Sunday, December 16, 2012

What's Good for the Gander

The water coming out of our bathroom sink has become progressively slower over the past few months.

I know why this is.  Our water softener hasn't been working.  For awhile.  Our tiny little hamlet has notoriously hard water.  Water softeners are not optional appliances where I live.

Water softener is now fixed replaced, so yesterday, while cleaning the bathroom, I decided to de-lime the faucet aerator.  I've done this before.  It's no big deal.  You unscrew the aerator, soak it in white vinegar for a few hours, and voila!  Good as new!

And folks.  That's as far as my plumbing "skilz" go.

Well, lime is serious business.  And it was seriously caked on.  So caked on, in fact, that when I finally got the aerator off, it took a rather important part of the faucet with it.  Like the part that keeps the water from pouring right down into the cabinet underneath.

(That green part on the bottom?  Totally supposed to still be attached to the faucet.)




Lovely.

I'm sure I don't even have to explain that not having a working bathroom sink until Friday when Better Half gets home was so not an option.

My first instinct was, of course to call someone.  A male someone.

Plumbing problems = male someone, right?

It's not like we don't have good friends that are nearly like family that build houses and remodel and stuff  for a LIVING.  I know it would have taken 10 minutes, tops, to get someone to come help "poor, lil' ol' me" out.

My second thought was really?  I have a college degree.  I can read.  I can watch YouTube videos. I can follow directions.

 And I expect my sons someday to know how to follow a recipe and cook a meal, run a washing machine, sew on a button...

And you all are my witnesses:  If any future daughter-in-law of mine lets it slip to me that one of my sons EVER calls her with a screaming child in the background (breastfeeding necessities aside) and asks her when she's going to be home, I will personally drive/fly/swim/transport to wherever he is and read him about 500 different kinds of riot acts.

So...if I expect my sons and let's face it--my husband--to be blind to gender stereotypes...well.  What's good for the gander should also be good for the goose.

Sigh.

So I dug out a home improvement book that we bought ten years ago when we bought the house.

I Googled how to replace a bathroom faucet.

I rummaged through Better Half's tools.

I went to Wal Mart.

I bought the cheapest replacement faucet they had (There is a complete bathroom remodel in our "not so distant" future, so I didn't want to spend any more $$ than necessary).

I bought all of the other "stuff" that the back of the faucet box said I needed to install it.

I brought it home.

My dad came for a visit.  I'll admit it.  I was sorely tempted to let him completely replace it.

I did let him help.  I totally let him talk me through it, and I ABSOLUTELY had him check my work after to make sure I wasn't going to flood the house.

And under his tutelage and assistance I went from this:




To this:




To this.


I'm sure it looks like an amateur did it and that we spent  less than $20.  The fixture is plastic.  If I want to be able to use the stopper, I'll have to purchase additional parts.  And use additional tools.  I think I'll be able to live without the stopper.

But we got it done in less than 30 minutes with no alcohol, no swearing, and no injuries.

And it now serves the purpose I need it to serve.

1.  We can wash our hands after we use the bathroom without having to bend over the bathtub or walk out to the kitchen sink like a surgeon ready to perform open-heart surgery.

2.  We can brush our teeth.

I feel just a little bit like Rosie the Riveter today.

Thanks, Daddy  :o)



Making Memories

It's been kind of a week here.

So Thursday afternoon, I was on the phone with my dear friend, Stephanie.

A little bit about Stephanie, dear Reader:
Stephanie is one of my fellow teachers at school. She's the "teacher across the hall." I put that in quotes because I teach for a virtual school, so she's not literally across the hall, but she is technologically. We "pop" in and out of each other's "classrooms" and lives multiple times a day via email, text, phone, facebook...and yet she lives three hours away from me. Technology is an amazing, amazing thing. And Steph is an amazing, amazing friend. But I digress.

Anyway, I was talking to Steph. I'm not even sure what we were discussing. Probably I was whining about my week. :o) When all of the sudden, she says out of the blue,

"You should totally let your kids stay home from school tomorrow..."

(Me thinking to myself...Why would I do that? I have to work tomorrow. They only have one more week of school before break...um???)

"...And surprise your kids tonight by taking them to the midnight showing of The Hobbit!"

My initial reaction was, Okay. Now that's just crazy talk.
1. I can't let my kids stay home from school tomorrow to go to a MOVIE tonight! I'm pretty sure that's not on the list of top 10 things responsible parents do.
2. Take my kids out of town to a movie at midnight? Are you SERIOUS?? It's December. In Kansas. During Daylight Savings Time. It's dark at like 4:45. Which means I start counting the minutes until I can put on my pajamas at 6. And I live a lifetime every night between 6 and 10 when I finally get to think about turning in. I'll NEVER make it until midnight.
3. It's The Hobbit. Any other movie, and I might consider it. But I confess. I hate The Hobbit. I've read that book three times. Yes. Three. Because it's supposed to be a classic. And I hated it every time and I have essentially no recollection of what it is about except a hobbit (obviously) and I think a ring and maybe a dragon.
4. I hated every one of The Lord of the Rings movies that I managed to stay awake for (especially the last one, where I swear it took an hour to get the stupid ring into the stupid volcano and I literally had to hold my hand over my mouth to keep from blurting out in the movie theater...Oh FOR. THE. LOVE!! Just get the thing in there already! We all know how it turns out!"

But the more I thought about it, the more I thought my wise friend, Stephanie, was perhaps on to something.

My kids LOVE movies.
They LOVE The Lord of the Rings movies (they totally get that from their dad--weirdos, all of them...
I'm single-parenting three teenagers and a preteen. To say my "wicked cool mom" opportunities are few would be an understatement. Mostly I just get to be the kill-joy.
And let's face it. They love getting to stay home from school.
Hopefully someday it will be one of those great memories that they tell their kids about.

