Dear Murphy:
We've never been the best of friends. (Do you even have a BFF?) (Or would that be Aunt Flo?) (Yeh, probably.)
While I can take things like rain on soccer game days, and your BFF showing up on vacation (which is just mean, and you can tell her that I said so), and even things like chocolate always landing in the dog dish, thereby rendering it completely inedible. But today? Today was totally uncalled for.
As if we didn't have enough to overcome, what with The Boy Who Runs Nekkid Outdoors When We're Not Looking living here and all. We're further pegged as *that* family with The Boy With Two Broken Arms, and The Girl Being Homeschooled So That It Totally Looks Like We're Trying To Hide A Teen Pregnancy. So why did you have to add today to that list? We'll never be able to hold our heads up in public.
Sending the TV repairman to fix our bedroom TV 30 seconds after I totally befouled the master bath was just wrong. We probably have a black mark on our chart at the office now. (Or would that be a brown mark?)
I especially like how you made it a point to have the dog mill at the bottom of the stairs waiting for the nice man to return to their world, thereby making him ask if the dogs weren't allowed upstairs. Touche. Nice touch.
If our cable bill goes up next month to compensate for that man's therapy bill, I'm forwarding it on to you, Murphy.
I Don't Love You,
Me.
What's On *Your* Shelf?
Micah sits on the floor, dancing Woody up and down, the plastic boots clacking loudly on the hardwood. Around him are more of the Round Up Gang and cars of every size and description. Dress-up clothes are strewn around the house, cast aside as he changes from a pirate to a cowboy to a princess.
These are toys that all the kids have played with over the years. The ones that have lasted through all the holiday purges, that haven't managed to break, that have been loved dearly. We keep these because they hand down so well from older to younger, and as long as we have a child willing to play with them, they'll be here.
Our very first Woody doll was purchased as a Christmas gift to Becky when she was 2 years old. That same doll was loved by Becky, then Josh and Luke before being handed down to Micah. Micah played with Woody for a few years before his age finally won out and we put the toy into retirement in a box in my closet. Some toys should never be thrown out. There are too many memories. That Woody was replaced, of course, and the collection has grown to unreal proportions. There is an entire toy bin dedicated to the Woody Collection.
Josh got a semi truck for his birthday one year. He was just a toddler. It's so large that kids can sit on it and ride it around, or fill the trailer with half the toybox's contents, or use it to move Barbie next door. That truck has been shoved down the stairs, ridden up the gravel drive, left outside for an entire summer, and abused in every way imaginable. The back doors are lost, but otherwise it's as good as new.
Dress up clothes have been a staple in our house for years. I'll never forget the year we realized it was all girly clothes that Josh was forced to don, so we gifted him gender specific dress up clothes for Christmas. It was incredibly fun at Salvation Army, pulling the most heinous things off the rack and loudly yelling down the aisle "look what I found! It's perfect!" (The suit coat I'm referencing is actually one of the kids very favorites. I didn't want there to be any question that it was dress-up when I found it lying on the floor at the end of the day, hence the ugly.) We've tossed in Halloween costumes every year to add to our collection, and the two youngest boys still play in that box daily.
Toys that withstand the test of time. Maybe that's why Toy Story resonates with families so well. The toys that are loved through generations of kids are the ones that I have a hard time getting rid of. I have plans to put a shelf in the sewing room, way up high, to hold all the things the kids eventually outgrew but I didn't. You can bet Woody will have a place of honor there.
What would be on your shelf?
These are toys that all the kids have played with over the years. The ones that have lasted through all the holiday purges, that haven't managed to break, that have been loved dearly. We keep these because they hand down so well from older to younger, and as long as we have a child willing to play with them, they'll be here.
Our very first Woody doll was purchased as a Christmas gift to Becky when she was 2 years old. That same doll was loved by Becky, then Josh and Luke before being handed down to Micah. Micah played with Woody for a few years before his age finally won out and we put the toy into retirement in a box in my closet. Some toys should never be thrown out. There are too many memories. That Woody was replaced, of course, and the collection has grown to unreal proportions. There is an entire toy bin dedicated to the Woody Collection.
