Wishing i was really-really smart and knew stuff that mattered. Not just weird facts about old Hollywood stars.

I seriously keep wanting to learn more....read more. Get all kindsa fancy degrees. Any degree. *shout out to my 1 yr Bible college that got me....um...nada. no offense. fun year though. wait, it probably wasn't supposed to be fun. crap.*

Like, when we watched the new Sherlock Holmes movie, i was all (to myself - i know better than to say things aloud about my quest for knowledge), "i am going to start reading crazy smart books. you don't even know. CRAZY. SMART. and i will know things that are sooo amazing. i will be able to enter into conversation with not just homeschool moms, but anyone!!!"

Then we leave the movie theater, and i realize *other than time wisely spent looking up white sundresses on Amazon*, i kind of don't have time to read stuff. Max Planck will have to wait. Although, i might get some points for knowing who Max Planck is. And i only got that from another book i read. But it wasn't a smart book. It was historic fiction. Hopefully Max Planck is real. Just kidding, he totally is. I googled him to make sure, but accidentally instead of typing, "Max Planck books" (for my "i'm going to read smart books" list) i wrote, "Max Planck boobs". Delightful type-o. Brings me to another point, why is it a type-o? WHAT DOES THE O STAND FOR? omission? oops? ....ohnoispelledthatwrong?

Wait for me...Max Planck. Shhh. Wait for me. *whispered*

Anyway...you get the idea. If i have no way, or no time, to do these things, i want to get smarter. I really do. Then if i have a few minutes, and *could* be reading something that is not garbage, i take that time to order more Black Tiger K-cups. Mainly because i think the name is funny. *sigh* it's true. Or go on People.com and see who is pregnant and looks amazing.

I personally feel that if you want to get smarter, you better be doing it before having kids. Because after kids, you need to embrace the raging, wandering around not knowing what you are looking for, blithering idiot you will become. Either you don't have time, because you are genuinely busy with important stuff, OR you do have time, and (for the ladies like me) you are like, "oooh Jessica Simpson's baby is sooooo cute....i better read that article."

Unfortunately, i have friends who are super smart and get smarter. And have degrees. And went ahead and became nurses and such. Run various businesses, and have endless ideas for more. Worked in the Navy. I want you to know, i hate you. But i love you though. But i'm really mad. But i love you. *no, i do NOT really hate you. it is pure childish envy/jealousy/stomping off and kicking stuff.*

Also burning my hot cross buns further, the fact that my brothers and sisters are totally smart. And crafty. I am basically the um...the...the one with 4 girls and a boy. My claim to fame. Which is cancelled out by the fact that my brother has 4 boys and a girl. Weird, right? But i can accept that. Because at some point, someone will need to know what Cary Grant's REAL name was, or where he was born. Perhaps for the newspaper quiz. The newspaper that they read, and i used to make hats.

They will be stumped. They will be angry. And that is where i will come in.

Archibald Alexander Leach

~Sue

Mushiness

I guess it's my turn to put out a "mushy" post.  So, I apologize in advance that this is probably not going to be the most entertaining post from me.  It will, however, just as with my other posts, be an honest post from me. 

I have a confession to make.  

I know a lot of people.  Most people assume that I have a lot of friends, because I know so many people.  Truthfully, though I know a lot of amazing people, there are a much smaller group of people who are truly my good friends.  

This isn't because people don't want to "be my friend."  There are a TON of people who are friendly with me, and I try to generally be a friendly person toward anyone I meet.  Now, I'm certain on the other hand that there are people who absolutely don't want to be friends with me, and their reasons could be as simple as us just not having enough in common- which is completely fine with me.  

So, if that's not the case...Why?

There are just a number a possibilities.  Maybe, I'm afraid of being hurt, because we've all been hurt by friends before.  Possibly, it's just that I've just never been the type of person to label people in my life as my "bff" or even have a regular "girls' night out" over the years.  Quite honestly, it could even simply be that there is not enough room in my schedule to try to maintain a healthy marriage with my best, true friend- my husband, manage my home, raise my children, teach my children, be active in ministry, and work part-time periodically.  There are plenty of people who might say that they would love to be true friends with me, but we just don't have the same life schedules so that we can nurture our friendship.  To put it simply: There are just not enough hours in the day.  

A few years ago something changed.

I can't put my finger on exactly what it was, but there was a change.  Maybe, it was me.  Perhaps, I was more vulnerable to the idea of cultivating more true friendships.  Sure, I had a few good friends already, and I certainly wasn't going out to try to "up" my "true friends" number.  Time was still limited, and I was still busy as usual.  

Well, whatever it was that changed, I'm glad that it did.  And, I'm better off for it.  Over recent years, I have been enriched with some amazing, true friendships- including but not limited to the lovely ladies I collaborate with on this blog.  And, there have been a few truths that I have discovered and that I love about these friendships:

1. I love that we are not all the same. It would be so BORING, to be friends with a whole bunch of people just like me.  I LOVE and honestly appreciate our differences and how our differences enrich each one another's lives.

