Knights Becoming and a Lady in Waiting | |
Diary of a Work WidowI am not military wife material. Okay, some days I'm not really wife material at all, but I am just not one of those women who can patiently hold down the homefront while my Hero goes off to fight someone else's battles-- somewhere far away from our home, children, and leaky faucets. I truly appreciate those men and their wives (honestly, the wives a little more than the men, but that's a relational bias); they allow me the freedom to sit here and be glad I'm not them. But I want my hubby right here every night to pretend to listen to my list of the day's woes while he tries to hear the dialogue for Lost over my none-too-meek-and-gentle voice. I'm sure he's grateful for closed captioning.
All of this, of course, is leading up to a spousal work abandonment issue. No, he didn't abandon his work; his work required him to abandon the kids and me. Bright and early Monday morning, he kissed our mournful cherubs goodbye and left me with these wise and considerate words:
Now, I admit, some men would have acknowledged that big spiders are really God's gift to husbands-- an easy entry into the "my hero" hall of fame. My dear spousal unit, however, was a tad bit distracted by the abysmal prospect of four days without his family. I'm sure that's what it was. It had nothing to do with visions of late-night gaming on his laptop, unsupervised visits to as many Taco Bell dinners as he wanted, or sleeping in a bed without an occasional sharp nudge and "roll over, you're snoring" disturbing his sleep. No, my sweet soul mate was just so close to tears that he didn't see the look of incredulity that crossed my face before he managed to get out the door. That's what it was.
Of course, I forgot to mention that he left me with a low-grade fever and four perfectly behaved children-- one of whom had a fever of 102.4F when his daddy walked out the door.
I called into my coaching job at the YMCA and cancelled, got sickie son settled on the couch with a Dora the Explorer video, and plowed into school. Sure, I could have justified taking the day off, but the adrenaline of being on my own had taken over and I wanted to conquer a mountain-- or at least math.
The day went surprisingly well, overall. There were glitches, like a leaky pull-up, but the children were so well-behaved for the majority of the day that it mostly sailed by. I even gave baths, cleaned up the kitchen, and gave myself a well-deserved shower before parading off to my own bed with the air of a beauty queen. I had conquered.
Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall (Proverbs 16:18). God is patient. God is loving. But there are natural consequences to pride-- especially the pride of thinking we did something God was nice enough to handle for us. It was time to bring in my real children.
Tuesday did not proceed well. Princess Moo (DD1) was up at the crack of dawn to nurse. When she went back to bed, Prince Dannyboy (3DS3) the Sick decided it was his turn to get up, so I dragged my very tired self downstairs to make breakfast. While he was comfortably watching Dora again, I made up pancakes and bacon, then called the other two boys to eat. So far, so good. Princess woke up and had breakfast, too, and the day got started.
Here's where that funny blurring effect started. Do you ever have days that are so bad that you can't remember an exact order, only that certain events occurred? That was Tuesday.
There was the screaming. Prince Berryboy (1DS7) spent nearly as much time in his room on time-out as he did "in public". There was the crying. Princess Moo cried because she is a princess and that's how she gets her way. Prince Dannyboy (3) cried because he was feeling better, but Mommy wasn't, so he couldn't go outside to play. Prince Derryboy (2DS4) cried because he has a sensitive spirit and his brothers have, well, boy spirits. Prince Berryboy (1) cried because he wanted me to give up on school and let him play all day like his brothers. Mommy cried because of all of the above, continuing low-grade fever, a sudden outbreak of acne that brought back well-buried memories of high school, and a surge of hormones.
Then there was the poop. I'm not sure why God has chosen to bless my family with so many poop incidents-- a good psychologist could probably come up with some wonderful analogies to me being uptight or something. But on this lovely day, September 19th, 2006, we added to our poop story repetoire.
We had three containment leaks during the day (one pull-up, two diapers), plus an anonymous little prince who delayed going to the bathroom too long and had to be cleaned up (along with said bathroom). By dinnertime, sweet and gentle Mommy was replaced by a cross-eyed, growling Troll who was ready to pounce on the slightest infraction.
Princess wouldn't eat much. The boys whined about their meal. I left the Princess with a biter biscuit and cleaned up the table, then came back to clean her up. Had I just left her in her booster chair all night, perhaps disaster could have been averted. Had I been fluent in Princess Speak, I might have heard the warning. Instead, I picked her up with a little jiggle to get her laughing... and got a little splat! sound instead.
Poop was oozing out the leg of her pants, trickling over her toes, and plopping with appropriate sound effects on the floor and my foot. My foot. Covered in baby feces.
I remained calm and collected-- for the three seconds it took for it to sink in. I sent Prince Berryboy (1) for paper towels, Prince Derryboy (2) for wipes, and Prince Dannyboy (3) to distract the cats, who thought that the poop looked a lot like their cat food. Really, I screamed all this, but I was also trying to convey a Poopy Princess, overloaded diaper, and squishy sock onto the tiled part of our home before more gifts slithered down her leg.
There's a lot of blurring at this point. I know the Princess got cleaned up. I know the laundry got started. I know the sweet boys were in tears because their Daddy called and their Mommy read him the riot act on everything from Huggies diapers (sorry, but anyone who tells me that Huggies work as well as Pampers can come clean up the next time Huggies leaks) to his work to having cats who wanted to eat poop. I then kindly and submissively informed him that if he wanted to talk to his children, he had to come home and rescue his wife. Yes, I'm ashamed to admit that I held the kids hostage by phone. He didn't come home, either.