So I decided to do it.
I purchased tickets on line.
I tried to discreetly inquire about test or project or assignment obligations at school.
We went about our "normal evening routine--ha!" and I said nothing (very hard for me.)
I put the youngest to bed. I told the older ones to go to bed.
I drank LOTS of coffee.

And at 11 pm, I roused them all.

The youngest was in a deep sleep. The second-oldest was almost asleep. The oldest and the third child were still awake, texting friends and reading, respectively.

The third child, who has been smarter than I am since he was about four, asked what time it was. When I told him, he said, "You're taking us to the midnight showing of the Hobbit, aren't you?"

So much for a surprise. :o)

The oldest son groaned and whined when I said we were going to a movie at midnight. When I said he could sleep in the next morning, however, he jumped out of bed and exclaimed, "YESSS!" :o)

Even though I had to sit through essentially three hours of hobbits and dwarves and orks and that's three hours of my life I can't ever have back again, it was so worth it.

To see their excitement. To hear my oldest daughter admonish her siblings when voices got a little snarky, with "Hey guys! Let's just have fun tonight. No fighting, okay?" To have my sweet little one tuck her head under my arm in the darkened theater and fall asleep. To hear the whole way home and all the next day how fun it was and how glad they were that we got to go.

And then on Friday. When the unfathomable happened. When a small town in Connecticut began to live every parent's nightmare, I 100% knew my children were safe. I could physically hug each and every one of them in that moment. I didn't have to wait or wonder or worry.

Life is short. Every moment is a gift. We aren't guaranteed another one. Any one of us. I'm so glad we took that moment.

Thanks, Steph, for suggesting it.


Tuesday, December 11, 2012

And the Darwin Award Goes To...

Small son. My third-born. My Willie Mays.

Who thought this was appropriate school attire yesterday.

When the thermometer in the car that registers outside temperature fluctuated between 10 and 11 degrees on the ride to school.

I won't at all be shocked to see this kid wear a sweater, jeans and a scarf in Southern California.


And the answer to your question is yes. I was purposely 15 minutes late picking him up from school so that he could stand around and be cold in the (heat wave) 25 degree weather at 3:30pm.

And yes. Today, he "dressed for the weather,"--pairing his shorts and T-shirt with a thin hoodie sweatshirt. Thermometer read 25 at 7:50 this morning.

Take that, Foster Cline and Jim Fey.


Monday, December 10, 2012

Text Savvy

Better Half installed a "text free" app on our youngest daughter's iPod touch before he left for the Golden State.

I assumed this was so that he and she could communicate via text, since her mean ogre-of-a-mother thinks that age 11 is too young for a cell phone.

This weekend, she found another *stellar* use for it.

Poor kid did wind up catching some nasty bug.  Fever, chills, headache, cough--the works.

So I did what I always do--set her up in my room with plenty of fluids, medicine, and hours of mindless TV.

Now, my room is toward the back of the house, so usually if my kiddos need me when I'm not routinely peeking in, they have to call for me.  The sound of them mustering the energy to make their voices heard always pulls at my heartstrings and goes along way toward them getting whatever they ask for.

My youngest child decided to be just a little bit more innovative this time and "conserve" her strength:



Yep.  This is what my phone looked like.  All. Day. Long.  Saturday and Sunday.

It took me three hours to clean the kitchen between all of this.

I've discovered that "Mommy, I need you" texts don't tug at my heartstrings.

They grate on my every. last. nerve.

And in the entire two days, I don't believe she sent one text to her dad in California.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Seriously??

Last week it was the oldest.
A throat infection that resulted in a peritonssilar abscess.  One trip to the MD, two trips to the ER and four prescriptions later, and she's back among the living.

Monday it was the second oldest.
Sore throat, cough, and a crushing pain in the chest and lungs when he tried to breathe.  One trip to the MD, OTC drugs and some R&R later and he's back among the living.

Today, it's number three.
Only it's dry-heaves and stuff I won't mention.  The kind of stuff that we don't take to the MD, because if you even look at someone with what this looks like it might gear up to be, you catch it.  And we don't want to be the people that pass that around the waiting room and infect the whole town.

As I write this, the youngest just came up to me with tears in her eyes, complaining because she aches all over.

Seriously??

I have no words.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

The Natural Progression of Things

If your birthday falls on a school day when you are in fifth grade, you have to bring treats to school.

If your birthday falls on "National Cookie Day," the treat has to be cookies.

Since it's December, the cookies have to sport a winter theme. Snowmen are always a good winter theme that's not too Christmas-y.

And since the temperatures lately have been in the low 70s...

Happy birthday, Kiddo!

Monday, December 3, 2012

Thank You, Auto Correct...

For actually helping me out for once and changing "thong," which one should NEVER text...to "thing," which is what I intended.

Since the text was regarding my 10 year-old daughter, I am doubly grateful.

I will try not to call you "stupid" again for at least a week.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Dear Santa,

Our local paper has a feature during the holiday season called Santa's Mailbox where kids' letters to Santa are published.

This past Friday, the letter of my youngest daughter's best friend and oldest friend was included:


Brings tears to my eyes  Every.  Time.  I see it.

What ARE we going to do in SoCal without friends like this?

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Shooting Hoops

First game of the year!








The Joys of Home Ownership

This is what I used to have.

Okay.  Fine.  Not this exactly, but I didn't get to the basement fast enough to capture the one I did on film.  The guys from Jim's Plumbing work FAST.  But this is a pretty close approximation.