2. Distance doesn't matter. Though distance separates me from some of my true friends and I'm not able to see them all regularly, when we talk or connect (even after a long time of not seeing one another!) the bond and memories we share come back instantaneously.  I love that.  

3.  And, of course, one more thing always remains steady about these true friendships:  Friends come and friends go, but a true friend sticks by you like family. Proverbs 18:24 (The Message version) When a friendship is true, it is reciprocal.  I love how with my truest of friends we take turns carrying each other's burdens and encouraging one another.  

So, this is just my kind of "mushy" tribute to those who have enriched my life over the years in ways I didn't see coming and fulfilled needs I didn't even know that I had.  Thank you, true friends. 

~Michelle

Thoughtlessness

My day was turned on its head by thoughtlessness.  It was an ordinary enough day - taking kids to breakfast, soccer camp, play dates.  A relatively good day.  Until one thoughtless act threw me into an emotional tailspin that I'm still struggling to come out of.  I'm not sure that blogging my messed-up thoughts and emotions is the best way to deal w/ them, but since 2 chocolate chip cookies and a Dr. Pepper didn't help, and logging 6 miles on my elliptical didn't help, I'm just going to go w/ some words.

On the surface - especially given that I live in NJ - this kind of thoughtlessness seems to happen every day.  A guy pulled out in front of me while I was driving.  Not such a big deal, right?  But I was traveling on a pretty fast local road; I was probably going 50mph.  And this guy was pulling out from a store parking lot, giving every indication that he was going to stop.  By the time I realized he wasn't stopping AND wasn't stomping on the gas to get out there ahead of the mini-van-summer-activity mom that so many people seem to dread getting behind, I could see that he was about 60, w/ a cell phone glued to his left ear, and he didn't even turn his head to the left to see if anybody was coming.  Mr. Black Audi, as I am going to call him, was leisurely pulling onto a road where there is routinely fast, heavy traffic, only 1 lane in either direction, and no shoulder to speak of.  Without stopping OR looking.  Right in front of me.  I had no chance of stopping in time.  I laid on my horn, slammed on my brakes anyway, and did my best to steer between the oncoming traffic and him.  I have no idea - none - how I made it through that narrow space w/o hitting anybody.

As I watched in my rear-view mirror, Mr. Black Audi, who had at least gone over onto the little bit of pavement at the side of the road, appeared to pull full speed into the traffic lane and continue his journey behind me pretty much unscathed by what he had almost done.  All I could think was "I CANNOT believe how THOUGHTLESS that guy was!  We could have been killed!"  Over and over again.  Thoughtless!!!

I'm not sure why or how this one act was so different that it set me off.  I'm a mom of 4 relatively young kids, so I'm surrounded by thoughtless acts every day.  From bathroom habits to fun fights w/ siblings, kids are just not thoughtful people, for the most part.  I do most of my driving in NJ, so I've had countless people pull out in front of me, cut in front of me, tailgate me - you name it, I've probably seen it.  The people here are not calm, sedate drivers.  I've even had a gun pointed at me from a neighboring car when I lived in Philadelphia - although maybe that wasn't thoughtless - w/ less of an adrenaline response.  Waitresses mess up my orders, doctors offices lose my records and bloodwork, people say they are going to call and don't - thoughtlessness is a fact of life.  And I've definitely had close calls on the road before.  Like I said, I live in NJ.  I travel Rt. 130 regularly.  Need I say more?  I usually consider these close calls as entertaining stories to see if I can get a bigger reaction from my husband than just raised eyebrows and move on.  No crying, no yelling.  Well, maybe a gasped "oh my WORD!"

I also have done more than my share of thoughtless acts.  I zipped through a pedestrian crosswalk w/ an elderly gentleman in it, for crying out loud.  I have glanced down at my phone to read a text while driving and drifted alarmingly close to a neighbor's travel lane.  I have changed lanes without fully exploring that enormous blind spot that comes w/ a mini-van and caused others to slam on their brakes.  And those are just some of the things I've done on the road.  I have been thoughtless to people I know and people I don't in many ways, and I look back now and can see only a small part of the pain I must have caused.  This is so humbling for me to think about.

I also don't usually struggle w/ offering mercy to others.  It is a true spiritual gift for me, sometimes to the detriment of my ability to stand up for what is right.  This can be a great thing when dealing w/ friends and acquaintances.   Even when I am driving, I often have a little voice in my head saying "I wonder if they are rushing to take a sick kid to the doctor right now."  Or "Maybe they are having one of those every-thing-I-do-is-just-making-me-later-and-later mornings."  I have been deeply hurt by friends (and not-friends) but can often see how they must be thinking and can usually forgive them and move on.  More days than not, I think about the woman kneeling at the feet of Jesus, waiting for the punishment that was her due, and I know that I am she.  I have deserved those stones.  Whether it is true sin or just thoughtlessness, I work not to cast stones at others.  But today -- well, I think part of the reason I am so unbelievably upset, hours later, is because today I got up from the feet of Jesus, turned "just thoughtless" into sinfulness, and I threw a stone.  Hard.