Josh got a semi truck for his birthday one year. He was just a toddler. It's so large that kids can sit on it and ride it around, or fill the trailer with half the toybox's contents, or use it to move Barbie next door. That truck has been shoved down the stairs, ridden up the gravel drive, left outside for an entire summer, and abused in every way imaginable. The back doors are lost, but otherwise it's as good as new.
Dress up clothes have been a staple in our house for years. I'll never forget the year we realized it was all girly clothes that Josh was forced to don, so we gifted him gender specific dress up clothes for Christmas. It was incredibly fun at Salvation Army, pulling the most heinous things off the rack and loudly yelling down the aisle "look what I found! It's perfect!" (The suit coat I'm referencing is actually one of the kids very favorites. I didn't want there to be any question that it was dress-up when I found it lying on the floor at the end of the day, hence the ugly.) We've tossed in Halloween costumes every year to add to our collection, and the two youngest boys still play in that box daily.
Toys that withstand the test of time. Maybe that's why Toy Story resonates with families so well. The toys that are loved through generations of kids are the ones that I have a hard time getting rid of. I have plans to put a shelf in the sewing room, way up high, to hold all the things the kids eventually outgrew but I didn't. You can bet Woody will have a place of honor there.
What would be on your shelf?
Of Apples and Trees, And Guns For Good Measure
When I was in high school, I was quite the tomboy. (I know. Shocker.) I spent my time in the stable or in the woods, and when I realized that hunting gave me a good excuse to be in the woods AND produce something worthwhile, I grabbed my gun and headed to the woods after school. (The squirrels that didn't make it into the cooking pot were used to train my dog for hunting. That didn't really work out the way I had planned, just for the record. He was a non-hunter.)
I was a good shot. Really. I scored 110% in rifle in high school, gaining the extra edge by outshooting the teacher in a round-off. (He wasn't happy about that, also for the record.) (And yes, we had rifle in high school, didn't you?) Generally, I hit what I shot at, provided it was a squirrel. For some odd reason I couldn't hit a flying bird to save my life. I could shoot a running rabbit, but not hit a bird. Regardless, whether a squirrel was quietly sitting there watching me, or scampering around the tree trunk, if it was in my sights, it was as good as dinner.
Except that one. The one that lived in the tree just above the cow path along the creek. The red squirrel that really wasn't big enough to be shooting at anyway. For some odd reason, I didn't hit it that night when I was out hunting. And weirdly, I saw the same squirrel the next night, and it managed to live that night, too. And the next. And then it became a vendetta that I kill that squirrel.
I never did. I bagged other squirrels, and the occasional rabbit, but never that one red squirrel in that tree above the cow path by the creek. By the end of the season, I was glad about this. I would have been sad to have seen that friend die.
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We have chipmunks in our backyard. While these happy little things roam unchecked over our patio and in and out of the kennels, they are harmless enough and as long as they remain harmless, I'm content to watch their roamings with a chuckle.
Luke, however, is not. Those chipmunks are a challenge to him like my red squirrel was to me. I have lost count of the times that boy has grabbed his BB gun, rushed out the patio door, and come back in vowing to get it the next time. He has planned snares, and traps, and talks of filling their holes up with them inside. And he's forever running out the door with his gun, but coming in empty-handed again and again.
He has met his nemesis, and it is red, furry, and striped.
I laugh on the inside, and encourage him to keep trying. It's like watching my younger self from a third person view.
I was a good shot. Really. I scored 110% in rifle in high school, gaining the extra edge by outshooting the teacher in a round-off. (He wasn't happy about that, also for the record.) (And yes, we had rifle in high school, didn't you?) Generally, I hit what I shot at, provided it was a squirrel. For some odd reason I couldn't hit a flying bird to save my life. I could shoot a running rabbit, but not hit a bird. Regardless, whether a squirrel was quietly sitting there watching me, or scampering around the tree trunk, if it was in my sights, it was as good as dinner.
Except that one. The one that lived in the tree just above the cow path along the creek. The red squirrel that really wasn't big enough to be shooting at anyway. For some odd reason, I didn't hit it that night when I was out hunting. And weirdly, I saw the same squirrel the next night, and it managed to live that night, too. And the next. And then it became a vendetta that I kill that squirrel.
I never did. I bagged other squirrels, and the occasional rabbit, but never that one red squirrel in that tree above the cow path by the creek. By the end of the season, I was glad about this. I would have been sad to have seen that friend die.