Our house was built in the late 50s.  The furnace was put in...wait for it...in the late 50s.  Now, I like vintage.  I like original.  I really do.  Until I hear things like:

You've NEVER had this thing serviced in the 11 years you've lived here?
This thing is never gonna pass any home inspection.
There's a hole.  It probably won't leak gas because, well, heat rises, but...
I can TRY to make something to cover it...but...
If you wait to replace it until a bank makes you for a loan (and they will), your cost is going to be twice what it will cost now because the efficiency codes are increasing to 90% in just a couple of months.
Really unsafe.
Every day you get with this is a gift.
Carbon Monoxide.

Now as of yesterday, I have this.

It's new.  It's shiny.  It's safe.  It's expensive.  I hope EVERYONE who comes to look at my house to buy it notices the new, shiny, safe, expensive furnace.  My utility bills better look nicer.  There better be less dust in my house.

Because now I don't have this.

My love affair with home ownership is So. Over.





Friday, November 30, 2012

Fighting Fair

I have some redeeming qualitites that I bring to this relationship Better Half and I have.

I'm a decent cook (as I can read and therefore can follow a recipe).  I'm a decent seamstress (again, due to the reading thing).  This is beginning to look like it was written in 1950.  For the love.

I saved us thousands of dollars in private school tuition by home schooling when the kids were small.

Although I am not an extrovert, I am MORE extroverted than Better Half, doing my part to ensure that we don't spend so much time with only each other for company that we start looking like each other.  Or looking like our dog.

I say what I think.  Almost.  Always.  So we discuss things like politics, religion, replacing our 50 year old furncace with a new one, etc. etc. etc.  And he   we make better decisions because of the dialogue.  :o)

Fighting fair, however?  That's not really one of my redeeming quailities.

I have a short fuse.  I can get angry and frustrated very quickly, and I get over it relatively quickly.  I try to bite my tongue and count to 10 or 20 or 1,000 when that happens, but I'm not always successful.

I'm historical when I get mad.

And I have NEVER followed the advice given to almost every married couple from Paul's letter to the  Ephesians--"Be angry and do not sin; don't let the sun go down on your anger."   I choose instead to follow the advice of David in Psalm 4--"When you are disturbed, do not sin.  Ponder it in your beds and be silent."  I mean, come on.  Paul was never married (that we know of).  And David...well...David was married.  Lots.  Whose advice would you follow?  :o)

Okay.  Fine.  I'm still working on the "do not sin" part.  But the  "Ponder it in your beds and be silent" thing?  I've got that DOWN.

It has never bothered me to go to bed angry.  I find that 6+ hours of time-out and rest goes a LONG way towards giving me a reasonable perspective on whatever I was ticked off about.

Irritations are harder long-distance.  A friend of mine, who has done this a number of times, had this advice to give:

  "the great 'thou shalt not' is fighting over email.  If you have something angry to say (and you will - remember, he'll be kickin' it in LA with Lil 'Wayne and the Kardashians in the VIP section with Tanqueray while you're managing 4 kids that are aggravated that their dad is gone), say it over the phone, not over email."

This sounds resonable, and I'm finding from other experiences in my life that email/text/etc. is a HORRIBLE way to express one's frustration with a situation.  So I'm really making an effort to handle conflict this way.  And I'm shocked that Better Half has only been gone two weeks and I've already had to discipline myself to excercise this gem.  More than once.

I'm still not sure why I'm shocked by this.  Sort fuse = me.

So I'm saving it--my irritation--for when we talk on the phone.

But here's the problem:  Although I have absolutely no qualms whatsover about retorting tersely, "Fine.  Whatever. Good NIGHT!" and flipping off the light and seething in silence until I fall asleep; I cannot even bring myself to say, "Fine.  Whatever.  Good NIGHT!" and hit "end" on the cell phone.

That feels like a level of unfair fighting that even I'm uncomfortable with.

Instead I'm learning how to offer forgiveness when I'm not ready to forgive. How to see it from another side when I still want to look at it from just my side. That not everything is done with the express intention of ticking me off.

And I'm learning that you can do both:

"Not let the sun go down on your anger (at least the sun in the Golden State--the sun goes down here before dinner is even on the table) and "Ponder it in your beds and be silent."

And maybe that's gonna be a big part of figuring out this "Be angry and sin not." thing.


Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Making a Short Story Long...

Since this is primarily a place to record the goings-on of "My own Backyard,"  I guess a recap of the past few months is probably in order.  If I ever get industrious enough to have this nonsense printed and bound in hard-copy, I won't want the events that have led up to the new adventure we're experiencing these days to go un-documented.  And as I'm sure most of my future posts will be about said "adventure," it might be helpful to know how we got here.

So--and I'll try to make this short and sweet--here goes:

Boy meets Girl (or maybe Girl meets Boy--I don't exactly remember, and that may be further back than we need to go).

For some crazy reason Girl still does not understand, Boy proposes to Girl.  Girl says yes.

Boy and Girl make people.  Four of them, to be exact.  A statistically good number to ensure that their her unique brand of crazy gets passed along somewhere in the gene pool.

Boy and Girl spend the next 17 or so years (give or take) raising the people in a functionally dysfunctional home in a small Midwestern town.

June of 2012 Boy finds out that his employment security is not immune to the plight of the American economy.  Girl inwardly has a mental breakdown while outwardly tries to remain composed and supportive.  (Employment instability is one of Girl's deepest fears).

August of 2012 roles are tweaked.  Girl works full-time.  Boy does...well, everything else.  It's a pretty cushy deal for Girl, minus the obvious decrease in spendable income.

October of 2012  severance package runs out.  Boy is offered employment.  Great company.  Great benefits.  Great potential for future advancement.  Great distance from small Midwestern town.

Employment is located in the Golden State.

Boy takes job.

Boy moves across the continent.

Girl stays behind.  With the four people.  And the psychotic dog (more on the dog later). The oldest of the people graduates this year.  Girl's teaching contract needs to be fufilled.  Plans are for Girl and people to join Boy later this summer.