I think the kitchen did eventually get cleaned up that night. It wasn't a bath night, so the children were read to by a hoarse and growly Mommy and tucked into their beds. I remembered an hour later that I hadn't had them do their chores, so I had to feed our critters and clean the cat box. I wasn't sure which chore looked like the earlier diaper fiasco, but the memory wasn't a good one. I trudged off to bed without any pride at all.
Wednesday a few things happened. I realized I was down to two diaper wipes which, based on the previous day's experiences, was an insufficient number to get me through one diaper, let alone a full day. Prince Derryboy (2) came down with the dreaded illness, but in his sweet way, just wanted to sleep or be held. I found out why the hormones had been so bad, too.
You have to cut me some slack here. I have been pregnant or nursing for all but about two months of the last five and a half years. Unless I'd just had a baby, I didn't have to visit a certain feminine aisle of the local store. In fact, I didn't have to visit then, either, because I was delegated to recovery duty. So I was a little rusty on the technicalities of what it means to be a woman with a woman's curse.
PMS. I had been PMSing.
Just the knowledge that this is what it was became remarkably freeing. When Prince Derryboy (2) threw up all over himself and the couch because he didn't want to interrupt Mommy to let her know he felt sick, I only growled under my breath (and aimed a kick at the very agile cat who thought THAT was food, too). When Prince Berryboy (1) and Prince Dannyboy (3) fought like dogs cooped up inside too long (or boys cooped up inside too long), I mostly managed to mostly use time outs and other constructive methods, rather than jumping into the fray. Even tonight when the Princess woke me up at midnight, then Prince Berryboy (1) came into the room to notify me HE was sick, and I took the Princess back to her room-- only to have the cats manage to push her door open and wake her up-- even after all that, I was able to come in here and blog about it in relative peace. I have knowledge now. Knowledge is power. I can fight my hormones if I know they're there.
Dear Hubby comes home tonight. He will probably find a wife who forgot to shower last night (unless I squeeze one in today, which is my big Goal for the day), a few dishes we didn't get to, trash that really needs to be taken to the curb, and children who are a bit whiny and clinging. But at least I'll have the hormones under control. I won't immediately run off to our room and lock myself in for a moment of blessed solitude. I will wait at least ten full minutes for him to adjust to the joys of home life.
But I'm still not touching that spider. Oak Trees and Neighborly SquirrelsI love my oak tree. No, no, I'm not a tree-hugging, granola-munching, Save Our Mother Earth person. I just love my tree.
In summer, the leaves provide ample shade to keep our backyard several degrees cooler than our front yard. In fall, the falling leaves provide mulch material for my garden. In spring, when the rains hit, the falling limbs provide firewood for our backyard campouts. Oh, and did I mention the acorns?
Our tree provides enough acorns to feed at least a dozen squirrels with surplus. I can verify this because I have seen at least a dozen squirrels in my backyard, but we still have crunchy, hard little acorns underfoot. An industrious person would probably just rake up the acorns with her leaves, but since I avoid raking my leaves until I absolutely have to, my acorns just sit there. Crunching.
Every time I step on one, I stop and think, "This could feed a friendly little woodland creature, if only one was around to stop and eat it." Then I look around for one of said woodland creatures, only to find it in my neighbor's yard-- eating store-bought corn.
Alright, it's bad enough that the squirrels get finicky and would rather eat the birdseed from the feeder than the acorns, but I do believe my neighbors are spoiling them! If all was right with the world, the squirrels would be industriously hoarding all my acorns in some stash for the winter. Instead, they turn up their noses at the acorns and drag the empty corn cobs into my yard, depositing them at my front door much the same way a cat deposits a dead mouse or bird. The corn cob is easier to clean up, but I feel just as much dread when I see it.
There are acorns going uneaten, unstashed, untouched. I will crunch when I mow the lawn.
I have considered the very unneighborly action of trespassing in my neighbors' yards and removing their squirrel feeders. I have debated buying up all the feed corn in a sixty mile radius and sending it to poor starving squirrels in Ethiopia. I've even debated removing the air from my neighbors' tires so they can't replenish their supply. For some reason, the Holy Spirit never lets me get any farther than the plotting stage before I'm getting some major jabs to my conscience and doing some serious confessing. I don't entirely get it. I mean, I'm trying to tend to the earth and protect the delicate balance God put in motion. Surely a little trespassing, stealing, and vandalism is nothing in comparison.
Ouch! Okay, okay! Jab any harder and I'll have a concussion, or whatever you get from a severe blow to the psyche.
Anyway, I need to come up with a solution to the acorn problem that does not involve gathering them all to make tasty acorn-paste pancakes or stringing them on strings to hang on my Christmas tree. Letting the boys shoot them into other yards with slingshots is probably not a good idea either. It's really quite the dilemma.
I guess I'll just have to import more squirrels. Baby Names- Part 2- Name That Baby contest!Okay, in my last post I mentioned that Angela is having a baby. While I'm still really rooting for the name Pistachio (and Angela didn't immediately have me hauled away by the baby name police), I thought to be fair we should give her lots of options to choose from. I mean, it's really hard to choose a name for a fifth child. At the very least, the name might get honorable mention as a middle name.
So, warm up those atrophied creative muscles. Limber up your linguistic ligaments. I want to have a contest!