I do not really remember feeling angry, exactly.  And I certainly had no plans to confront Mr. Black Audi.  I thought we got separated at the next traffic light, and I was relieved.  But he showed up right behind me at the second traffic light, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to let him know that, more than anything else, he had been incredibly selfish and thoughtless.  So I put on my hazards, and got out of my car and ran up to his window.  I also didn't intend to yell at him.  But, suprisingly enough (hah!) he didn't roll down his window right away.  And so in order to make sure he could hear me, I found myself shouting at him "I AM THAT WOMAN THAT YOU ALMOST HIT BACK THERE!"  And as I shouted, even though he inched his window down a bit, I found myself gesturing wildly and getting incredibly, incredibly upset, and I could not stop shouting.  "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ALMOST DID?  YOU PULLED OUT WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING!  YOU SHOULD NOT BE ON A CELL PHONE!"  The meticulously-groomed woman next to him that appeared to be his wife was gasping dramatically and rather prissily (in my humble, non-judgemental opinion) so I included her: "AND YOU! YOU SHOULD NOT BE LETTING HIM USE A CELL PHONE WHILE HE IS DRIVING!"  By this time the man was looking at his steering wheel and mumbling "I'm sorry."  And that, that is what somehow made me searingly angry.  That is when I do remember just filling up w/ fury.  And it's making me cry just to write what I said next.  "I'M SORRY?!?!?!  I'M SORRY ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!  WE ARE NORMAL PEOPLE AND WE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED AND I'M SORRY WOULD NOT HAVE FIXED THAT.  YOU DON'T!! TALK!! ON A CELL PHONE!!!"  And by then I was crying and realizing that traffic was moving past us and people were staring at the raving lunatic, definitely-not-normal person, me, who was yelling at a nice guy in a black Audi.

Ugh.  So I got back into my car and maintained relative calm for the 15 minutes it took me to get to my friend's house.  Where I totally and completely fell apart, in small part because so often we are saved from our thoughtless, careless behaviour, but there are never any guarentees.  I have been saved from my own carelessness.  I once took my eyes off one of my boys for about 2 seconds when he was playing on a flotation device in water that was over his head before he could swim.  I looked back in time to see him in the water, struggling, and he went under briefly, but I got to him by the time he struggled back up.  He was and is fine.  I was making baby food for my daughter and without thinking put my finger into the blade of the hand-blender and pressed "on."  There was a lot of blood, but thanks to my fingernail, I didn't lose a finger.  Like I said, I have done more than my share of thoughtless things.  By God's grace, I have never caused the kind of damage that could have been done to us today.  And by God's grace, we were not harmed today.  But I don't have that guarentee, and neither does anybody else.  And some people don't know that.  How can they not know that?  How can they not at least TRY to be more careful?

Somehow I have started to live life more aware of how easy it is to be seriously wounded.  People die even when they are wearing seatbelts or motorcycle helmets.  People have insurance but still have to replace a crashed vehicle themselves or rebuild a house after a fire.  Those words you spew out in anger at your child sometimes aren't forgotten with an apology. 

But the other part of my heavy heart is what I did today.  I got up and threw that stone.  I completely lost it over a relatively common, thoughtless act.  Was it a slightly irrational speech that will make that man a more thoughtful and better driver?   Or was I, too, thoughtless, doing who-knows-what damage with my self-righteous stone?


~Stephanie

A Lover AND a Fighter

All children are different.  They are people, not cut-outs from a factory.  They get their "labels," because of the things that make them stand out.  Especially in a family unit.  There are the good labels like: 

The smart one.

The sweet one. 

The funny one. 

The lovable one.

The talented one.

The coordinated one.

Then, there are the not-so-nice labels.  As parents we never want to say things like, "Why can't you ______ like your sibling?"  As a matter-of-fact, many of us make die-hard vows to ourselves to never utter such words.  We may think it in our heads, but we try our hardest not to allow such words to part from our lips.  We know we can't take those words back, and quite possibly those words could scar our children for life.  Or something like that.

This brings me to the subject of sleeping.

With my first two children, truly I thought that I had discovered some super-secret to getting my children to sleep through the night.  Really, it was simple.  I needed to tell everyone, because surely it would solve all of their children's sleeping issues as well.  I read it all in a book, and it worked.  I had uncovered some amazing secret that truly helped children to sleep through the night.  For my first two children... 

Then, came my third child: The rule-breaker to my little system, which I thought had been perfected like a well-oiled machine. Lovable as he was, he fought sleep.  I wanted to burn that wretched book that had made me a self-proclaimed "expert" on getting my first two children to sleep. My son fought sleep from the very beginning, and he still fights it now- four years later.  

Don't get me wrong: He is lover. Sweet, endearing, lovable, and more.

But, it would be dishonest for me to not tell you that with everything within him when it comes to sleep: 

He is a fighter.

