Dirty Hands Required

The Requirement: Two weeks ago, we had our annual family yard clean-up day. We didn't give our kids an option. Just told them they are part of the family and we need their help. Youngest is a hard worker by nature and dug right in. Middle child is less enthusiastic, but as long as she had her squirt bottle handy to spritz her perspiring brow, she kept the drama to a minimum. While youngest is motivated by, "Wow! Look how much you have gotten done," middle child prefers "You have 1 1/2 hours...if you get your assigned tasks done in less time and we approve of the work, you are free to go inside and relax." Of course, the promise of a little extra allowance helped, too.












The Results: Bushes trimmed, flowers planted, bricks laid, and...kids who learned the sense of accomplishment that comes with hard work. What is missing from these pictures? Our grass, that is made to endure 100 degree heat, apparently withers into straw under multiple frosts. The company we chose to rescue our lawn uses a low nitrogen chemical, which will keep chinch bugs away, but will not make our grass "golf course green." At this point, I will just take grass!












The Reward: A soak in the hot tub for our aching backs and a treat for our oldest, who had to do his part by being patient and watching too many episodes of retro "Family Feud" on The Game Show Network.

Conversations From The Backseat

My husband and I have been wanting for years to invent a limousine type window behind the front seat of our minivan. Wouldn't that be fun? When the kids are loud and crazy, push the button and zip...all you see in the rear view mirror are mouths moving, but no noise! But, if I had it closed too much, I might miss out on conversations from the backseat such as these:

6 year old: "Mom's hair looked different when I was born. It looked curlier."
10 year old: "Yeah, it was kind of frizzy back then...no offense, Mom."

[The straightening iron was the best thing that ever happened to my hair that rises right along with the humidity levels]

10 year old, to her friend on the way home from dance class: "You know those tapes we have to do our tap warm ups to? Well, my Mom used the same ones when she was little...that is how old they are."
Then, 10 year old to me: "Not that you are old, Mom...just the tapes are."

[For those with a background in dance and who are as "old" as I am, you probably know the ones she referred to. "Shuffle hop toe, shuffle hop toe, shuffle hop toe, ball change, turn..."]


6 year old: "Mom, where are we going?"
10 year old: "Shh...don't ask...I think we are going to play games at Ollie Koala's."
6 year old: "Mom is the best Mom in the whole earth."

[I'll bank that compliment to balance out the other times when I am told I am the meanest Mom that ever lived]

I could go on with more, but you get the idea. These backseat conversations provide a glimpse into the random thoughts that go through the minds of my children. Someday, I hope they will appreciate all the rides from this old, frizzy-haired limousine driver, who if given the chance, would probably opt to keep the privacy window open most of the time.

Today's Favorites

Favorite phase: 6 year old lost his front tooth. The other is loose. He spits when he speaks, but the big teeth can take their time coming in...there's nothing cuter than than that first grader gap! Favorite opportunity seized: My husband was fixing something under my van. Never one to pass up an opportunity to cuddle, our dog...well, the picture explains the rest! Favorite photo from Christmas: because nothing says "Our Family Christmas" like a feeding tube bag on a pole in the middle of the family room. Daddy is reading the Christmas story out of the Bible and everyone's casual dress shows that a. we didn't go to church and b. we embrace the warm climate we live in, even on Christmas. Note the basin nearby as well (oldest has been throwing up for months now...still doing extensive testing to figure out why). We are weary of catching puke and seeing him feel bad. Favorite snack: Wasabi peas! Okay, so you bite into them and you feel like you just sucked chlorinated pool water into your nose, but oh, they are so addicting! Something about the crunch and the rush of the sinus cleanse keeps me coming back for more! There's a guy at our local monthly farmer's market that sells them wholesale, so my friend Monica and I have become regular junkies at his dried fruit and nut table. Okay, so this is not really a favorite...just the reason I need to get off this computer and get some things done around here. This picture is an overdue promise to Sherri, who wanted to see "Mt. Laundry." This is actually a foothill, considering the heights it reaches at certain points in the week. Off to find a favorite download to listen to while I fold! Maybe my new favorite youtube pastor: Francis Chan.

Identity Crisis

I am back after a long furlough! Why the break in blogging? Two reasons:

1. My last blog entry contained lofty goals of refurbishing my blog with a new look and title. After considering changes in the direction of my blog, I have come to the conclusion that there are a bajillion different subjects already covered on blogs all over the world. This lead to my blog identity crisis...I found myself asking why do I blog? Do people really care about the pumpkin bread I brought to the new neighbors or that our guinea pig died of unknown causes? Does anyone really read it? If they do read it, do I want them knowing my innermost thoughts/insecurities? This led me to the thought process in reason #2.

2. For as long as I could read and write, I have kept a journal. Not a diary with a lock, but certainly just as private. The addition of an audience or (gasp) my kids reading what I write just about wears out my backspace button while I am editing! Not that I am introverted or that I have dark secrets to keep, but when I go through pain or trouble in my life, I find myself being protective of my ponderings. Sometimes they seem too sacred to share with curious readers.

So, I am left with a decision to continue my blog and keep the deep stuff for my journal or increase the honesty and depth of my writing on occasion. I think the latter will help me grow more as a person and a writer.

Now, about the direction of Random House. I want to keep it random. Sticking to one subject is just too defined and limiting for my taste. I like the freedom of blogging on "girls' night out" one day and lessons learned in parenting on another. Who knows? Maybe I will eventually dare to publish one of the 5 drafts that I have deemed too private for this blog?

For now, I will leave you with a random picture of my daughter in her duct tape slippers.
So much for depth today.

Thanks, Julie!