Post (as a comment) your baby name for Angela's baby. Oh, did I mention that it has to be a nut? Now I realize that some of you are far too creative to take "nut" as a protein-packed tidbit that grows on a tree, so you can use any type of nut that suits you. If Angela feels up to it, I'll let her choose her favorite. If she doesn't, I'll let the three Princes choose their favorite, which means you might want to include bugs, candy, or action figures in the name somewhere (while still sticking with the nut theme).
I know you all want a prize. In fact, many of you have only read this far to see if the prize is worth all this babble, let alone all the effort of coming up with a nutty name. The prize, of course is...
A few little rules. You can't use my husband or any of my children as the answer. They're MY nuts, thank you very much, and trademarked, copyrighted, and all rights reserved. Pistachio is already taken, too.
Please give a reason for your nut choice. I mean, you don't have to go into your childhood or anything, but there should at least be some attempt to convince Angela that your name is the best name for her precious seedling.
You can enter as many times as you want. You can post your answer here or on your own blog (but leave a comment here so I know to go look). Best yet, you can go to Angela's blog and leave her an encouraging note AND a good name. In fact, just to show I'm an equal opportunity contestant... contester... er, BLOGGER, you can post all three locations if you want (but you can only win once, no matter how many places you post a winning entry).
So get cracking... and go hug Angela and congratulate her on her sweet baby-in-the-shell! Baby NamesDH and I like unusual names. At least, when we choose them they're unusual. Lately, our favorite names have been POPULAR the year after we choose them. Hmph. The nerve of some people!
Anyway, Angela is having a baby (hurrah!) and said she got to see her little peanut. Maybe it's the long-term sleep deprivation (or maybe I'm just weird), but I thought she should name the little one Pistachio. It could be a male or female name; it's pretty unique, and she could call it Tach or Chio or something as a nickname.
No?
Well, Walnut seemed a little hard for a kid to carry around all the time. Peanut would never get to grow up. Almond has way too much tease-potential. Cashew is okay, but doesn't have quite the same ring. Hazelnut... you might as well go with Hazel and be done with it, and how original is THAT? We won't even consider Beernuts. Filbert has been done; Pinenut/ Pignolia... hey, Pignolia isn't bad for a girl-- except she'd be called Piggie. Poor Piggie.
Yep, I think it will have to be Pistachio.
Don't tell me she didn't really mean to name her child after a nut. That would just be silly. Tag? Why not...Kim (MSAcademy/ Homeschooling Adventures) did this open-ended tag on her blog. I decided I was avoiding grammar.... er, taking lunch, yeah... so here are my responses.
1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, and find line 4. "... amounts to transacting business." How to Form a Non-Profit Corporation by Anthony Mancuso. (It was between that and First Language Lessons for the Well-Trained Mind, but since I'm playing hookey... er, taking a break... from grammar, I avoided that one.)
3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?
7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing? 8. Before you started this survey, what did you look at? 9. What are you wearing? 10. Did you dream last night?
12. What is on the walls of the room you are in?
14. What do you think of this quiz? 15. What is the last film or video you saw?
An RV. I would sell our home and buy an RV and give away/ sell most of our stuff. That's the only way hubby would let me do it. (This would be AFTER tithes, after giving $$ to family, after hiding it all from hubby... er, submissively encouraging my hubby to be a good steward of our gifts...). 17. Tell me something about you that I do not know. 18. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
20. Comment to George Bush: 21. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her besides names you’ve used? 22. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him besides names you’ve used? 23. Would you ever consider living abroad? 24. What do you want God to say to you when you get to Heaven? 25. 5 people who must also do this quiz on THEIR blog (if they want to): 1. A person with a birthday close to mine (9/24/71) 2. A person with a family arrangement like mine (3 boys then one girl) 3. A person with three sisters (like me) 4. A person born in Arkansas 5. A person living in Illinois
If you fit any of those five, leave a comment so I can go read your answers? :)
Okay, okay. Off to eat lunch and do that grammar before I run screaming from the book. ;)
Chelo Kitchen Challenge?Have you seen OreoSouza's kitchen challenge? I was really tempted to try to beat her family, but then I visualized what it would be like...
After six days of careful planning by Queen Mother, the castle residents are ready to take on the Oreos. Charts are posted. Supplies are ready. Everyone is primed. (King Father, in his usual way, yawns and asks if it wouldn't be easier to just clean the kitchen and go out for ice cream anyway. He is banned to Siberia... AFTER the challenge.)
Things start off swimmingly... literally. Queen Mother forgot to include Princess Moo in the plans, so she clambers off to play in the cat water bowl. The time projected for the challenge falls from 13:18:43 to 14:19:84. Still under 15 minutes, so we scurry on.
Prince Berryboy decides things are not going fast enough, so he moves from table clearing to dish washing. The move sends everyone into a panic, as it no longer matches the schedules on the wall. Projected time falls from 14:19:84 to 16:23:40. Queen Mother starts on a slow boil.
Prince Derryboy, sulking because his job was taken from him, has to be coaxed back into service. In his usual manner, he forgives and forgets quickly and is cajoled into clearing the table (16:24:10). There is hope on the horizon until he drops an open bottle on the (carpeted) floor. Projected time: 21:41:51.
Prince Dannyboy decides this is the perfect time to perfect his fingerpainting skills. He uses the spilled item to gleefully trail three-year-old fingerprints all over the dining room wall. Magic Erasers are no help, here. Projected time: 46:18:92.
