and unwanted, we trudged on, trying to heal things with only our heavily damaged hearts and just the spark of faith we still carried. Our marriage then began to take hits, which is common in the middle of spiritual war. Spending time together as a couple wasn't something to look forward to anymore, because each one of us had such a large quantity of emotions to work through that we frequently dumped those feelings out on each other. I am so grateful for that spark of faith that we hauled along with us, because without it, we'd be living in separate homes right now and that's a fact.

We worked through small things and big things or we ignored issues and then we yelled and then shared tears of misery and tears of forgiveness. Then we hugged. Then we did that all over again. For weeks. Months. I'm exhausted just writing this.

Somewhere in all of this, I lost a friend or two. Or three.
I gained a new one. A few are still hanging there on the fringes waiting for me to pull my head out and come back to the party. I am grateful for those friends. I am sorry for those friends too - because they have to put up with me. Those are the ones I know are genuine, because they are still there. Maybe not as much as before, but they are still there. My husband also forced a Couple's Retreat on me, and I actually liked it. I'm really glad he's hanging in there, because I'd be so completely lost otherwise.

A few weeks ago, my cousin Alice got really sick. She's actually my Mother's cousin, but we all call her "Cousin Alice" because my Grandma's name is Alice and that can get confusing real quick. Cousin Alice has an Aunt Alice and that's my Grandma. Get it? Good. So Cousin Alice got really sick. The doctors couldn't fix her. She died on September 20th. This past Friday we had her Memorial Service, and on Thursday night - the day before - I had finally allowed myself to process some of the grief. It was very difficult. Again - I know without a shadow of a doubt that she's in the arms of Jesus right now, but sorting all the feelings out has been really hard with all those OTHER feelings still real and raw and just hanging out in my little bitty brain. I think about something, and my brain flashes to something else, and then to something completely unrelated and then people wonder why I can't ever find my car keys.

This weekend, I absolutely refused to let anything land on our schedule. The kids slept in (or maybe it was just me) the sun shone, and peace threatened to begin to take over the land of the Back Acher. I told people at our church not to expect us there, and all was well. On Saturday, the love of my life installed the new stove and dishwasher that have been waiting patiently in our carport for a week. A new sense of excitement came in with them. Where else do you hear kids fighting over who GETS to do the dishes? My daughters have already tried out the new oven and so far the brownies and cookies brought more than a few smiles (hooray for a stove that doesn't take an hour to preheat!!). Three new baby chicks hatched (2 right in the kitchen while the appliances were being installed!) and a fourth was lost on his way out. I briefly played with the idea of feeling very sad, but I knew that if I really dwelled on my thoughts, that someone would find me slumped on the floor in the kitchen, appearing to cry hysterically over an egg with a little dead chick in it, and send me straight to the hospital with the tight white jackets. I buttoned up my emotions for another time. Again.

Sunday I awoke to a sick husband. His headache was so bad that even the kids running through the house made him grumble. I showered and headed the kids out the door while whispering to my baby chicks that we'd be right back and I told them not to make too much noise. We went to church here in town - about a one minute drive away. At this church we were free from the questions and the wondering and all the unspoken feelings that we can feel even when people don't say them. We were free to just relax and let the words and the songs speak.

Peaceful. That's the word I'm looking for, and that's what I need. My prayer is that I get a good dose of that this weekend at the Women of Faith Conference (thank you to my few remaining friends for dragging me there, and to the angel who made sure my room was paid for - thanks for making me cry AGAIN).

Anyone else going to a Women of Faith Conference?

(Photo taken for my Mom - only she didn't know it)

Proud Momma

Princess D played her first Volleyball game ever tonight... made her volleyball-lovin' Momma SO proud!! She started practice a couple weeks ago, and couldn't get a serve over the net to save her life. Matter of fact even passing the ball was quite a challenge - those arms kept wanting to bend at the elbows and that little head kept wanting to turn away whenever the ball flew her direction. I've spent quite a bit of my time working with this team (I'm NOT the coach, just the mascot! haha!) and being able to see them all improve so much has been a blast!

You couldn't tell this girl didn't know how to serve a ball last week. Now, this girl's got game! She's got her first win under her belt, and a big smile on her sleeping face by now.