Which brings us to now.

We are in the middle of week two of this "new normal."

Stay tuned to see how it goes.

It would make for a highly entertaining reality show, I'm sure!  I'd wager it's every bit as good as "Duck Dynasty."

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Dear Blog,

 I know.  It's been a Really. Long. Time.

And I'm sorry.

I can give you all of the excuses reasons why I haven't posted in a million months.  The school year, drama, kids, drama, tired, drama, husband-has-a-new-job-and-I'm-moving-to-California (Wait.  That is the drama)-did I mention drama?

But they'd be just "reasons."

The truth is, I've been stepping out on you with Facebook.

I'm ashamed.  Truly I am.  But Facebook is easy and convenient.  The little box that asks me "What's on my mind" is small.  I can fire off something quippy and have the nearly instant gratification of  5 likes and 3 comments before I've even scrolled through my newsfeed.  And you know how that feeds my inner narcissist.

You are tougher.  Your box is REALLY big.  I have to have a LOT of words.  Yes.  I know.  This isn't generally a problem.  But the time factor is.  And you have a place for a title.  So not only do I have to fill the big box with LOTS of quippy words, I also have to come up with a quippy title.

Lately, that's just been too much pressure.

So I bailed.

But there you sit every day where I can see you (thanks to Better Half who made a shortcut for you on my bookmarks bar that I have no idea how to remove), making me feel guilty reminding me that I wanted this as a record for my family someday of our wacky crazy life and the wacky crazy things I think at any given moment.

And I do miss you.  Lots.

And people have been asking about you.

Okay.  Fine.  My parents have.  I think they're our only readers anymore.

I know.  Totally my fault.  And it's okay.  This relationship can just be for us.

So, will you give me another chance?

I know I'll have to work hard to earn your trust and that is going to mean putting words in the big box more than once a month.

I'm really going to try.

Love,
Me



Saturday, August 4, 2012

The Wolf I Feed


My friend, Sarah, who has a great blog of her own that you can read here, posted this question on Facebook today:

Informal and potentially loaded facebook survey...Do you think humanity is innately good or evil? When presented with a choice do you initially gravitate towards kindness or malice? Not what you actually do or choose, but what's your first reaction? Good? Or ill? And...GO!


Now, there is nothing I like better than a "potentially loaded" Facebook post.

Sure--I love to see smiling pics of the fam and find out that the Pinterest recipe was a huge hit with the book club set.  I have been known to spit coffee onto my computer screen at some of the "Some ee cards" out there (and quickly pull up another internet window so I don't have to explain something I'm so not ready to explain to my very observant ten-year-old).

But ask me for my opinion on a philosophical question and my fingers start itching...literally...to tell all of someone's 450 some-odd Facebook friends (most of whom don't know me from Adam) exactly what I think.

And, dear reader, I TOTALLY took the bait. I answered the question.

Well.  Actually...

I answered the first part of the question.   I talked about that Cherokee legend about the wolves (if you don't know it you can read it here) and I said that I thought it was our responsibility to feed our "good wolves" and the "good wolves" of those around us.

And then I got up from the computer and went to unload the dishwasher.  And this is the conversation that I had with my inner Jiminy Cricket:

Jiminy:  Really?  You really think it's our responsibility to feed "the good wolves" of those around us?

Me:  Yes.  Of course!  Don't you?

Jiminy:  Well, that's not what you do...

Me:  EXCUSE me?

Jiminy:  It isn't.  You spend more time telling your kids and Better Half what they're doing "wrong" or what you're frustrated with than you do telling them what they're doing "right."

Me (sputtering):  But...I shouldn't have to give them kudos for...they know what they're supposed to...how will they...?

Jiminy:  And when you're talking to your friends, you complain and criticize a LOT.

Me (indignantly):  I do NOT!  I share my opinions with my friends, but I am FUNNY...it's lighthearted satire...I don't complain and criticize!

Jiminy:  Just because your complaints and criticisms are thinly--very thinly--veiled with sarcasm and humor doesn't mean they aren't still complaints and criticisms.

Me (with my lips tightly pressed together):  I am so NOT talking to you about this, anymore!

Jiminy:  Fine.  But think about it.  What if you really focused on feeding the "good wolf" in others?  Made it a priority?  Stopped complaining, pointing out failings and frustrations and focused on the good?  Would everyone's "good wolf" grow?

Ouch.  I guess that's the answer to my friend, Sarah's question.

In my wolf world, the planned feedings, the feasts, the holiday dinners, etc. go (mostly) to Good Wolf.  That's not no say I've never planned a feeding for Bad Wolf.  Unfortunately, I have.  And when I do, it's a five course meal with all the fixin's.

But in my wolf world, Bad Wolf is friendlier.  His fur is softer.  He sits patiently at my feet and nudges my legs so I will pet him.  And before I know it, I'm feeding him scraps and snacks and tidbits of complaining and gossip and irritation and unforgiveness and judgement.

Good Wolf hangs back. He's not initially so friendly or inviting.  I have to approach him.  But once I do and offer my food, the devotion I get wildly surpasses that of Bad Wolf.

Everyone's wolf world doesn't look like mine.  For many people, Good Wolf is the friendlier one--the one that is forefront in the pack.  And I am so envious of those people.

But that doesn't let me off the hook.

So here begins my campaign to be more purposeful about  "Feeding the Good Wolves."

In myself, and in others.


Thursday, August 2, 2012

Chick-Fil-Ugh

My personal experience with the fast-food chain, Chick-Fil-A is minimal.  I'll admit it.

I realize that it has an almost cult-like following (even before all of the media attention it's getting these days), but I'm not a part of that cult.