King Father looks around and dryly remarks that ice cream might be a bad idea. Queen Mother grits her teeth and continues cleaning up one mess after another. Princess Moo realizes no one is watching, so she trundles off to discover the joy of dropping Lincoln Logs into the toilet bowl... and then putting them in her mouth.
Queen Mother gives up on cleaning the kitchen entirely and rushes the Princess to the doctor for a heavy dose of antibiotics (2:19:05:62). When they return, all the children have to be put to bed before QM can finish cleaning up the kitchen (5:16:32:74), disinfecting the Lincoln Logs (5:21:12:39), and cleaning the toilet bowl (5:24:46:78).
I think we'll wait until the kids are a little older. Online Petitions and Other Urban Myths[For those of you who are still holding your breath on the big church issue, I haven't finished. It's not really a topic you can just look up in your Strongs and get an answer; it's more one of those where you have to survey the New Testament to get the big picture. More to come!]
Do you ever get emails like this?
Please sign the petition below to [reinstate prayer/ protect the flag/ get our troops returned/ reinstate the Pledge of Allegiance/ send a welcome message to aliens]. If you delete this message, all the names will be lost. Please sign it and forward it on. When you get to #456,789, please forward to this address: powerlessperson@government.gov.
C'mon. I know you've gotten at least one. I get them all the time. I have a few problems with them (but not with the people who forward them-- so if you've sent one to me, I still love ya!).
So the next time you get an email that begs, pleads, cajoles, threatens, or entices you to forward it on, stop and think. Is it a guilt-trip or reward-promiser? Does it claim to be a petition? Who's getting the petition at the end? Could it possibly be a hoax?
Once you've taken these steps and deleted 90% of your emails, go ahead and forward anything else to me. You might just send me a gem. We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled ProgramWe interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you this important announcement.
Do you have children who tend to be a bit on the messy side while your heart longs for order and control?
Have you ever had a child play in a mud puddle and just wanted to sit them down in nice, dressy clothing until they learned better manners?
Have you ever had a child "miss" the toilet and just wanted someone to take care of the mess for you?
Are you despairing of neatness and cleanliness in your home when the Joneses down the street have seven children lined perfectly in a row with sparkling white teeth, meticulously combed hair, and impeccably groomed fingernails?
This is NOT the video for you. But for everyone else who wants to enjoy and, yes, laugh at the sloppier side of child-raising, we have a one-time offer.
If you call the number on your screen in the next nineteen minutes (but we'll give you a few extra days if you've taped this and are only now getting around to watching it), we'll send you the hilarious video, "Honey, I Flushed the Kids" for just $19.99.
Watch as the sweet, serious sister feeds the baby mudpies-- with worms on top.
Watch as the cherubic little boy uses diaper contents for face paint.
Watch our hidden camera as a stealthy older boy uses the sump pump for a porta potty.
That's right. All of these 100% real videos of kids at their absolute worst can be yours for just $21.93 if you call in the next 31 minutes.
Don't delay. Supplies are limited and we won't be making this tape again (we hope).
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[I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. One little bitty part in there happened tonight. The rest is whimsy.] When CSI Visits Our House- Part 5[Oh, alright. For Kim and Trish, who've kept me out of the Nielsen Ratings dump. ;)]
At first I blank out. CSI found blood in my house. Everyone knows as soon as they find blood, you’re guilty and it’s only a matter of time (less than an hour) before they find enough evidence to convict you. I’m still not sure what it is I did, but CSI can now prove I did it anyway. My brain kicks back in and I give a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, that. Prince Derryboy gets bad nosebleeds. One night he stood at the door and yelled for us to come up, rather than getting a tissue. By the time we got up the stairs, he had bled quite a bit.” Sara mutters something about the low velocity spatter. “You do know we already did nosebleeds in one episode, right? I’m not sure this will fly with Grissom.” I sigh again. “Look, I can’t help it if my real life is a repeat of your show. Honest.” I would say more, but Sara is getting a… disgusted look on her face. She sprays something else on the walls. Taking a cotton swab out of its neat little sheath, she rubs it on the wall and puts a single drop of some mysterious chemical on it. “Ma’am, are you aware that there has been… feces all over this room?? I mean, it appears to have been cleaned, but there are still traces.” I give her the same look I give the kids when they ask a redundant question. “Of course I’m aware. There was a whole diaper’s worth of poop.” Feces is not a word in my active vocabulary. Poop, on the other hand… Sara Sidle starts to pack up her things. “I think I’m finished here.” Confused, I trail her back down the stairs. The detective is waiting by the door. I’m pleased to see that his vomit has, indeed, vanished. “You’re… finished?” Not that I’m complaining. She turns to face me square on. “Ma’am, if I found a dead body in this house, you would probably be able to document that your kids were studying anatomy and one was already in medical school and the cadaver was just for him to practice on. If I found a stray bullet in the wall, it would undoubtedly be from a French musket that you had built yourself. I think the only thing I would need to worry about was if I came into your house and it was spotless, neat, and free of odor. Then, at least, I might be able to go back with proof that you weren’t schooling your children.” She turns to go out the door. “Wait!” I call out. She stops without turning around. “If you have to come back, could you send Warrick or Nick next time? I mean, the rest of you are okay, but I think they have better character development and…”. The CSI vehicle is around the corner before I can finish the sentence, so I go back into my slightly cluttered, slightly unclean, slightly smelly house to do some slightly boring math with my sons.