I won't bore you with the lists of things that my husband and I tried to do to train our son to sleep, but it was not pretty.  Even when we found his intolerance to certain foods, there was not a simple fix for his sleeping issues.  

For the first 19 months, he did not sleep more than two hours in a row during the night.  This was a very humbling experience in my life.  One expects to be sleep deprived for the first few months of a baby's life, but even in my wildest dreams I could not imagine that it would take 19 months for my son to "sleep through the night" especially since I couldn't even get him to sleep during the day.  And, by "sleep through the night," I mean sleep five hours in a row.  It wouldn't be until he was 2 years-old that he and I would get a full 10-12 hours of sleep at night.  And, day time naps... Well, let's just say that when he has ever taken a 2 hour nap, it is rare and usually turns out that he is sick. 

In my head, I like to think that the reason he doesn't sleep well is because he's so smart.  Yes.  That's it. ;)  It's true that when he was a little over a year old, I asked him (jokingly,) "Are you a genius?"  and instead of repeating me he said, "I'm a genius!"  Then, he would randomly repeat that phrase to strangers for many, many months, because he does have an amazing memory.  Very impressive, but still no cause to think that he actually is a genius. 

And, even if he is, I am resolved: 

Geniuses still need their sleep.  

We have transitioned him finally to his "big boy bed."  Now, you may think that at age 4 it is a little old to have still been in a crib, but you must remember that he didn't get much use out of that crib for the first 19 months. Plus, my husband and I don't make tall children. Really.  It's true. Height does not run in our family, and it makes pregnancy much easier. ;) I knew that breaking his ever-so-delicate routine of sleep by moving him to his new bed would cause much grief for me and untold times of sleeplessness for both of us. It would be a new kind of frustration as he is older and still fighting sleep, and I am pregnant and need my sleep.  I was not happy about making this transition, but alas it needed to be done.  After all, his baby sister is due to arrive in a few months, and it is my genuine hope that she is not a rule-breaker like her older brother when it comes to this precious area of sleep.

But, the truth is that I am a fighter, too. 

I will fight for him to sleep.  It is challenging, but I will fight for him to sleep because he needs it to grow healthy and strong.  

I fight for his sleep, because I am a lover.  

I love my sleep.

   (Oh, and I love my little boy, too. :) )

~Michelle

P.S. If he is indeed a genius and does something truly amazing with his life, it is my dream that he gets me an amazing bed.  That is, after he buys himself an amazing bed, because geniuses need their sleep, too. :) 

Turns Out I'm Not a Feminist After All

The other morning I faced a harsh truth about myself.  (It was especially harsh since I had to face it without a Dr. Pepper in my hands and with zero caffeine in my system.)  Turns out I'm not committed to women's rights at all.  In fact, I want the REALLY old days back where we never even had to think for ourselves.

I did manage to delude myself for many years.  I threw aside my dreams in college of becoming a nurse and was the first woman to graduate from my alma mater with a B.S. in Mechanical Engineering.  OK, I did actually find parts of my coursework interesting, but that's beside the point.  I was setting a precedent.  I went on to get my M.S. in Biomedical Engineering from Drexel.  (Eh, not as impressive.  Tons of women in my class.)

I worked for the Department of the Navy for years, and if that wasn't a place to rail against the tyranny of men, then there was no such place.  When my co-workers sat around and trash talked their girlfriends and wives for not being able to change a tire and also general all-around incompetence, I went home, dragged my then-boyfriend-now-husband outside and said: "You are teaching me how to change the wheel bearings.  Now."  And I changed his wheel bearings for him.  (Literal wheel bearings, Sue!)  Oh yeah, I definitely went into work the next day and "casually" ground that little fact into the dim consciousnesses of my Neanderthal co-workers.

When I was on fun road trips w/ my girlfriends and we got a flat tire, I ALWAYS insisted on getting out and changing it.  No standing around and looking sad and helpless by the side of the road for me, thankyouverymuch.  One memorable time it was incredibly late, on the PA Turnpike, and I was going to town w/ 2 of my girlfriends standing there holding a light for me  :) and a Turnpike Assistance person pulled up to help, but we actually shoo-ed him away after a few minutes, because I was faster than he was.  Yeah, that was a proud moment.  Sigh.

Now, I admit that I did not feel as confident about jump-starting my car, even though I carried around my own jumper cables.  Since I did not have a little chime in my car that reminded me every time I left my lights on, I got plenty of chances to practice this in spite of my fears, but every time I had to do so, I became incredibly Spiritual in my fervent prayers to God to please keep everybody safe from electrocution, pain, dismemberment, injury, and also all batteries from explosions.  VERY fervent about the avoiding explosions part.  And if there was a group of single women standing around and somebody needed a jump, I was usually the only one prepared to do it.  Which was fine since I was a smug Feminist deep down inside.  Or maybe somewhat close to the surface.  Whichever.