Not to be outdone... her older sister's game started an hour and a half later, in another town a half hour away. (Yeah, I'm crazy and I love to drive all over tarnation). I missed the first few minutes because I was cheering on a bunch of 6th Graders, but I got to see this determined little gal of mine hit FOURTEEN serves in a row! It was unreal. The opposing crowd started to look a bit embarrassed after about point number nine... then other coach called a time out to rattle our team up a bit, as well as announcing a few impromptu substitutions, but it didn't seem to phase 'em much.

Another win! Way to go girls. I'm proud of ya!


And in other news... I'm about THE WORST sports photographer ever. I'm almost sorry I even tried, but now I know to stick with things that hold still until I can get a brain transplant. *sigh*

Bribing the Kids is History

Something happened to me recently. Maybe it was that brawl with my husband about doing chores. You know, the typical male/female war about who's responsible for what when running a household? When we got married, I asked what his expectations were of me. He said, "I just want you to do what makes you happy because I love you." So, I've pretty much stuck with his line of thinking these past seven years or so, and let me tell ya, the man has changed! He is no longer ok with me just laying around eating bon-bons and twittering. I'm not sure what his problem is, but now he has expectations. I don't know where they came from and I don't like em!

Regardless of my feelings, I am a stay at home Mom now, and the guy thinks that my position involves a whole slew of "jobs" that I was not previously aware of. *Looks around* Nobody believes me when I say that. Hmph! So I've got this mental list of JOBS (that if I were to ever write them down, I'd never finish!) and it sometimes overwhelms me, to be honest with ya. Things like floors, walls, sheets, brooms, laundry, homework and dinner all tend to get lumped into one pile, and I just pick from whatever crawls out the top and looks most demanding. Or menacing. You decide.

A few days ago, I sat down with my trusty Excel program and whipped out charts for each of the four kids that live here, my husband, myself and the dog. (Don't kid yourself, it took hours) Some of the jobs are things I'm expected to have done - so I passed the joy along to my kids. (Oh come on, kids can wash their own sheets!) Some of the things are everyday stuff like BRUSH YOUR STINKIN TEETH! And then, knowing full well that the dog does a terrible job washing sheets, and yet a moderately good job at tearing apart pillows, I scratched his name off the list right away.

The kids lists are finished. They are a constant work in progress though, and I can't emphasize how much I stress the word FLEXIBLE (to myself and to them). My dear husband and I had grown increasingly frustrated with the lack of direction and the lack of motivation that our kids drove around with every day (not that they drive cars, thank goodness). We are hoping that this will solve some problems and make communication and relationships a bit smoother around these parts. I'm quickly learning, that my own list consists of doing my stuff while the kids are at school, and then following them around the whole time they are home to make sure they're getting through their lists. It's ok, it will be a habit soon, right? Right??

The lists are written in half hour increments. From the time they wake up, to the time they go to sleep, they have something they should be doing. These lists are something I would have cringed at if my Mother had shoved one to me, but strangely, my kids are not all that opposed. The other weird phenomena, is that they aren't begging for cash, or a treat, or any sort of reward, they are just moving down the list and checking things off as they go. I think their favorite part is when I actually schedule in FREE time because it means I'll leave them alone for at least an hour a day. I gotta tell you, it's a bonus for me too, because they are more inclined to move along the list faster just to get a longer free time. If they don't get through their basic chores, it cuts into free time. No bribing and no arguing, just natural consequences. It's a beautiful thing.

I have this huge problem with paying my kids for doing their chores. I'm not sure what it is exactly that bugs me, but I guess I'd get offended if someone wanted to pay me for staying home with my children. It's not that I wouldn't TAKE the money (Oooh, don't get me wrong there!) but I do it because it's the job God gave me. I am a part of this family, it's my responsibility as a family member to care for others in our "unit". I hope our kids grow up with that feeling too, instead of, "I am an employee of this family, and I will work when I get paid and I will protest and picket outside in the front yard when I do not get paid enough!"

Allowance is a tricky topic around here too. I pretty much just give the kids an allowance each month and I don't make a huge deal of it. I do it so they will learn how to manage funds, and to make them feel a sense of responsibility for paying for things that they want or need that are not in my budget (that I'd have to figure out how to pay for anyway). When we went on our cheap-o vacation last month, each kid pitched in fifty bucks. Of course I had to do a little convincing to get them to voluntarily fork it over, but they got the picture. We all helped with our family vacation. (Good thing too, since our vacation budget got stabbed multiple times by the new tires we had to buy along the way).