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We have chipmunks in our backyard. While these happy little things roam unchecked over our patio and in and out of the kennels, they are harmless enough and as long as they remain harmless, I'm content to watch their roamings with a chuckle.
Luke, however, is not. Those chipmunks are a challenge to him like my red squirrel was to me. I have lost count of the times that boy has grabbed his BB gun, rushed out the patio door, and come back in vowing to get it the next time. He has planned snares, and traps, and talks of filling their holes up with them inside. And he's forever running out the door with his gun, but coming in empty-handed again and again.
He has met his nemesis, and it is red, furry, and striped.
I laugh on the inside, and encourage him to keep trying. It's like watching my younger self from a third person view.
Conversation With Boys
I asked the boys how their school day was while we were eating dinner. Most of the time I never hear what I'm looking for. Like this conversation.
How was your day today, Luke?
I had to go to the bathroom.
Is that unusual?
It is when you have the Big D.
Oh. Are you sick?
I don't think so. But it wasn't fun in the bathroom. I was sitting there doing my business when all of a sudden things let loose and it was a huge BWOOSH so I pulled my feet up so nobody would see them under the door when they heard it, but then it was really hard to reach the toilet paper with my feet balanced on the toilet paper container and I had to try to balance myself without my feet being seen under the door. That wasn't fun.
*blink*
You never know where a conversation with a 9 year old boy will lead.
How was your day today, Luke?
I had to go to the bathroom.
Is that unusual?
It is when you have the Big D.
Oh. Are you sick?
I don't think so. But it wasn't fun in the bathroom. I was sitting there doing my business when all of a sudden things let loose and it was a huge BWOOSH so I pulled my feet up so nobody would see them under the door when they heard it, but then it was really hard to reach the toilet paper with my feet balanced on the toilet paper container and I had to try to balance myself without my feet being seen under the door. That wasn't fun.
*blink*
You never know where a conversation with a 9 year old boy will lead.
Saturday Shots
Silly Banded
Such Big Eyes You Have
Daddy's Hand
On The Tip of My Tongue
Cotton and Casts
The Timing Was Stellar
Micah got off the bus yesterday with a small scratch on the end of his nose. Not a biggie, just not something he went to school with that morning. The note in his folder said that he got scissors out of his box just as an aide reached to help him. They were unsure whether the scissors or a fingernail scratched him, but that's what happened. No biggie. These things will happen, you know.
Today that small scratch scabbed twice as wide as it was the day before. It's considerably darker, too. There's no missing that red streak on his nose when you glance his way. And tonight as he was getting ready for bed, he noticed that scratched nose in the mirror.
He touched it. Nothing happened. He bumped his nose to the nose in the mirror. It didn't help. He put his tongue out and tried licking it off. It was ineffective at removing the scratch (and even reaching up to it) but it sure did elicit some grins from me. Nothing he did would take that scratch off.
I wanted to take a picture of it, for memory's sake you know. He gave the camera the blank stare that I've learned to hate. I tried again. He covered his nose with his hand. It took some coaxing to get him to move the hand. I had no idea he was that self-conscious of things.
Good thing he didn't discover that scratch until this evening, hours after school pictures today.
Today that small scratch scabbed twice as wide as it was the day before. It's considerably darker, too. There's no missing that red streak on his nose when you glance his way. And tonight as he was getting ready for bed, he noticed that scratched nose in the mirror.
He touched it. Nothing happened. He bumped his nose to the nose in the mirror. It didn't help. He put his tongue out and tried licking it off. It was ineffective at removing the scratch (and even reaching up to it) but it sure did elicit some grins from me. Nothing he did would take that scratch off.
I wanted to take a picture of it, for memory's sake you know. He gave the camera the blank stare that I've learned to hate. I tried again. He covered his nose with his hand. It took some coaxing to get him to move the hand. I had no idea he was that self-conscious of things.
Good thing he didn't discover that scratch until this evening, hours after school pictures today.
Stylin' His Way
Micah called Shotgun the other day in the van. Considering that he's not technically allowed to ride shotgun, I only allowed it because we were going to my mom's house across the road. Our driveway is longer than the road we took to get there. Still, you'd have thought that I gave Micah a lifetime ticket to a buffet the way he grinned and laughed.