Red to Red, Black to Black.  Simple, right?
The explosion potential is highly exaggerated.
Maybe.

Anyway, I got married and motherhood came to my life, and I gradually started to expect my husband to do tricky tasks like change the lightbulbs and take out the garbage, although I justified it as being mostly from the sleep deprivation.  When he did not seem to appreciate being ordered around like the minions I had supervised at my former job, I trained my sons to do these tasks and called it Good Household Management. 

I saw the change in myself, but I turned a blind eye to it.  I continued to attempt to change my own tires when I got a flat, but I confess, the last time it happened, a year ago, I nearly cried with thankfulness when a bunch of men that I can only believe was a pit crew from the Indy 500, on vacation in Collingswood NJ w/ all of their equipment, came swarming out of a nearby house and got me back on the road in record time.  It sounds implausible, I know.  But I saw what I saw. 

And I still believed that deep down, I was an empowered woman who could still sing "I can bring home the bacon.  Fry it up in a pan . . ."  And I did sing that song on occaision.  Usually when I was frying bacon.  :)

Then came the fateful morning.  I had been painting for a month, I hadn't slept well the night before, and I had a busy morning of errands planned.  I got into the car, and wouldn't you know it, the battery was dead. 

I was so tired!!! 

I knew where the battery charger was, and yes, it's even easier to use than jumper cables, without the Battery Explosion Threat to hang in the air and make my heart pound the entire time the battery is charging.  But instead I called my husband.  I asked him to come home.  And then, when he made it clear he had a busy day of important meetings that would NOT take second place to a small wifely "emergency," the words I had never even THOUGHT in my head just popped out of my mouth:

"But I am just so tired of doing all of these man things!  Please come home!"

Oh yeah.  I'm officially pathetic.  My husband told me, very kindly, to hook up the battery charger and go inside and lie down on the sofa while the battery charged.  Which I did.  With the comfort of a Dr. P in my hand.  And wondered if there is a way to reclaim my dignity from all of this.  Probably not.  I'm not frying up the bacon any more.

~Stephanie

Puddleglum.

"The bright side of it is...that if we break our necks from getting down the cliff, then we're safe from being drowned in the river" Puddleglum, The Silver Chair, 1953

This week is just starting off as the failure type week. I didn't think it was going to be. But now...being in full-blown Puddleglum mode, i find myself EXPECTING it. Waiting for it. From the fighting kids - TWO who live to fight with each other, and ONE who lives to start fights with all of his sisters - to unexpected and gigantic bills, to car trouble that is now in the domino effect, to certain kids asking about going to school instead of being home-schooled, to my sweet one getting hurt feelings that i could do NOTHING about, to just me being blaaa and overwhelmed.

A good way to push yourself over the edge when you are already overwhelmed? Bills and curriculum.

Empty PB jar #1 placed back into the fridge.

Empty PB jar #2 also placed back into the fridge.

For your viewing pleasure, the empty peanut butter jars. When they are full, i can't get people to put them back in the right place with begging or threats. For some reason, when they are empty, THAT is when they go back into the fridge. I have no words. And i also do not BUY more peanut butter, because i thought we had some. And we don't.


The sink. About 5 minutes before this, the sink was empty. There was also not a flood (which you can't see) of water all over counters and floors from short people filling up water guns.

I guess no one wants "kisses from the misses".

While making my husband's lunch for the next day, i dropped everything. For no reason. WHY. DOES. THAT. HAPPEN. When you just drop stuff? And usually that goes hand in hand with not being able to pick it up without at least 4 tries. So i had to throw away all the lettuce and start over. Ok, some of it. I sorta washed a few pieces off and used them. And yes, to the left you will see my foot holding the cabinet door SHUT because things are so disorganized right now, that every door stays open about 3-4inches. 

Trying to be ahead of the game only works when you don't drop everything.

The fish saw what i did with the lettuce and is CLEARLY judging me.

I guess things will perk up at some point...but right now...i may take a few minutes to curl up with The Silver Chair. That is, IF the kids don't all come running down the stairs. And if they don't, i will surely realize my coffee is cold, go to make more, and break the coffee pot. Happy gloomy Tuesday.

"And you must always remember there's one good thing about being trapped down here: It'll save funeral expenses." Puddleglum ~ The Silver Chair, 1953

~Sue

Surprise!

We dropped my almost 13 y.o.daughter off for a week of camp last Sunday.  We get to pick her up on Friday.  (Yay!!)  I miss her tons:  For selfish reasons- as she is the most helpful child in the family being the first child who is a girl and for more selfish reasons- that I just love her so much, and she is at that age where she will come to me and have these long, wonderful conversations that I will always treasure in my heart.  

Now, I love my two boys just the same.  They are boisterous from early in the morning until late in the evening, much louder, and generally much less thoughtful of the things they do or say before they do or say them.  Oh, yeah- and they have some amazing qualities, too.  Really they do, and I haven't had the opportunity to talk about those amazing qualities on the blog yet.  This is mostly because their less amazing qualities lately have been overshadowing their amazing qualities.  