This morning, I had a girls' "night" out with a few friends. We decided to do it this way instead of trying to find a night when all of our husbands are home and our kids aren't busy with activities. So, after our kids got off to school, we packed up snacks and headed over for a 10 AM showing of Julie and Julia at my friend Amy's house. Great movie for bloggers and people into food/cooking! I related to Julie since I had a very similar conversation with my husband about the woes of never getting published as a writer. Like Julia's husband, mine sat down with me and got this blog started, probably with some selfish motives to give me another "ear" to bend in addition to his!


I also related to Julia in that I don't finish a lot of things. The picture of my nightstand is an example of this weakness. Those 7 books are the ones I have started over the past year! Not to make excuses for my procrastination tendencies, but I don't usually have opportunities to finish a book, a task, a thought, or a blog entry (for instance, I have already stopped typing this paragraph 4 times to tend to boiling water on the stove, a call from my son's doctor, another call from my husband needing a social security number, and a 6 year old in a graduation robe, holding a light saber, tattling on his sister for calling him a weirdo...is it any wonder I lack focus?).

So, Julie inspired me today to take a fresh look at my blog. Not that I want to copy her idea of cooking through Mastering the Art of French Cooking, but I like the idea of having a reason to blog more regularly. I am throwing around some ideas for a new format and maybe a new title? Something to get me writing on here more in 2010 and be a little more casual in my delivery. Stay tuned...Sherri, Jenelle, and whoever is still reading my discombobulated blog!

The picture on the left is the one I was tempted to use for our Christmas card this year. It really represents who we are more than any professional portrait could convey. We are more of a "prop the point-n-shoot camera on top of a trash can/bar stool pyramid" kind of a family. We didn't plan our outfits. They were just what we wore to church one morning and we gave ourselves credit for taking the photos before we all changed into our Sunday football-watching lounge wear.

Two good samaritans pulled over to offer their assistance during our photo shoot. I guess the vicarious trash can/bar stool "tripod" in our driveway looked pretty desperate. We politely thanked them, but as my husband pointed out, it wasn't the camera, but rather the uncooperative subjects in the picture that we needed help with!

About 15 photos into our session, we were able to capture the acceptable moment in the picture on the right. I took my memory stick to CVS and ordered 60 photocards, but then "Martha" (see previous blog entry if you don't know who she is) reared her ugly head. She convinced me the photo was not going to measure up to the sepia-tinted designer cards that would be arriving in the mail. So, I promptly cancelled my CVS order and announced to my family that I would not be sending cards this year.

"But we posed like you asked," they protested.
"Yeah, well, I don't like sending cards and I don't want to spend the time and money on a picture we threw together at the last minute," I explained.

Today's mail provided me with enough conviction to give "Martha" a good smackdown for the remainder of the Christmas season. There were three cards from friends who threw in a last minute snap shot of themselves. Nothing professional, but the pictures touched my heart because they contained the faces of people I love. Then, there was the card with the hand written note from my mother in-law: "Every good and perfect gift comes from our Father above. You and your children are our gifts. What a blessing you have been."

I picked up our front porch photos again and thought about our Christmas cards with a new perspective. I didn't see last minute photos taken on top of a trash can. I saw us all together. I saw genuine smiles of a family who is most comfortable at home. I saw the joy on Jake's face as he looks up at his family gathered around him. These are my gifts and blessings from above.

So, on Wednesday I will be picking up a re-order of 60 glossy photocards of the photo on the right. What a family...and I never even mentioned that chihuahua in a Santa suit...love her!

Botched Batches of Bread

She didn't mean to do it. My thoughtful daughter innocently stated, "Mom, we should make some brownies for the new neighbors across the street."

"Mhhmm," I remember grunting, as I held a hair band in my teeth while I managed a braid, a sandwich, and a tube feeding with two hands. A typical morning in this house of randomness!

"Did you get the brownie mix?" she asked upon returning from school that day.

"No..." [insert disappointed look on daughter's face] "...but I have some canned pumpkin. We can just make some pumpkin bread," I replied, feeling pretty proud of myself for coming up with the perfect fall welcome basket on a whim. How very festive of me. My new neighbors will be so impressed, I thought.

Our new neighbors have been in their house for 17 days now. I have not met them and I have 4 loaves of homemade pumpkin bread, none of which have made it across the street. Here is why:

I have this inner perfectionist in my head that I forget to shush sometimes. I will refer to her as "Martha" since that is the name of two over-the-top women who cannot be content with making brownies from a box (one has the last name Stewart and the other is biblical Martha, rebuked by Jesus for being distracted by dinner preparations and not choosing the better thing...that is, sitting at His feet).

This is the little "Martha" voice that said to me, "No, that loaf is too dark, try again."

It's also the one that suggested during attempt #2, "Double the batch this time...then you can take some to the new neighbors, the friends next door, and have some waiting when hubby arrives home from work...oh, it will be a glorious Norman Rockwell moment!" When the double batch didn't rise and turned out as two flat loaves, "Martha's" only suggestion was, "Not good enough for the neighbors, try again."

Attempt #3 on pumpkin bread was tonight...somehow, while calling out spelling words to the first grader and answering phone calls from the traveling husband, I was able to create a pumpkin bread that was just the right color and thickness...it was (dare I say it?) perfect! Only, when I went to deliver it, the sun had gone down and my new neighbors had only a bedroom light on. Besides, I try to not make a habit of knocking on doors after dark.

So, in my kitchen, sits a large plastic tub, containing three botched batches of pumpkin bread. The loaf of perfection is wrapped neatly in saran wrap and holiday ribbon, awaiting a time tomorrow when we will put on smiles and greet our new neighbors. As they comment on how nice it was and I reply that it was no trouble at all, one of my children will likely blurt out the truth about how many loaves I had to make to get it right.

Ugg...will I ever learn to just shut "Martha" up and make the boxed brownies?