He did what Big People do when they sit in the front seat; he put on sunglasses. He tried mine on and deemed them Not Satisfactory. He tried daddy's on and while they were fun a bit longer than mommy's were, they were quickly declared Lacking. He reached behind the seat and pulled out his own pair. They were Just Right.
He grinned, and giggled, and touched my arm to be sure that I was looking at his stellar shades. The ones that are pink, with sparkles and Disney princesses on them.
I have no idea where the boy got those things, but he is incredibly proud of them. He wears them all the time, those pink, sparkly princess shades. He is sure that he's as cool in those as Paris Hilton is in hers. Maybe cooler. It takes some moxie to pull those off, and he does it well. Like the time he wore them with shorts and cowboy boots.
Micah has a style of his own, there's no denying it. I love that boy.
He did what Big People do when they sit in the front seat; he put on sunglasses. He tried mine on and deemed them Not Satisfactory. He tried daddy's on and while they were fun a bit longer than mommy's were, they were quickly declared Lacking. He reached behind the seat and pulled out his own pair. They were Just Right.
He grinned, and giggled, and touched my arm to be sure that I was looking at his stellar shades. The ones that are pink, with sparkles and Disney princesses on them.
I have no idea where the boy got those things, but he is incredibly proud of them. He wears them all the time, those pink, sparkly princess shades. He is sure that he's as cool in those as Paris Hilton is in hers. Maybe cooler. It takes some moxie to pull those off, and he does it well. Like the time he wore them with shorts and cowboy boots.
Micah has a style of his own, there's no denying it. I love that boy.
Hot Date on a Friday Night
We built this house six years ago, which is still a recent memory in our minds. It was a very long and traumatic year for us, as anyone who builds a house can testify to. Because we are all about saving a dollar, we did all the work ourselves. Sam helped a framing crew, then we dismissed them as he finished things himself, with help from family. There were a few other jobs we hired out like drywalling and trimwork, but mostly Sam worked on the house and I worked behind the scenes coordinating lumber deliveries, hiring the extra help, payroll for said help, ordering, and working with the bank.
Despite the fact that I spent thousands of dollars per day (literally) at Lowe's or Home Depot (or both), we generally ended up at Lowe's on Friday night looking for that fitting, or this bolt, or buying more outlet boxes. (Which we don't have enough of, for future reference. One can never have enough outlets in a home. Period.) It got to the point that we were at Lowe's more than we were at Walmart, and that's a lot. (It's the only store in town.)
The kids quickly learned to hate Lowe's. That's how it came about that we let the kids with my parents when we headed to the Best Store Ever for a few hours of looking for nails and wiring. This became a weekly ritual, leaving the kids with grandparents and heading to Lowe's.
Now that we've finished the house and moved in, we're realized what homeowners the world over already know. The housework is never done. And I'm not talking about dusting and mopping. This faucet needs fixed. That joint needs re-done. The trim needs replaced that the dog ate. We still get a little too excited when we leave the kids at home (a teenage daughter that babysits, FTW!) and head to Lowe's.
Hi, we're an old married couple and we take hot dates to a home improvement store. Try not to be jealous.
Despite the fact that I spent thousands of dollars per day (literally) at Lowe's or Home Depot (or both), we generally ended up at Lowe's on Friday night looking for that fitting, or this bolt, or buying more outlet boxes. (Which we don't have enough of, for future reference. One can never have enough outlets in a home. Period.) It got to the point that we were at Lowe's more than we were at Walmart, and that's a lot. (It's the only store in town.)
The kids quickly learned to hate Lowe's. That's how it came about that we let the kids with my parents when we headed to the Best Store Ever for a few hours of looking for nails and wiring. This became a weekly ritual, leaving the kids with grandparents and heading to Lowe's.
Now that we've finished the house and moved in, we're realized what homeowners the world over already know. The housework is never done. And I'm not talking about dusting and mopping. This faucet needs fixed. That joint needs re-done. The trim needs replaced that the dog ate. We still get a little too excited when we leave the kids at home (a teenage daughter that babysits, FTW!) and head to Lowe's.
Hi, we're an old married couple and we take hot dates to a home improvement store. Try not to be jealous.