I've eaten there exactly one time in my life and I wasn't impressed.  To be fair, I was on my way home from a seven day cruise in the Caribbean.  And I don't care how great their spicy chicken sandwich is, it couldn't hold a candle to the kind of food I'd been eating the previous week.

There is no Chick-Fil-A in my tiny hamlet, but when my kiddos where tiny, some friends of ours (who have family in the Denver area) frequented it often.  They would bring us their extra Kid's Meal toys.  Now, as a home school mommy, any restaurant that gives a kid a "free" Usborn Book gets a big "thumbs up" from me.

But until recently, I never really thought about Chick-Fil-A.  Ever.

Now I'm thinking about Chick-Fil-A a lot.  Thank you, constant and instant media and social networking platforms.

Actually I'm thinking about some people's response to it.  And I'm bemused.

Here's what I understand (and I realize this is simplified):

The CEO of Chick-Fil-A, Dan Cathy, stated in an interview with a Christian publication that  although he doesn't consider Chick-fil-A a "Christian business," he does operate on "biblical principles." "We are very much supportive of the family — the biblical definition of the family unit....


So Mr. Cathy voiced his opinion on a social issue.  Fine.  Last I checked, his Constitutional rights as an American citizen allow him to do that.

But frankly?

The response to Mr. Cathy's opinion by political figures like Mike Huckabee and many Americans who share this opinion confuses me.

There now seems to be an even more cult-like support of Chick-Fil-A.  People are patronizing it en masse.  

So here's MY question:

If the CEO of PhillipMorrisUSA  stated that he "operates on biblical principles" and "is supportive of the family and the biblical definition of the family unit," are Mr. Huckabee and everyone else going to run to their nearest convenience store or "Smoker Friendly" and purchase and smoke a carton of cigarettes?

Because here's the thing:

Chick-Fil-A food (and fast food in general) ISN'T.  GOOD.  FOR.  YOU.

Here's a list of chicken nugget ingredients, straight from the Chick-Fil-A website:

100% natural whole breast filet, seasoning (salt, monosodium glutamate, sugar, spices, paprika), seasoned coater (enriched bleached flour [bleached wheat flour, malted barley flour, niacin, iron, thiamine mononitrate, riboflavin, folic acid], sugar, salt, monosodium glutamate, nonfat milk, leavening [baking soda, sodium aluminum phosphate, monocalcium phosphate], spice, soybean oil, color [paprika]), milk wash (water, egg, nonfat milk), peanut oil (fully refined peanut oil with TBHQ and citric acid added to preserve freshness and Dimethylpolysiloxane an anti-foaming agent added).

Yeah.  

We have documented factual heart disease concerns in this country.  We have documented childhood obesity concerns in this country.  Celiac's disease is on the rise, cancer is on the rise and so are a host of other health issues.  Fast food restaurants are not helping this problem.

Frankly, since Mr. Cathy is in the food industry, and food is how we feed "the temple",

Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own...1 Corinthians 6:19

I am so much more interested in how Mr. Cathy is going to apply the biblical principles of healthy food choices to his business practices.  But strangely, no one is discussing that.  Hmm...

Instead, political figures and Americans at large are willing to stand with someone on a social opinion even if to do so means to disregard factual health research, AND another biblical principle (the health of our physical bodies).

I still don't get it.  

So as for me and my house...

We are eating at home.



Monday, July 30, 2012

It's an Ill Wind That Blows Nobody Good

July, 2012 has pretty much sucked.

It has sucked the most for Better Half, but the entire family has been affected.

My mother-in-law has been fighting an aggressive form of cancer for over two years.  This month, Better Half and his four siblings watched her lose her fight with this terrible disease.

In the midst of the process there was joy and peace and love and laughter and family and mended relationships.  It is holy and sacred to see someone leave this place for the next.  Death, after all isn't the opposite of life.  It is the opposite of birth. And the exit from this place is just an entrance to another, better place.

She was fifty-six.  That's too young to die.  Five children now inhabit a planet where their mother does not.  The world isn't the same when that happens.  My two youngest sisters-in-law won't have their mother to go wedding dress shopping with them.  There will be grandchildren who will never get to meet her.  We all have regrets that we didn't _____________________.  We all just thought we'd have plenty of time.


At Better Half's annual review, he was told that the company he works for is downsizing and consolidating positions, leaving him without employment.

I'll let you in on a little secret:  Job loss is one of my biggest fears.

So now our reality is severance packages, COBRA decisions, resumes, networking, a faltering economy, possible relocation and an (obviously) significant reduction in income.

And a full-time working mommy.  Certainly, this is the least of our problems.  I'm fortunate to have a job and a boss who didn't blink an eye when I asked if I could bump my FTE to 1.0 from 0.5.  Surely, after almost 18 years, it's only fair that I take my turn being responsible for things like health insurance benefits.  But I don't want to.  Yup.  There it is.  My inner two-year-old rears its ugly head.  I like working part time (or not at all).  I like having discretionary income.  I had plans for my time off this school year.  I'm trying not to have a bad attitude.  And I'm successful.  Most of the time.  If I get my coffee quickly enough in the morning.

This switch from part-time to full-time also means a change in my job title and duties for this coming year.  Again.  I had plans for this year.  They didn't include this.  I'll get over it.  Hopefully I'll rise to the challenge and be able to look back on this time and appreciate all that we learned and how much we grew. But right now, I'm tired, depressed, and overwhelmed.  And scared.

I know that in the grand scheme of things, we are incredibly blessed, but still.

I'm really looking forward to the start of next month.  It's got to be an improvement over this one.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

A Heartfelt Thank You



Dear Coach Schmidt,

As I watched you hug Oldest Son and each young man on your baseball team as you handed them their trophies and congratulated them on taking second at State today, it hit me full-force that we had just played our last game with this team and with you as our head coach.