For example, the 10 y.o. LOVES to help me with most anything involving outside work: washing vehicles, taking out trash, gardening, letting the dog out, etc... 

BUT... This week my sweet, ten-year-old boy had a wonderful surprise for me.  It was the best kind of most-of-the-week surprise party I could have asked for, and I'm pretty sure he didn't necessarily even plan it on purpose.  I didn't ask for it either.  Under this mostly loud (at home,) boisterous boy is a boy who is nurturing, caring, thoughtful, and sweet.  He doesn't express it the same way his older sister expresses it (he is definitely still louder in his mannerisms...,) but he took it upon himself to step up to the plate and be the most awesome son and big brother ever this week!!  

I have to confess that I didn't expect this at all.  I was expecting this boy to be a thorn in my side all week.  I feel bad that I was expecting this.  Really, I do.  But, his 10 year-old track record lately has not given me reason to expect bigger things this week.  There has been a lot of discipline and "teachable moment" kind of talks- all of which seemed as if they didn't even begin to penetrate his 10 year-old boy brain.  But, through the many prayers that went alongside this tough parenting I was able to see some glimmers of hope that perhaps some things WERE seeping into his brain and staying there.  And, it reminded me that all of this time and energy devoted to guiding my children is not in vain.  It is for a greater purpose. This week I was reminded of the great things that lie ahead for my dear, sweet 10 year-old boy- even though there will be plenty of "thorn in my side" moments ahead for the two of us.  I know that God has big plans for my boy, and I really am glad that I get to be a small part of the process. 

Well... I try to be glad, that is.  Sometimes the discouraging times overshadow the encouraging times, though.  This was just the encouragement I needed to remind me how important it is to stay the course.  I will pray for some extra encouragement for September, because I'm sure that I will need some more by the time school has started again and my job (& his work) intensifies. ;) 

My buddy & big fish he caught last Fall.

We drop off this sweet boy to camp for a whole week this coming Sunday.  (Yes, it's his turn to go to camp, and he is super excited for another year away at camp!)  I love him, and I'll miss his sweetness and good-natured self while he's away.  I'd like to say that I won't miss his loudness, but maybe I will.  Maybe one day I will even treasure that loudness in my heart.  Maybe.  

~Michelle

Killers, Pools, "Naptime", and i wish i was 20 again.

Today's episode of, "Summer Joys" brought to you by Excedrin and marshmallows.

Hmm. Where to start.

Shall i begin this journey with the soda spill on the coffee table by my son, that was in turn, mopped up by the 18m old with pizza? Or the marshmallows, bitten in half and stuck to a wall in the kitchen. Or the 6yr old who "hears sounds" all the time, and will come screaming from other rooms, or refuse to go to sleep without being threatened. Or the pool that gets filled up for the kids, only to have them all come inside the house. Or the popsicle wrappers that no one left all over the place. Hello, ants. Or the nap that is really just 18m old screaming and throwing things out of her crib. No fear, she will fall asleep *JUST* when i was about to get her up, so we can go to the store. To buy a new hose....because i bought the hose last year, and in spite of my son saying, "Mom, seriously, we NEED a longer one than 20 feet", in my head, i was all, "pshhh....what do YOU know, you're 9", and bought the one that was 20 feet, and it only goes...well...20 feet. And apparently, though in my head our yard is supa-small, it's bigger than 20 feet. And if i want to keep the grass-rot-death-smell-Biblical plague of flies from happening, i have to keep strategically moving the pool around. But, because of my brilliant hose purchase, i can't. And i'm a little ticked because no one is even out in the pool that i just dumped, cleaned, moved, and refilled.

No one left this here.

Mickey CLEARLY did this.

Summer also brings me joys, like reading...reading books for ME-ME-MEEEE!!! Which, depending on what was given to me at Christmas or laying around, can range from frun Janet Evanovich books, to books by James Rollins, to my husbands favorite books by Ted Bell (ok, throwing this one out, any ladies out there notice that we will "give in" and read their books that they tell us are amazing, but they never-ever read ours?) to a nice, cozy tale of a serial killer that i can't put down. And now i am thinking i need to vary my daily routine, burn all our trash, carry a weapon, and get ADT. And never-ever trust someone in a cast who is all, "excuse me miss, can you help me with my groceries?". No. I can't. In fact, i am going to throw my groceries at you - hopefully it's a day when i bought alot of canned goods...because, apparently, i am living in the 1950's - and scream, "RUN" to my children.

You can pretend these are smart books that normal homeschool Mommies read. They are all about curriculum.