You Never Have To Teach THOSE Things
Micah isn't big on affection. At least not toward the family. He'll hug total strangers and his compadres, but not mom or dad. We're simply here to serve him, and we'd better snap to it. When he's not feeling well he gets snuggly, which is nice right up until you realize that he's only hugging you to wipe his nose on your shirt. (True story.)
When I sit down with him and try to enjoy just being together, he either wiggles away in 1.8 seconds or turns it into wrestlefest. I swear the boy thinks I'm his own personal jungle gym. I just don't get that one on one time with him that I did with the other kids when they were in the toddler stage.
You can imagine, then, that random hugs are a very nice thing indeed. Just like the one I got the other day. Out of the blue, as I was doing the dishes, Micah walked up and gave me a hug. It was heartfelt, too. And not just a quick hug-and-run either.
And then he stepped back and asked for milk to drink. That stinker. When did he learn that buttering me up gets him exactly what he wants?
When I sit down with him and try to enjoy just being together, he either wiggles away in 1.8 seconds or turns it into wrestlefest. I swear the boy thinks I'm his own personal jungle gym. I just don't get that one on one time with him that I did with the other kids when they were in the toddler stage.
You can imagine, then, that random hugs are a very nice thing indeed. Just like the one I got the other day. Out of the blue, as I was doing the dishes, Micah walked up and gave me a hug. It was heartfelt, too. And not just a quick hug-and-run either.
And then he stepped back and asked for milk to drink. That stinker. When did he learn that buttering me up gets him exactly what he wants?
Humor In The Hands of Fate
I was in the sewing room this morning when Josh walked in. "Me and Micah managed to get my underwear up, but can you help me with my shorts?" There is something wrong with life when your disabled, seven year old brother has to help you use the facilities. Having both arms incapacitated is way more difficult than one would think.
Not that one ever thinks of these kind of things, of course. Josh did say that he's pretended his foot was broken, or an arm, and tried to get through different scenarios, but never with two arms broken. I'm not sure what's more disturbing; the fact that the boy thinks about breaking bones and getting through the day like that, or the fact that he's now relying on his brother to help get him dressed. (You know, the brother that sometimes needs help getting dressed himself.)
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Ironically, at dinner the night before Josh had the accident, we were talking about one of his school classes called Invention and Innovation. (I know. Talk about the New Age movement. What the heck kind of class is that anyway? And why is it useful in society? Unless you plan to invent things, but that's such a long shot in the game of life. I mean, I'm all for encouraging creativity, but really? You waste my kid's time and my tax money on Invention and Innovation? Why not something useful like, I don't know, MATH?) (End rant.) One of the things someone came up with was the Wipe-O-Matic. We got quite the chuckle out of the toilet paper roll mounted on the toilet tank, running down and across the seat, and unrolled by a foot pedal on the floor.
This was also a topic of great amusement to us as Josh was laying on a hospital bed in the ER. We didn't realize at the time that it was going to be an invention we wished we had just the next day. Maybe Invention and Innovation isn't that big of a waste of time as I originally gave it credit for.
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To help with the boredom of a boy who's an outdoor enthusiast (he got injured racing pedal bikes in a cow pasture, for heaven's sake) I took him into town today to rent some movies and get lunch. He chose Chinese. Those fortune cookies are always fun to crack open and read, but 94.8% of the time they are vague, mean nothing, and certainly don't apply to your life in the least. Today was providential.
Mine read, "There is never an ordinary day in your life." Heh. Isn't that the truth?
Josh's read, "You never appreciate water until the well is dry." Also truth.
That was weird. Two fortunes that couldn't be more applicable.
Not that one ever thinks of these kind of things, of course. Josh did say that he's pretended his foot was broken, or an arm, and tried to get through different scenarios, but never with two arms broken. I'm not sure what's more disturbing; the fact that the boy thinks about breaking bones and getting through the day like that, or the fact that he's now relying on his brother to help get him dressed. (You know, the brother that sometimes needs help getting dressed himself.)
*********************
Ironically, at dinner the night before Josh had the accident, we were talking about one of his school classes called Invention and Innovation. (I know. Talk about the New Age movement. What the heck kind of class is that anyway? And why is it useful in society? Unless you plan to invent things, but that's such a long shot in the game of life. I mean, I'm all for encouraging creativity, but really? You waste my kid's time and my tax money on Invention and Innovation? Why not something useful like, I don't know, MATH?) (End rant.) One of the things someone came up with was the Wipe-O-Matic. We got quite the chuckle out of the toilet paper roll mounted on the toilet tank, running down and across the seat, and unrolled by a foot pedal on the floor.