And I'm not sure we've ever expressed our gratitude for all that you've done for him.

Thank you for cutting him from the Southwind Sluggers team when he was ten.  That experience taught him so much about trying, failing, working hard, and trying again.  Thanks for taking the time to explain to his dad what he needed to work on to be better.  Thanks for loving kids so much that you agonized over that decision, and thank you to your wife, who shared that with me at the store one day--months after it happened.  Exactly when I needed to hear it.

Thanks for giving him a spot on the Jr. Pups 11 and under team.  I've never seen him so excited!

Thank you for praying with your team before and after every game (Oldest Son's Facebook cover photo is a shot of all of you doing this very thing).  Thank you for unashamedly sharing your faith with these young men.  Thank you also, for cutting up with them and having a good time and making mistakes and apologizing.  These boys are seeing what it looks like to be a man of God and that it doesn't have to ruin your good time or mean you have to be "stuffy" and "perfect."

Thank you for coming over to our house to personally check on Oldest Son's eye injury a couple of years ago and for bringing the game ball signed by his team and for praying with him before you left.  He healed enough to play in part of that tournament the following weekend, as I remember. "The prayers of a righteous man availeth much..." :o)

Thank you for not just coaching these boys during games, but also for teaching them.  Thank you for pushing hard, expecting excellence, and allowing for mistakes and for always explaining.  Oldest Son is definitely a better ball player for it, and I believe someday he'll be a better coach for it as well. Hopefully someday when he gets to coach his own son.

Thank you for loving to win games and for not being ashamed of that fact, but thank you also for putting family and relationships and integrity ahead of winning ball games.

Thank you that I overheard other coaches say multiple times, "We love playing this team.  It's such a great group of kids and coaches."

Thank you, most importantly, to your family--especially your son, who is so kind about you taking on additional "kids" every summer.  We know that time spent with our son and with the baseball team means less time spent with your family.  Thank you to both you and he for befriending Better Half and Oldest Son.  They both have a great time hanging out with the two of you.

They say that "It takes a village to raise a child."  I heartily agree.  Thank you so very much for being such a big part of our village these last four years.


You did what you set out to do.

You prepared these boys very well for high school baseball.


Better Half and I are looking forward to sitting with you and your family in the stands watching all that the next four years has to offer!

Thanks again.  So very, very much.





Friday, June 29, 2012

Go Big or Go Home (or to the E.R.)

I think I mentioned that I am on a money-saving kick.

Along with reusing everything  I possibly can, I'm also trying to eat food we already have as opposed to buying new.

So I spent some time digging around in my deep-freeze.  It was kind of like an archaeological excavation.  You could see my "buy cheap" phase, my "buy organic" phase, my "vegan" phase, my "the kids are wearing me down--let's eat a bunch of crap" phase.. All in nice, neat, layers.

And this weekend, my family (unbeknownst to them) is going to help me test exactly how long chicken breasts can be frozen and then thawed and grilled.  :o)

The tightwad gazette lady's got nothin' on me!


Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Random Ramblings

I have a million thoughts going through my head.  For those of you who are now just a tiny bit worried, this is different than a million voices going through my head.  I know.  I've got a doctor's note.  :o)

But none of these thoughts are substantial enough to warrant an entire blog post.  So here they are, because "we're better together":

1.  First and foremost:  It's 9:08pm.  Can I legitimately go to bed yet?  This thought hits my brain around 4 pm EVERY. DAY.  Along with thoughts of...Is that a headache?  I think I feel a headache coming on.  That's gotta be good for an 8pm bedtime at least...

2.  I made my own ground mustard today.  Yeah.  That sounds really amazing, but actually it isn't.  I was out of ground mustard, and I was too lazy frugal to go to the store for it.  So I pulverized mustard seeds in the coffee grinder.  Worked like a charm.  Except that the next person who grinds coffee beans is gonna get a little bit of a mustard bite along with their Sam's Choice Free-Trade Espresso Blend.  Sorry, Better Half!

3.  Speaking of frugal--I'm on a money-saving kick these days.  It means I'm doing things like shopping at Aldi (where I found avocados for $0.39 a piece and hormone-free milk--I LOVE you, Aldi), and washing out Zip-Lok bags and re-using tin foil. I do wash out Zip-Lok bags regularly, but I've taken this to a new level.  ANY bag with a zippered seal is getting washed to be reused.  So if you dig in my fridge, those may not be dried apricots.  That may not be shredded mozzarella cheese. Just giving you a heads-up.  And if I bring you some food item and the foil on the top is REALLY crinkly, I washed it first, I promise.  :o)

4.  I SUCK at CrossFit.  I know this because not only do I need a step-by-flippin'-step instruction guide--with pictures--for each and every weight-lift every time (even if I just did whatever we're doing two days ago),  I apparently don't understand what to do if I can't actually lift the thirty pound bar stupid thing and it falls--today it landed on my shins.  I have since been instructed that if the bar is falling forward, throw it forward...etc. Makes perfect sense.  But I'm pretty sure that if I have enough control of the stupid thing to know which direction it's going, I should be able to get it into whatever position it's supposed to be in in the first place.  Ugh.  I now know why running is my primary form of exercise.  One. Foot. In. Front. Of. The. Other.  That's all I'm good for. Truly.

5. Speaking of injured shins--last week, a couple of my seasoned CrossFit friends were showing off their bruises and telling me what I have to look forward to.  I think you jinxed me, ladies. By tomorrow, I'll have a matching set of doozies to show you!

6.  Handstand Pushups???  What drunk idiot even THOUGHT to do that?  Come on.  Really?  What self-respecting adult does a handstand against a wall and then says, "Dude, Biff.  Watch this!  Watch me put my forehead on this filthy floor, my disgusting feet on this wall, and then push myself up with my brute strength."   Okay.  Done thinking  about CrossFit.  Until Friday at 5:15am...