[Confessional: All of this is a result of an overactive imagination that was put into gear by an idle comment my husband made tonight. Prince Derryboy had a bloody nose and did, indeed, drip all over the carpet. Hubby looked at me in his dry way and said, "We'd better hope CSI never checks this room. Between the poop and the blood...". As they say, the rest, dear friends, is fantasy. When CSI Visits Our House- Part 4[Would I do that to you, dear Kim? Okay, yeah. I'm an oldest child. I suppose I would do that. But it's all for your own good. Too much at one sitting could result in dinner burning. ;)]
I look at the boys, who are actually behaving very well, then back at Sara. “Well, this is an educational experience. I thought they could watch and learn something.” I can see protests forming in Sara’s mind. Her mouth opens once, then closes. It starts to open a second time, but she turns around quickly and starts pulling things out of her kit. “Why aren’t there drapes on the windows in here?” she asks as she starts spraying the room with Luminol. I shift the Princess to the other hip. “The boys played Tarzan in here one day when they were supposed to be napping. The boys were fine, but the curtains didn’t hold up.” After another one of those looks for any woman who is in so little control of her household that her “princes” can pull down the curtains, Sara snaps her fingers. The windows are instantly covered with heavy, dark curtains, sending the room into shadows. The boys are dutifully impressed. Unfortunately, this means they don’t want to sit still—they want to go IN the fun, dark room. Sara is not dutifully impressed. “I’m... sorry. This is a crime scene. You’re going to have to stay out in the hall. Or downstairs,” she says hopefully, brows going up. Rather than be sent away entirely, the boys comply and go back to the hall. Sara turns on her black light and Prince Berryboy pipes up, “I have one of those for my detective kit. I can see all sorts of neat things with it. Did yours come with a detective kit? Did you always want to be a detective? Do you think I can come in and help you so that I can learn to be a detective better? Maybe after it’s not a crime scene I can come in and use my light, too?” He wasn’t planning on stopping, but after a covert Mommy glare and motion toward the stairs, he takes the hint and puts his hands over his mouth, which is about the only way my oldest prince can stay quiet when he really wants to talk about something. Sara pretends she didn’t hear a thing. Or maybe she really didn’t. She found something. “Excuse me, but do you know you have blood all over the place here by the door?"
[The suspense won't last much longer. Really. To be continued.]
When CSI Visits Our House- Part 3[For those who are not liking the division of the story, it was done after I read the 7 Habits of Highly Effective Bloggers... OreoSouza's maybe? It specifically said to break down long stories into smaller, more manageable parts. Okay, and it does add to the fun. 0:D]
Although she still looks uncertain and has given my chest at least three glances—does she think milk will start squirting out if I don’t nurse immediately?—Sara clears her throat again and looks at a slip of paper. “I need to start in the bedrooms upstairs. Check for a dead body, GSR, blood...” again she trails off, looking at Princess Moo uncertainly. The Princess is happy to display her one and a half teeth in a wide smile and reaches out to grab Sara Sidle’s hair. Somehow I don’t think that will improve CSI-homeschooling relations, so I give her my finger instead as Sara says something under her breath. “Um, I’m sorry?” I say helpfully. “I couldn’t hear you.” Sara lets out a growl of impatience. “I don’t usually have to work around kids. Let’s just say I have more to look for than blood and leave it at that, okay?” I shrug. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but this episode is getting pretty boring and if I don’t let her do her job, I may be single-handedly responsible for the cancellation of CSI. Visions of angry fans stalking me for the next decade encourage me to limit anymore interruptions. We enter the room of Prince Derryboy and Prince Dannyboy. “Two of them sleep in here?” she queries. “Yes,” I assure her. “The Princess sleeps next door and Prince Berryboy sleeps downstairs.” She gives me a double-take. “You call your kids Prince and Princess?” I can already see her gleefully bashing my drywall into dust trying to find the hidden castle moat, so I quickly shake my head. “No. I mean, yes, but only in stories. They have normal names for day-to-day life. Well, fairly normal. I mean, we thought they were unusual names when we chose them, but they’ve mostly become popular since we used them. It’s a bit of a curse, really…”. Something in the glazed-over look in Sara’s eyes breaks through my monologue and I blush. “Sorry. Um, go on. I’ll just stand here and watch.” In fact, it occurs to me that this is quite an educational experience, so I call down to the boys. All three princes stand just outside the door, wide-eyed and curious. “Boys, this is Sara Sidle, from the crime lab. She’s going to check this room for… well, things that investigators check for. Watch her and you might learn something, okay?” The younger two aren’t completely sure that this won’t be boring, but Prince Berryboy is very into spies, crimes, and detectives right now, so he hunkers down and gets comfortable. Sara looks a little bit uncomfortable. “Are they, uh, going to stay there?” When CSI Visits Our House- Part 2[continued from Part 1]
Sara and the detective step inside, squishing a ball of playdough into the faux wood floor and knocking a cat toy into the next room. “Er, sorry about that,” Sara says, looking about her with that skeptical expression on her face. I try to wave it away. “I have four little children. They tend to make messes sometimes. We’ll clean up before naptime.” Sara looks around for the children, obviously wondering why Catherine wasn’t sent to any house with children under the age of eleven. “So, um, about that smell…” she trails off hopefully, as if I’ll fill it in for her. I can see Prince Dannyboy (3B2) creeping up with a kitty cat slung over his back, so I move between our two visitors and the door to the playroom. “Smell, right. Well, it was probably one of Prince Berryboy’s science experiments. Or maybe it was that week we were a little late cleaning the rat cages out. Or it could have been the liver and onions.” Detective Can’tRememberHisName turns green and runs out the door. I hear him retching noisily in my gutter and wonder if there is someone from their office who plans to clean that up. Smells aren’t going to get any better if they just keep adding their own. Sara has been talking and I’ve missed the whole thing. I figure it’s time to play the scatter-brained mommy card. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night and I have a terrible headache. Plus I think I need to nurse soon. Could you say that again?” Although she can handle a liquefied cadaver without the slightest hint of queasiness, the mention of nursing has made Sara take a step back. “If you need to go deal with that, I think I can find my way around here.” Oh, no, honey. Mama didn’t raise a fool. I saw you take apart a whole CHIMNEY once, just in case there was evidence inside. You’re not doing anything to my house that I can’t watch you do. And I hope you brought lots of 409 to clean up the fingerprinting powder. “Oh, no, that’s alright. Just tell me what you need and I’ll help you in any way I can.” When CSI Visits Our House[This is a mostly-fanciful posting based on an off-handed comment my husband made tonight.]