This was also a topic of great amusement to us as Josh was laying on a hospital bed in the ER. We didn't realize at the time that it was going to be an invention we wished we had just the next day. Maybe Invention and Innovation isn't that big of a waste of time as I originally gave it credit for.
************************
To help with the boredom of a boy who's an outdoor enthusiast (he got injured racing pedal bikes in a cow pasture, for heaven's sake) I took him into town today to rent some movies and get lunch. He chose Chinese. Those fortune cookies are always fun to crack open and read, but 94.8% of the time they are vague, mean nothing, and certainly don't apply to your life in the least. Today was providential.
Mine read, "There is never an ordinary day in your life." Heh. Isn't that the truth?
Josh's read, "You never appreciate water until the well is dry." Also truth.
That was weird. Two fortunes that couldn't be more applicable.
And Then I Smiled Out Loud
Luke has been saving his money for quite some time for Big Important Things. The Big Important Things change all the time, ranging from an iPod touch to a Wii to Something, I Just Haven't Decided What Yet. For a 9 year old boy, he actually had a good bit saved. Especially considering that his birthday is in December and he made this resolve over summer, well past any holiday "freebie" earnings.
Being a parent, I tried to help him as much as I could. While he does chores around here because he's a member of the family and everyone chips in, I paid him to do extras on occasion. It was about this time that I had my first and only pedicure (oh, heaven! The bliss!) but quickly realized that while I could get used to that, it's not really in my budget to be a regular basis kind of thing. I paid Luke to give me a pedicure every week or so. It wasn't quite professional quality, but at $2 per pedi, I really didn't expect that. It was a win-win for both of us.
When a missionary came to our church last month, Luke was very generous with his giving. In fact, he gave nearly all his hard earned and well saved money. I didn't discourage him. I will never discourage my kids from sharing with those that need. I was proud of Luke for recognizing that someone needed his money more than he did, and willingly gave.
So today Luke asked me if I needed a pedicure any time soon. I did, actually, but knew there was something motivating him.
"Sure, I could use one. Why?"
I'd like to buy a video game for Josh as a get well gift.
"That's very kind and thoughtful."
How much does a video game cost, do you know?
"I'd guess it depends on what you get. There's probably a range of prices."
Well I don't have much money and I'd like to get him one soon.
"I know you do, buddy. But Josh can't play video games right now anyway so you can wait for a little bit while you save."
That boy, he makes my heart smile.
Being a parent, I tried to help him as much as I could. While he does chores around here because he's a member of the family and everyone chips in, I paid him to do extras on occasion. It was about this time that I had my first and only pedicure (oh, heaven! The bliss!) but quickly realized that while I could get used to that, it's not really in my budget to be a regular basis kind of thing. I paid Luke to give me a pedicure every week or so. It wasn't quite professional quality, but at $2 per pedi, I really didn't expect that. It was a win-win for both of us.
When a missionary came to our church last month, Luke was very generous with his giving. In fact, he gave nearly all his hard earned and well saved money. I didn't discourage him. I will never discourage my kids from sharing with those that need. I was proud of Luke for recognizing that someone needed his money more than he did, and willingly gave.
So today Luke asked me if I needed a pedicure any time soon. I did, actually, but knew there was something motivating him.
"Sure, I could use one. Why?"
I'd like to buy a video game for Josh as a get well gift.
"That's very kind and thoughtful."
How much does a video game cost, do you know?
"I'd guess it depends on what you get. There's probably a range of prices."
Well I don't have much money and I'd like to get him one soon.
"I know you do, buddy. But Josh can't play video games right now anyway so you can wait for a little bit while you save."
That boy, he makes my heart smile.
Tonight On ER...
I was simply exhuasted from today and looking forward to going to bed early. That's probably why Josh came back from a biking expidition with his arm stuck over his head. He said when his bike hit a massive groundhog hole and he flipped out over the handlebars, he used his arm to push himself off the ground but the pain was so bad that he didn't want to lower it again. And also his wrist hurt.