7.  While we're on athletics, my kids got the athlete gene.  The one that skipped me.  Oldest son and his baseball team won their baseball tournament after five games and triple-digit temperatures and baseball dugouts designed for Alaskan baseball players.  They trapped some serious heat!  Youngest son is turning into quite a pitcher, and the Mermaid shaved 12 seconds off of her IM (individual medley--read: crazy race) time at her last meet.

8.  This is the summer of laundry.  I wash towels.  And baseball uniforms.  And more towels.  And more baseball uniforms.

9.  Dear Friend's beautiful baby gets more yummy every single day.  Today she snuggled in and let me hold her while she napped for two hours.  Dear Friend and I drank coffee and chatted and stared at her baby. It was perfect! WHAT on EARTH did we do together before that fabulous baby arrived?

10.  It's hot.  I mean "Death Valley" kind of hot.  We have some friends who live a stone's throw from Death Valley.  They are visiting this week.  The week that it's only 4 degrees cooler here than it would be there and the humidity is 18% higher.  Sorry, friends.

And now, folks, it's 10:41.

I can legitimately go to bed without feeling like a loser.

Sweet dreams to you and yours!

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Out of the Mouths

I'm so proud.

So far today I've heard:

Butthole

Frickin'

Shut Up (more times than I can count)

Stupid

Turd

And this is what's been said when I've been within earshot.  I don't even want to THINK about what's being said when I'm not.

I "heart" public middle school.



Friday, June 22, 2012

I've Got A Feeling

It started a couple of weeks ago.

I started wondering about some things.  Things like "What if we..."

For the record--those were not prayers.  Only musings.  I have learned that one should be VERY CAREFUL what one prays for.

For example, "Lord do whatever it takes to fill in the blank here..." is pretty dangerous prayer territory.  My finite human brain can't even fathom what license that might give the Almighty.

So again, God.  I wasn't praying.  Just wondering.  I think you misunderstood me.

And yet...

I've got this (I'll be completely honest, here--SINKING) feeling that we are at a bend in the road.  We've been cruising down this one for several years and it's been pretty smooth.  Paved...four lanes...65 mph...just a few road construction detours along the way.  The scenery's been pretty good, and we've made good time.

But now the road is turning.  I'm not at all sure what the next leg is going to look like.  It might be the most amazing part of the journey yet.  Or the most terrifying.  Or both.

I sincerely hope this is all just coincidental and to at all a direct result of my musings.

Because--

I. Was. Just. Wondering.

I. Was. Not. Praying.

Time will tell.  But either way, we'll be sure to send you a postcard.


Saturday, June 9, 2012

Cross Fit Critique

I am not athletic.  In the least.

The athlete genes--which are decent in my family--completely skipped over me.

Math was my most dreaded subject in school all the way through college, but P.E. ran a neck-and-neck second.

I was always picked last for kickball (because I was either: 1--the biggest dork in my class, 2--the worst player in my class, or 3--both).  I could never climb that big rope all the way to the ceiling, do a chin-up, hit a baseball, manage an overhand volleyball serve, or do that weird backward thing over the high jump.  I remember the unit on weight lifting in eighth grade.  I couldn't even bench-press the bar.  And let's face it.  There's a pecking order in gym class and it sucks to be at the bottom.  Kids are mean.

Fast-forward to adulthood.  My love for cheesecake and copious amounts of guacamole and chips, combined with growing four human beings over the course of a decade, forced me to re-evaluate physical exercise.

But the scars are still there.  I prefer workouts to be solo.  I can put one foot in front of the other, so I do run some.  I will make a fool of myself in my basement in front of my TV, because although I can see Jillian Michaels, she can't see me.

I first heard about Cross Fit from my friend, Jamie, last September.  She started raving about this wonderful program she had found that focused on making you Strong.  Healthy.  Fit.

I was immediately interested.  See, I'm not strong.  I have a decent amount of endurance, but I'm not strong.  And I'd like to be.  My first question was, "Cool!  Can I do it at my house?"

Um. No.

Then Jamie started talking about the stuff they do.  She used words and phrases like "gym rings" and "Olympic lifts" and "as many as you can in one minute."  I started to have Presidential Physical Fitness Award flashbacks.  I may have even started shaking.  I wrote it off immediately.

Cross Fit:  Not. For. Me.

Six months later, somehow this same friend, plus eating a Paleo diet, plus a blog of a friend from high school who can now do a chin-up all by herself (and looks so good that except for the fashion choices and the two kids that are with her, I can't whether her Facebook photos are current or from 1991),  convinced me to try Cross Fit.  I dragged Better Half into this with me mostly because I figured since he's my husband he's obligated to take down anyone who makes fun of me, but also because this kind of thing is right up his alley (He is actually athletic).

Yesterday I went to my  first class.  Solo.  Better Half begged off using the tired, but ever effective "early work meeting" excuse.

And honestly?  A lot of it took me right back to junior high P.E., complete with the teacher who is a football coach?  Was a football coach?  Likes football?  (sorry...it was 5:15am, so my recollection of his credentials is a little bit fuzzy.) I didn't know what I was doing.  I had to do fewer, lighter, slower, or even "completely different" than everyone else.

But there was one huge difference:

There was no pecking order.

Everyone was so very nice and encouraging and helpful.

There are some really great things about being an adult, and one of them is that you can walk into a room where you still can't do a chin up without some rubber band thing that practically bungees you back up to the bar each time, and people don't make fun of you.  In fact, they tell you how great you did.

And even though I did fewer, lighter, slower, and "completely different" than everyone else, I'm still so sore today, that I can't get undressed without assistance.