I am gritting my teeth, trying not to lose my temper as Prince Berryboy (1S6) draws Mr. Incredible all over his math worksheet and Prince Derryboy (2S4) sticks one of the monkeys from the Barrel of Monkeys into the rat cage, when the doorbell rings. I roll my eyes as the inevitable baby wailing starts-- Princess Moo (4G8mo) has only been asleep for 15 minutes and is going to be quite irate now.
I trot up the stairs to rescue the Princess from her castle, then trot back down the stairs just as the door is pounded on. "Hello? Is anyone home?"
I yank open the door to find... Sara Sidle? Shouldn't she be in Las Vegas? (And if not, couldn't they have sent Nick or Warrick?) Out of breath, I gasp out, "May... help....something?"
Obviously not speaking Mommy-ran-ragged-ese, Sara shifts her crime lab toolbox to her other hand. "Um, hi. I'm Sara Sidle with the crime lab and this is Detective Can'tRememberHisName. We've received some strange reports from neighbors about a smell coming from your house and we have to investigate. Oh, and don't worry about asking Detective Can'tRememberHisName anything. He isn't paid enough to have lines so I get to do his job and mine."
I blink a few times and wonder if the milk was really that far past the expiration date this morning. "I'm sorry. You said crime lab. Did you have a warrant?" Hey, not only do I watch CSI, but I read the HSLDA newsletter, too.
Unfortunately, because this little fantasy would not be nearly as amusing if she just walked away, she does have a warrant. One of the neighbors captured a whiff of said smell and sent it to CSI for them to investigate. The judge issuing the warrant took one sniff, turned green, and signed.
Bummer. I glance at Detective Can'tRememberHisName again. My knee-biters could take him, but I'm not entirely sure I could take on Sara Sidle. After all, she did shoot someone on the show and it's really hard to homeschool from the hospital. I graciously step aside. "Won't you come in?"
[To be continued...] Aw, Rats!I am thoroughly amused by the number of you who consider me an amazing mom because we have rats in the house. Please know that the rats were a much nicer alternative to the:
or other squirmy, slimy things my children wanted first.
The "grandchildren" are still sightless and mostly hairless, but there is a little bit of dark color, rather than pink skin, and they squeak. A lot.
If Miss Heidi moves away, they squeak.
If they nurse, they squeak.
If they have a bad dream, they squeak.
I may be fluent in rat-speak very soon. I think I hear my children in squeak, now. As long as they don't grow whiskers in the near future (or the long tail), I think we'll survive. 100 Things About MeThis is all Di's fault. :)
1. I was born in Forrest City, Arkansas 2. I used to live in Wynne, Arkansas on a little farm 3. I still have family in Arkansas 4. Most of my family is in California 5. My husband was born in California 6. I met my husband online 7. I spend too much time online 8. I don't like to spend money 9. I am the oldest child 10. I am (mildly) bossy ;) 11. I have three sisters 12. They all have children older than I do 13.My oldest child is six 14. My oldest child is gifted 15. My oldest child is strong-willed 16. I was gifted and strong-willed 17. My mother's prayers when I was a child came true ;) 18. I believe in the power of prayer 19. My second child is gentle and sensitive 20. My second child is extremely athletic 21. I'm sure this is a contradiction, but it works for him 22. My second child likes to help with work 23. My third child is a clown 24. My third child is built like a linebacker 25. My third child can climb the side of a bookcase faster than I can stop him 26. My fourth child is my princess 27. My fourth child may be spoiled by her brothers 28. My fourth child may never have a date (if bros and mom get their way) 29. I had my first date at 17 30. My first date with my husband was to Magic Mountain 31. We had Magic Mountain season passes for a year 32. We had Disneyland passes for several years 33. We live in our second house 34. I would love to live in the country 35. My husband would love to live in the city 36. We are excellent at compromise; we live in suburbia 37. I wanted six children 38. He wanted two children 39. Compromise again; we are at four and submission says four it will be 40. Submission is a HUGE struggle for me 41. My husband is very easy-going 42. My husband has an amazing smile 43. I love my husband passionately, even when I haven't slept for six months ;) 44. Princess isn't sleeping through the night yet 45. Princess sleeps with me half the night and then we sleep fine 46. I believe in nursing on demand 47. I believe in bed-sharing to an extent 48. I believe in God 49. I come from a God-fearing family 50. My mother is my earthly hero 51. My parents homeschooled us, even though we went to public school 52. I learned to hate math and history in public school 53. Books have taught me to love history 54. Math may be a lost cause 55. My father is the strongest person I know 56. My father can speak half a dozen languages //well// 57. My father has Alzheimers 58. My mother is always patient with my father 59. My mother is my best friend 60. My sisters are my next-closest friends 61. My sisters live in California and Missouri 62. I do not miss California 63. I have lived in four states, nine citeies, and 13 houses 64. I have had 2 dogs, 2 cats, 2 rats, 11 mice, 3 hamsters, countless fish, and snails for pets 65. My mom salted my snails 66. I forgive her... but I never forget ;) 67. I believe God forgives me in the same way 