I ushered him right back out the door and we ran in to the ER. Two hours later we have Vicodin, Advil, an Ace bandage, 2 slings, an excuse to be off school the rest of the week, 2 ice packs, AND a free hospital gown. (This may or may not resurface as a Halloween outfit.)
He's got this happening (see the small arrow - those two bones should be one):
Poor kiddo. I''m just hoping the pills are strong enough to allow him some sleep tonight. We'll be seeing the Ortho tomorrow to set the wrist. The worst thing of all is the fact that we're looking at the right shoulder and left wrist.
The doctor called Josh an overachiever. I call him flat-out brave. There were very little tears, and a whole wheelbarrow load of pain.
I ushered him right back out the door and we ran in to the ER. Two hours later we have Vicodin, Advil, an Ace bandage, 2 slings, an excuse to be off school the rest of the week, 2 ice packs, AND a free hospital gown. (This may or may not resurface as a Halloween outfit.)
He's got this happening (see the small arrow - those two bones should be one):
And he's got this going on (there's a small line at the arrows - another fracture):
The doctor called Josh an overachiever. I call him flat-out brave. There were very little tears, and a whole wheelbarrow load of pain.
Loved to Pieces
I'm not sure if we're considered Andy's house or Sid's house. I mean, there is no doubt that Woody is a loved toy here, but the abuse that cowboy takes on a daily basis would frighten any other toy into hiding under the bed forever.
High five to the one who recognizes what he's doing with Woody, and what film it's from.
And the worst. As I was cleaning up today, Broken Nose Woody is now Missing Eye Woody. Freaky. And yet, still Micah's favorite Woody.
It's Going to be my Second Favorite Holiday to Decorate For
I love fall, it is my very favorite season of the year. I start my decorating in September, generally the week the kids go back to school. I break out the colored leaves and the scarecrows and the autumn decor. The house is an extension of the great outdoors. Those stay up until after Thanksgiving, and are then replaced with Christmas decor. I've gotten some mileage out of the autumn decor because we don't decorate for Halloween. You won't find witches or skulls or ghosts here.
This year the kids decided that we needed to do something about that. This year, we are decorating for Halloween. Being the do-it-yourself variety, and being on a tight budget this year, we are making our new Halloween fun.
Our first project was a graveyard. The key pieces are the tombstones, of course, and I had an idea. Sam is a man-hoarder, which sometimes bothers me when his stuff encroaches into my space, but today I was glad of it. We raided his basement and found a piece of 2" styrofoam insulation. It's the super special kind with gray paper on both sides. Here's what we did:
1. Assemble materials.
2. Carefully measure and mark lines for cutting.
3. Cut. Ginsu is awesome for slicing through insulation. A jigsaw would be too, if the blade could be found.
4. Once cut, draw the shape for each stone.
5. Cut shapes, and add any cracks or chips that you feel would add character.
7. Hand letter the stones, taking great care to have fun with the names and epitaphs. If Micah helps, it just adds character to an old stone. Win.
8. Spray black around the edges of the stones to give an old look, and randomly add spray lines through the middle. I also highlighted the nicks and cracks with the paint. Super cool.
9. Set in garden, add lighting, dig a fresh grave, and wait for the screams to begin.
10. Watch the kids swell with pride in a job well done, and smile from the inside out knowing that a together project is the best way to do Halloween.
Also done while working on this project were the black rats. That's just oaktag-style paper (weird name, I've always thought) cut and painted. Duck Tape works wonders at hanging, but I'll get back to you on whether or not it was a good idea to place those outdoors rather than in.
Do you have a DIY project to share for Halloween? Link me up! We obviously are in need of more decor.
This year the kids decided that we needed to do something about that. This year, we are decorating for Halloween. Being the do-it-yourself variety, and being on a tight budget this year, we are making our new Halloween fun.
Our first project was a graveyard. The key pieces are the tombstones, of course, and I had an idea. Sam is a man-hoarder, which sometimes bothers me when his stuff encroaches into my space, but today I was glad of it. We raided his basement and found a piece of 2" styrofoam insulation. It's the super special kind with gray paper on both sides. Here's what we did:
1. Assemble materials.
2. Carefully measure and mark lines for cutting.
3. Cut. Ginsu is awesome for slicing through insulation. A jigsaw would be too, if the blade could be found.
4. Once cut, draw the shape for each stone.
5. Cut shapes, and add any cracks or chips that you feel would add character.
6. Spray paint the sides to hide the yellow insulation.
7. Hand letter the stones, taking great care to have fun with the names and epitaphs. If Micah helps, it just adds character to an old stone. Win.