Summer also brings me MORE joys, i know, i know...MORE than what i just described? yes. Summer brings to me the magic, splendor, and wonder of wearing a swimsuit in public. Who doesn't love that. I didn't mind when i was 20. I even pulled it off after a few kids. Now...well, do i need to really say more than the fact that it is made by Spanx? And that is great. It's good to be sucked in. But sad that all this ain't gonna suck itself in anymore. Yeah, yeah, i had that "take time" post. I was bordering on being in great shape "for a mom of 5" a month or so ago. But then...then, the untimely death of motivation (you know, except for at night, after i ate everything, when i am like, "YEAH! tomorrow it's ON!").Whatever. NOW i have a Spanx swimsuit, and i keep eating ice cream and hamburgers, and the stitching in this swimsuit is screaming. If it goes...look out. Keep your kids and small dogs inside.

This was after i was all, "IF YOU DON'T GET IN THAT POOL"...

Peace out, Mammas:) ~Sue

And the Paint Goes On . . . and On, and On, and On

At the beginning of June, my husband took my daughter to Germany for 2 weeks to celebrate his dad's birthday, so since there was one less adult in the house AND my biggest helper of the kids was gone, I decided it was time to get serious about my painting project. (Once again, I'm NOT the sane person in this group.)

I felt the need to address the wall texture issues first. Part of my initial goal was to hide the bumps and gouges left by the incompetent "professionals" who rebuilt our house after a house fire (no, no, I'm not bitter at all). Even though I originally thought the paint would help do that, I could now see it wouldn't even come close. So I took my 3 boys and walked through the Home Depot paint department and searched for inspiration. I found it in the form of a can of spray texture.  I had no idea that stuff existed!  I went home excited about taping off a top line and bottom line to mark the outer squares and spraying texture on the wall. And I had a bunch of new paint sticks to replace the ones that had broken in sword duty.

Up to this point I had been planning on just painting one wall at a time.  Suddenly I realized I had better put squares across all 3 walls to make sure that I didn't have a square cut in half in some awkward position, and MIRACULOUSLY!!! I didn't. I fudged a little in one corner, and that is it!  But this meant I was going to have to be moving the great big loft beds back and forth to paint around them.

Since my husband was off in Germany, I felt that a phone consultation with one of my sisters would be wise before plunging ahead.  How glad I am to have done so!  I explained my plan to spray texture on the wall (keeping the square cardboard templates in place so that 1) I wouldn't have to put those little squares back up and 2) I would be able to see clearly where the small squares were within the larger square when it came time to paint).  I also thought (hoped) that the difference in texture would be cool.  And maybe even carpet-like.  By this point I was well into the Delusional Stage that we all suffer from when we are in the middle of a project - convinced that everything will turn out to be AMAZING.  Anyway.  My sister advised me to do some outdoors experimentation with both the texture and the paint to make sure that I would like the result.

One blast from the spray can and I realized that there were serious overspray issues and I needed to put up large sheets of paper or garbage bags to protect the rest of the wall.  And I was going to need to move the beds.

Which leads me back to those conversations that seemed trivial back in December.  You see, as my husband was putting the beds together, I said something like "Maybe I should paint before you put the beds up."  And he, knowing full well that I was at the coloring paper stage, just said "Hmmm."  And proceeded to build the beds.  Then, after he had the beds built and we listened to them creak and bump the walls whenever the boys climbed on them, he said "I think I need to bolt the beds to the wall."  And I said, "Not until I paint the border."  And he said "Hmmm."  Which I now realize meant "The discussion is over.  You haven't convinced me."  But at the time I thought it meant, "Bummer.  I really wanted to do that."

So none of you will be surprised that I spent 2 or 3 minutes, w/ my 10yo helping me, pushing w/ all of our might at those beds and they didn't budge.  I looked up between the wall and the beds and saw some blocks of wood wedged in that space, and decided that they were what was keeping the beds from moving.  I sent the 10yo to the garage for a hammer and set to work to pound those stubborn little blocks out of there.  After pounding away for minutes and watching one little square just kind of pivot oddly in place, I sent the 10yo to the garage for anything he could find that resembled a nail punch.  He came back w/ a chisel, which I intially thought was not helpful at all.  But as I pounded away some more and saw that little block of wood appear to give way I thought "AHA!  Finally!  Some women would have given up by now, but not I! I am about to finish this project!"  (See, Delusional Stage.)  And then, half of the wood suddenly split off and revealed: a piece of metal.  Something that looked suspiciously like a bolt, in fact.  It was time to call my husband in Germany.

Here is something I suspect might be odd: After 20 years of dating and marriage, I am still never quite sure when I am going to get easy-going Stefan and when I am going to get you-did-WHAT-Stefan.  When we chatted on Skype, easy-going Stefan was amused by my efforts to date and asked me if I had forgotten what he had said in December.  I said no, but did he hear what I said after he said what he said???  "Hmmmm" was his reply yet again, which this time I think meant "The discussion is over.  I am admitting no wrong-doing."  Or it could have meant "I'm very confused by this conversation and do not wish to admit it."  Or it might have meant "I'm hungry and here in Germany it's supper-time."  Whichever, he gave me permission to unbolt the beds, spray texture on the walls, and basically do whatever I wanted, and gave me some helpful tips about where to find the tools we would need.