68. I share my birthday with my oldest son 69. My youngest daughter's birthday is the day after ours 70. My husband's birthday is on my parents' anniversary 71. I want to travel with my children, not after my children 72. When I travel, I plan everything 73. We travel Route 66 (roughly) to California once a year, most years 74. We want to travel to all 50 states with our kids 75. We have traveled to about 1/5th of the states with two of the children 76. It's harder to travel with four kids than with two 77. We're running out of room in our mini-van when we travel 78. We should get a van conversion 79. I don't believe in buying new cars 80. My favorite car is a '65 Corvette Stingray 81. I don't drive fast 82. I walk very fast 83. I am a Type-A personality 84. I am running out of things to say about myself 85. I hate talking about myself 86. I am an introvert unless a computer is involved 87. I have a mild computer/ blog addiction 88. I have made many good friends through blogging 89. Blogging is my writing outlet 90. I used to journal a lot 91. I have journals from when I was seven years old 92. I can type while I nurse, but I can't always write 93. I have nursed for three and a half of the last six years 94. I have six things left to write 95. I can write with my left hand-- legibly 96. I do not have very nice handwriting 97. I want my children to have nice handwriting 98. I want my children to love God 99. I love God 100. I am so glad I am done ;)
Footloose and Fancy FreeMy 2DS4, Prince Derryboy, apparently named the new rat very well. Last night, when I was cleaning the cage, Miss Heidi escaped... and hid.
Now, some of you are totally taking this in stride. Di took pity on wild mice in her home and used them for a science experiment. That's not me. While I appreciate the variety of creatures God has blessed this earth with, I also believe quite firmly in the verse in early Genesis that says to take dominion over the earth and subdue it. This is my home. Do not try to invade it or I will become territorial.
Some of you are up on chairs, swinging a broom at the monitor, even though I am likely miles away from you. Maybe thousands of miles. That's not me either. I rather like our rats. I don't intend to carry them around in cute little pouches or get specialized rat-leashes so I can walk them with me everywhere. I won't boycott a restaurant because they don't allow owners to bring their pets in. But I do like them. Well, I like Sally. Miss Heidi is not currently on my happy list.
How could a full-grown woman let a little thing like a rat get away from her? DH and I were watching TV and Princess Moo decided she wanted some Daddy Time. Mommy took this opportunity to clean the rat cage. It wasn't bad yet; it wasn't even time. But I won't be around Friday and Saturday, so I didn't want to take a chance.
First, assemble all the paraphenalia. Trash bag, shredded paper, rat ball, rat box (box for one, ball for the other), food, treat. Next, wash hands. I didn't wash my hands before I cleaned the cage once. Sally thought *I* was the treat and took a little taste. I have washed my hands ever since.
Next, reach in to get Heidi and put her in the ball. Theoretically, this is an easy step. I should've been warned by Heidi running around the cage like a crazed... well, actually, like a normal boy in my home. I didn't take the sign. I proceeded in blissful ignorance to pick up the rat, cup her in my hands, lower her toward the ball, and...
... watch her run away behind the stand we have the cage on. Since this also holds our VCR tapes, it's pretty sturdy. Fortunately, it's in a corner, so she wasn't going anywhere. Unfortunately, there wasn't really any way to get to her (are those spiderwebs back there?? Good thing we haven't gotten to "Family Room" in the CHCH Challenge!), so I just left her and moved on to Sally.
Sally was easily put into the ball (she loves to run around in it), and I cleaned the cage, keeping an eye on Heidi as she peeked out of either end of the VCR cabinet. She only ventured out once and, when I tried to grab her, went back into hiding. I wonder, are names that influential??
I didn't worry about it too much. I went ahead and finished cleaning the cage, then put Sally back inside. She squeaked a gracious thank-you and went about covering her food dish. Now for Miss Heidi.
It shouldn't be that hard to pick up a rat. Yes, they're small and squirmy. Yes, they're fast. But they're only rats. Did I mention squirmy and fast?
DH eventually had to put Princess Moo down and help me out. Heidi went back and forth between the two possible exits from her self-imposed prison too fast for either of us to catch her. We were still pretty calm. As long as she was back there, she was still trapped.
I thought that way too soon. She made a mad dash for it, slipping out of our desperate grasps not once, not twice, but more than five times, to hide behind the COUCH. The couch. Okay, now she has multiple escape routes, not to mention a soft bottom she could probably chew a hole into if she really tried. Not good.
Princess Moo started fussing, but not yet crying. Maybe this was a new game with Mommy and Daddy. Daddy went and got the mop, but the squeeze mechanism got in the way. He went back and got the broom.
The next 20 minutes are a blur of "There she is!", "Quick, grab her!", and "Aaargh! She went back under!". Every time she came out, we'd make a grab at her. Every time we made a grab at her, she would squeak a rather plaintive protest, wriggle that squirmy little body, and retreat back under the couch... until the last time.