And this fact alone, my friends, makes Better Half a HUGE fan of the start my Cross Fit adventure. :o)

So I guess I'll go back on Monday.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Summer Is for Reading

I love summer vacation for lots of reasons.  But the biggest reason is reduced-guilt reading.  I can't say "guilt free" and here's why:

It's 2:59 pm, Central (Daylight Savings) Time.  I've been awake since 6:30.  So far today I've

Finished a 512-page novel that I started last night at 5 pm.

Downloaded two new books to my e-reader.

Caught up on some blogs I regularly read (which precipitated one of the e-reader purchases--thanks, Jamie).

Texted my dear friend about "doing likewise" and reading the book with me.

Vowed to just read the Acknowledgments and Introduction of the new book and then "get busy getting something done" but wound up reading the first two chapters.

Checked Facebook.

Read some email.

Perused front page of The Wall Street Journal.

Calculated how much money I'm going to owe Small Son by the end of the summer at the rate he's reading (I offered to pay my children a dollar for every 100 pages they read--I am not above bribing my children to exercise their brains--or join me in my obsessions).

Here's what I haven't done:

Much of anything else.  Well, there was a minor incident involving keys and a car and a teen-aged daughter and a locksmith that took some time, but that's another post.

So...when Better Half gets home tonight, not-so-subtly looks around the house, and asks in that trying-to-sound-casual way, "So...what did you do today?"

I'm only gonna have myself to blame...

Author's Note--Small Son just walked in from hanging out at a friend's house with two borrowed books in his hands.
Me:  New reading material?
He: Yup.  Four dollars worth.






Sunday, April 29, 2012

I Saw the Writing on the Wall

It was not going to be a good day today.

We woke up to a downpour.

Baseball games were cancelled.  This is the equivalent of Santa Claus skipping our house at Christmas.

Better Half and I decided this would be a good day to give the house some attention.  It's been sadly neglected for Way. Too. Long.

We made the colossal mistake of enlisting the four young people who live here to help us.

We tried to soften them up ahead of time with a lovely breakfast of homemade French toast, eggs, bacon, and fruit.

That was, as my oldest daughter would say, an epic fail.  Breakfast was twenty minutes of great food--Better Half makes AMAZING French toast (which I didn't eat because it isn't Paleo), and irritable company.

Since then, I've lost count of how many times I've heard "shut up" "stupid" "jeez" "why do I have to (insert any number of things here)?".

Tension is high.

Patience is low.

Liquor stores are still closed in Kansas on Sundays.

I have a confession to make.  Although I fiercely love and adore the five other people who live in this house with me...

Today, I don't like any of them.

And I promise you.  None of them are too fond of me, either.

How soon is too soon to call this day quits, crawl into bed, and pray that tomorrow will be better?




Wednesday, April 25, 2012

A Lesson in Miracles


mir·a·cle

noun
1.
an effect or extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human or natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause.
2.
such an effect or event manifesting or considered as a work of God.
3.
a wonder; marvel.
4.
a wonderful or surpassing example of some quality.


Better Half and I have these dear friends--friends who have been trying for thirteen years to have children.  

Thirteen.  Years.  

I don't think I've ever waited thirteen years for anything I've wanted in my entire life.


I've heard it said that all children are "miracles," and I suppose, in some sense, they are.  Certainly they are a gift--something to be treasured.

But I think about how my own children came to inhabit planet Earth, and even though their pregnancies and births are sentimentally special to Better Half and me, we did not do anything out of the ordinary or unusual to get them here. 
We conceived them (several with little or no planning on our part), I carried them for a little over nine months, we went to the hospital where I had four very routine deliveries.  Four babies were placed in my arms.  That natural, hormonal, mother-instinct kicked in as soon as I held each of them and smelled them for the first time, and after the doctors concluded that they were healthy enough to survive living with us, we were sent home with them.

And again, although each of my children's journey here is special to me and to Better Half, I can't call it miraculous.  I just can't.

Because recently, it's been my great privilege to witness a miracle.  

It started when after thirteen long years, a stranger chose my dear friends to be the parents of the child she was carrying.

It continued as these three people bonded emotionally--tied by the love that they all had for a person none of them had met yet, and as the three of them walked a road with no guarantees built on instantaneous trust and faith.

And it culminated when an incredibly strong and courageous woman handed this beautiful baby over to my friends and they instantly and fiercely became parents.

The maternal instinct is strong. The biological connection to offspring is instinctive. And in the natural realm, animals have to be "tricked" into adopting young that isn't biologically theirs.  

Adoption surpasses natural powers.

There are what?  Six billion people on the planet?  And yet circumstances were such that one person would voice her hopes for the child she carried to the person who knew the person who knew my friends.  And after she met them, she was convinced they were the couple she'd been looking for.  They were convinced this was the baby they'd been praying for.  Little details were not missed--right down to bureaucratic paperwork being completed early (which NEVER happens) and the attorney already involved being the one my friends liked best of all out of all the ones they've retained over the years. 

Adoption is a work of God.  

During the heartache of the last thirteen years, my friends did not allow disappointment and infertility to divide them.  They did not let it make them bitter.  They prayed and sought God's guidance.  They listened when he said, "No" and patiently waited for "Yes."  And now, they are a family of three.  Their hearts and arms and lives are full to overflowing.  Watching the three of them together makes my heart break with happiness.   

Adoption is marvelous.  

So many of you have been a part of this miraculous process in your own lives.  Many of you as adoptive parents.  Some of you as children chosen by adoption.  And some of you still as biological mothers making the ultimate sacrifice.  

I have had the privilege of hearing many of your stories firsthand.  As I recall them now, it brings a tear to my eye and a smile to my face.

Adoption is a wonderful and surpassing example of sacrifice and love.