Our kids don't get a large allowance. I've read what the going rates are, and our family is far below poverty rates as far as weekly allowance goes. I'm more like the MONTHLY allowance type, and I move it straight into their savings accounts so no cash gets lost or spent on a whim. Just yesterday, my oldest came to me needing a chunk of cash for some volleyball gear that I couldn't squeeze out of our budget, so she got to pull it from her own account. Boy, do I like that! And let me tell ya, she'll treat those belongings a little nicer too since it was her own money that bought them.

Overall, I'm not ok with just throwing money at my kids. I do expect that they will do chores because they are asked to, and not with the expectation of a paycheck. On the other hand, I expect that they will pay me if I have to do their chores for them, and I really expect that they will tithe as well as save for the future.

Now on the other hand REWARDS are fair game. This morning, I slipped into my youngest son's lunch a mini-bite-sized pack of the smallest chocolate cakes known to man, all the while announcing (to the whole household) that he was getting cake in his lunch today because he was the only one to get his entire list finished yesterday. Boy was HE excited! And all I heard from the other kids was, "What?? CAKE??" and then the wheels started turning in their minds and I didn't have to say a word.

Halleluiah. Bribing the kids is history. (Well it is in MY dreams anyway)

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

I figured I'd better get on here and write something before even more history came and went and I was left to write a book. I'm in no mood to write a book, sorry.

I've was absent for most of the last month because:

My laptop died
My camera died
My cell phone had issues
I went on a vacation to Idaho
Then school started - a week earlier than we were prepared for.

Now, I have been able to replace my phone. I caved in and let my husband talk me into an iPhone. He liked it so much that he got one too. The applications are what sold me. (The free ones anyway, I'm so dang cheap). I now have an app to keep track of my spending, an app to divy up my kids' allowance and keep track of what they owe me, an app to use any instant message available to mankind, an app for Facebook, apps to find the closest park, campground or fast food restaurant nearest to me, an app to keep bugs away, and even an app to read my bible whenever I want. Now... that could be part of the reason for my lack of blogs. It took a long time to set up that stuff! But in all reality, it's hard to blog on a cell phone no matter how snazzy it is. Well that, and I still don't have a computer.

I got my camera replaced though. Great news, I finally got that Digital SLR I've always been dreaming of. Well, it's a "starter" version, but I LOVE IT. The even better news is that I don't have to pay for it for 18 months. (Argh! Credit was my last choice, but I was going to die and my husband thought it was the only way to revive me without mouth to mouth resuscitation which would give him cooties) Anyway, the laptop is having to wait because now I'm last in line. My husband's computer still functions (see, I'm using it the second he left it for a minute) and my kids still need one for their homework, so I'm last. MOM IS LAST! That's no newsflash really. It's just normal stuff.

I think I'll try posting short blogs with my phone. But if my fingers fall off, as they undoubtedly will when I get long-winded, just check in and leave a get well card or something.

Did I mention that I went on vacation to Idaho? I'm not sure why they call it a vacation. It's more like "many days squashed together with so-called-adventures that are stressful and make you pull your hair out". But it's all good. I came back alive, and so did my kids and my husband. Barely.

We really did have a lot of fun with my in-laws, (even though my sweet sister-in-law ended up on bedrest for the entire duration, the poor thing!), with old friends, and with each other. Now I'm out of words, so I'll just show some pictures of our day at the lake, and get back to taking care of my daughter. She had oral surgery today, which went smoothly I might add, and is in need of more attention than usual.

Enjoy! I miss you blog land friends, but I'm never too far off! (Which means I read posts on my phone, but I just don't have the fingertips left to post comments on all of them!)

My youngest

My niece and her curly locks of loveliness

My son and his cousin

My niece again (because I couldn't stop taking pictures of her in all her cuteness)

Nephew - Mr Photogenic (gets it from his mother)

My nephew from hubby's side of the family

The youngest nephew of the bunch

Oh fine... I'll just throw a few more at ya.

You know you want one.

Oh yes, she's irresistable. Sorry no more pics of my OWN dadgum kids - but they're ok with that (I think.)

Thanks. Sorry it was a bit much, but there's never too much of a good thing, right? Cut me some slack already.