We have no idea how it happened. None. One second, there she was, running for dear life away from us (again). The next second... there was no rat. We more or less tore the room apart, with Princess Moo slowly taking up an angry squall, but to no avail. There was no rat. There was no where she could've gone, but she was gone.
We haven't found her yet. I told my husband if we found her, just hit her on the head with a broom and we'll take her back to the store to feed a snake. I was kidding... mostly. Ah, Rats!Two of them, to be precise.
We have been the proud owner of a lovely (no, really; she's quite lovely) black and white rat the boys named Sally. (I call her Mustang Sally). Today, while I was out runnin' about, I saw a beautiful rat, almost tortoise-shell colored, that was just begging to come meet Sally. So, on impulse (low blood sugar does that to me!), I brought her home.
Sally hasn't decided if she likes the as-yet-unnamed interloper. Poor tortoise-shell hasn't decided if she likes Sally, who is definitely larger than she is. In fact, she's hiding in Sally's box, trying to pretend that the rest of us don't exist, I think. What a shock for her tomorrow when the boys discover her. Heh.
Why do we have rats? Well, we had a dog, but with four children under 6 (and parents who are currently *ahem* a bit more couch-potato than we'd like), we found him a home with another dog and an owner who had lots of time to give him. Both my dear m-i-l and my DH are allergic to cats (although we have had cats in the past). The pet store firmly didn't recommend reptiles or amphibians for children under five because of the risk of salmonella poisoning. We've done fish (Nemo died just last year). Insects don't live long. That left rodents.
Hamsters and gerbils are nice enough, but rather dumb. Mice are a bit smarter, but if you're not careful, you get a mouse than happens to be a mommy-to-be and you have lots of little pink naked creatures dying on you. Guinea pigs are practically like having a small cat and ferrets are expensive.
Rats are rather pretty if you ignore the tail and don't get the plain white ones (personal prejudice here). They are easy to care for, don't cost a lot, and don't smell unless you neglect their cage. They are actually friendly, very inquisitive (nosy as a rat), and far more intelligent than I would've believed.
So, we had a rat. Said rat seemed lonely, so we now have two rats. Hubby didn't even protest this modest start to my future menagerie.
Wait until I mention that baby chicks are currently in season down at the Farm & Fleet store. Just Who Wears the Pants in This Family?Deuteronomy 22:5 "A woman must not wear men's clothing, nor a man wear women's clothing, for the LORD your God detests anyone who does this."
Ah, once again I hit an issue that I'm not exactly sure how to take it. Or maybe I just don't want to be sure how to take it. I'm rather fond of my jeans, you see.
Okay, if I'm going to struggle with denial, let's at least do it intelligently. It does not say a woman can't wear jeans. *ahem* Nor does it say a woman must go around in a dress all the time. It says a woman shouldn't wear a man's clothing or vice-versa.
Would this be a very early reference to cross-dressing?
The form of "clothing" used here is actually not the more common form. It says in my Strong's "through the idea of a cover assuming the shape of the object beneath." Hmm. So clothing that makes a woman's shape look like a man's shape is wrong (in reverse as well). This still does not say that it is wrong for a woman to wear jeans.
My grandmother always wore dresses. Always. My mother always wore dresses when we went to visit. But I've grown up wearing jeans a lot. They are very functional in my life (I run, I mow lawns) and I have a very difficult time seeing how a dress could be equally as functional. Now I'm not finding any verses that actually restrict women from wearing pants-- if they are feminine and modest pants.
Am I wrong? Am I grasping for straws (or a less drafty method of gardening)?
If any of you have further insight on this, please do comment. I'm open to both sides of the discussion at the moment. If you post in the favor of dresses, though, I just have to ask: how do you run in a dress? Seriously.
The Attack of the CaloriesIt has finally happened. After more than thirty years of enjoying an enviable metabolism (no baby weight two weeks after my first child; I lost weight during the first three months of pregnancies #2 and #3 and had to eat ice cream, chocolate, and other high-calorie foods to keep from becoming ill), my metabolism has stopped. Not slowed down. Stopped.
If I eat a modest cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, and mustard (single patty, single slice of cheese, etc.), my legs grow two inches in diameter... and I'm hungry two hours later. If I have a very small, 200 calorie chocolate bar (because woman cannot live without chocolate if she wants to stay out of jail on a murder charge), it goes provides enough seat padding that hard chairs are pretty comfy. Ice cream? I don't even dare look at ice cream. The little pooch at my belly just puffed out in anticipation from typing the words.
How did this happen? Okay, admittedly, I spend far too much time sitting here typing and not nearly enough time running after my boys outside. (This could be why God blessed me with three charming little balls of energy in the first place). My daughter is a fairly dainty eater and doesn't seem to steal as much from my body as the boys did when she nurses. I did run a mile this week, but I made up for it by eating about three servings' worth of ice cream in one sitting.
So maybe the extra 27 pounds I've packed on is all my fault. I suppose I should take responsibility and start on a sensible eating program, get outside on a regular basis (is that what's on the other side of that door??), and try some physical activity, just to see if it kills me. But not today. Today it's cloudy out. Today the kids are grouchy and need a rest period. Today the baby is napping and I need to do the dishes. Today, well, I just don't feel motivated.
But tomorrow I'm going to show that scale just who is boss... right after I finish off the ice cream.
A PuzzlerI had to share this. I'll post a hint in one week. Hee. :)
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