So I started unbolting.  Actually, I set the 10yo to that task while I taped away.  For those of you who think I was working the kid pretty hard, trust me, he wanted to be a part of things.  Looking after his younger brothers for me?  Making the occaisional pb&j?  Not so much.  Except for the last bolt, where I had to help and we got the wrench jammed in between the headboard and bed frame - and it sits there still - it was pretty uneventful.  Easy-going Stefan says he can get the wrench out whenever he wants to.   Or maybe he said "Hmmm."  I'm not sure anymore.

After the difficulties I had leveling the inner squares, I decided one big long level piece of tape was unrealistic for me to get up on the wall, so I decided to attempt alternating the sizes of the squares slightly.  (It's going to look so carpet-like!" my inner voice whispered.)  First I went around the room and used a piece of cardboard as my gauge to put a piece of tape the same amount above and below every other square.  Then I went around and estimated the halfway point between each set of squares, and put a piece of tape closer to the inner square template, above and below.  This was trickier, because I had to make sure it went exactly from one mid-point to the other, and that the top line and bottom line were equal.  Which of course they would be if they both went from the actual mid-point to the other actual mid-point, but I was estimating, so it was chancey.  Remember, I had just eyeballed my initial placement of the inner squares, so each of my inner/outer squares were slightly different sizes anyway.  But I had to make sure that they alternated between noticeably bigger and noticeably smaller.  My 10yo helped me tape paper above and below all of this marvelous taping, and I was ready to spray.

Deep breath.  The undo-able part.  I sprayed wall texture.   The fumes were horrible; I liked the look.  At this point, I started letting the boys sleep out on the living room floor and there was more than one night they fell asleep out there before I even realized it was 11pm and told them to go to bed.  I also invented a meal I was proud to call Yellow - corn on the cob and scrambled eggs - because naming it somehow made it more health-conscious, caring mom and less desperate, doesn't have time to cook properly mom - and served it to the boys something like 4 times in 2 weeks.  Clean laundry mingled with dirty laundry all over the house, and I made the kids wear the same clothes for at least 3 days in a row.  Good times.

We peeled off the overspray barriers.  I didn't hate it.  I was still deep in the Delusional Stage.  (It's going to look AMAZING!  And so carpet-like!)  And it is at this point in the project that I looked at my 5 paint cans and said to myself "I will just do a 5 block repeating pattern."  (I have no idea why I even tried to plan this project in the first place.)  I randomly grabbed the dark green color, placed strips of tape vertically from where the outer squares changed sizes, and went around the room, painting every 5th square green.  I liked it.  Weirdly enough, I started at one end w/ dark green and the other end came up: Green!  Amazing!  I didn't want to paint the adjacent color (beige or dark brown) while the green paint was drying, so I did cream next.  I really, REALLY liked it. 

Then I hit a small snag.  When I put strips of tape over the green paint so that I could paint beige next to it, the tape pulled off some of the green color when I removed it.  So I decided that I would have to do the rest of the colors with no side tape.  Just trusting my top-notch painting skills to go along next to the neighboring color without going over it.  I do NOT have top-notch painting skills, people.  But for beige, dark brown and dark blue, I was able (for the most part) to do this.  I also mentally added the step of going back and doing touch-up painting to my growing list of things this project required.

my facebook poll picture - keep the
inside color the same or not?

I peeled off all of the tape, moved the boys back into their bedroom, welcomed my husband and daughter back from Germany, and faced a decision: painting the inner square a different color (I mean, that was the only part of my original plan left, why stick to that?) or paint it all in with the color of the outside square.  I posted a picture on facebook and asked everybody to weigh in.  With the encouragement I received, I went ahead with my original plan.  I spent 2 days trying to figure out the inner color pattern (this looked like me just pacing in the boys' room and muttering to myself), and eventually came up with a repeat of 10 inner blocks.  The outer green squares, for example, alternately have cream and light green insides.  The dark brown alternates between dark blue and light green.  Cream squares contain either dark green or dark blue.  Etc.  I decided I wasn't fond enough of the beige color to use it further, and I did decide to bring in light green and light blue - although I ended up using slightly different shades than the ones already in the room.

Two weeks of me squatting in the boys room with a child's paintbrush in hand, going around and around the room with a different paint color at my feet.  Two weeks of sliding those amazing yet very heavy loft beds back and forth along the wall.  Two weeks of thinking very deep thoughts like "Straight lines, straight lines, straight lines, oops, you'll have to go back over that spot.  Hmmm, that

color's going to need three coats. Straight lines, straight lines . . ." Yes, I decided to do the rest of the project free hand. And even though I ended up having to tape that little kids' paintbrush together w/ electrical tape to finish the job (note to self: buy the kids good quality art supplies in the future) I am so happy to report: IT'S FINISHED!!!  And yes, it looks very carpet-like.  :)

~Stephanie

I debated about getting the boys' beds made up perfectly for this picture, but ultimately decided we keep it real here on
moms-retreat, so why go all Better Homes and Garden now. :)