8. Spray black around the edges of the stones to give an old look, and randomly add spray lines through the middle. I also highlighted the nicks and cracks with the paint. Super cool.
9. Set in garden, add lighting, dig a fresh grave, and wait for the screams to begin.
10. Watch the kids swell with pride in a job well done, and smile from the inside out knowing that a together project is the best way to do Halloween.
Also done while working on this project were the black rats. That's just oaktag-style paper (weird name, I've always thought) cut and painted. Duck Tape works wonders at hanging, but I'll get back to you on whether or not it was a good idea to place those outdoors rather than in.
Do you have a DIY project to share for Halloween? Link me up! We obviously are in need of more decor.
The Odds Are One In A Bazillionty Seventeen
So I'm at the school yesterday to pick Micah up for speech therapy, and I had to park the whole way across the lot because apparently it was Everyone And Their Brother Day at the elementary, and I'm hiking the quarter mile back to the school when I feel this thing on my leg. I reach down and brush at my ankle, but it just doesn't seem to help. Not having an abundance of time on my hands, and not wanting to look like an idiot in the parking lot trying to rid myself of an invisible something on my leg, I simply ignored The Thing and walked to the school.
I picked up my boy, waved to the teacher across the library, chatted with his aide, signed him out at the office, and we hiked back to the van together. On the hike back, I felt a tickle at my ankle again. That Thing was still there. It was triggered by the windy day. It almost felt like a hair, but it would be quite long. How weird would it be if I missed a hair at one spot on my leg every time I shaved? And that hair grew so long that it would wave in the wind when I walked?
Very weird, that's how weird.
We got to the van, I strapped Micah into his carseat, we chose a CD to play on our short jaunt across town, and I plopped myself into the driver's seat. Before I forgot, I checked my ankle to see what on earth was tickling.
People, I will never in my entire life understand how I missed one hair on my left leg every time I shaved for so long that it grew to be nearly an inch long. What are the odds of that happening? And rest assured, I made a beeline for the razor the minute I got home.
I'm a wee bit mortified over this, so don't tell anyone. It'll be our secret.
I picked up my boy, waved to the teacher across the library, chatted with his aide, signed him out at the office, and we hiked back to the van together. On the hike back, I felt a tickle at my ankle again. That Thing was still there. It was triggered by the windy day. It almost felt like a hair, but it would be quite long. How weird would it be if I missed a hair at one spot on my leg every time I shaved? And that hair grew so long that it would wave in the wind when I walked?
Very weird, that's how weird.
We got to the van, I strapped Micah into his carseat, we chose a CD to play on our short jaunt across town, and I plopped myself into the driver's seat. Before I forgot, I checked my ankle to see what on earth was tickling.
People, I will never in my entire life understand how I missed one hair on my left leg every time I shaved for so long that it grew to be nearly an inch long. What are the odds of that happening? And rest assured, I made a beeline for the razor the minute I got home.
I'm a wee bit mortified over this, so don't tell anyone. It'll be our secret.
I'm Just Being Honest Here, Mostly Because I Don't Know What Else To Be
Micah has been in second grade for six days now. He has a new teacher this year, which is a change. He's had the same teacher for the past 2 years and we expected this to be a bit different for him. Difficult, even. He takes change fairly well, all things considered, but one must remember that part of his disability gives him some autistic tendencies. Changes of big kinds can be taken in stride, small ones may flip his world. Or vice versa. There seems to be no rhyme or reason with our boy, and that also seems to be a character trait of his disability.
The first day of school went very well, and we kind of sighed with relief. That sigh was premature. Things deteriorated quickly after that. By the third day Micah was in time out, and it seems to be the norm daily. Both he and the teacher are frustrated with each other, and I know this from the notes that she sends home.
I'm not blaming the teacher. I'm not blaming Micah. I'm not blaming anything on anyone. What I am doing is lamenting the fact that this will probably be the new normal with Micah. I fear that as he gets older it will be more difficult to determine exactly where he is, or where he should be, and what to do with him as a student.
In church, we've kept him back in the preschool class because that seemed to be more of his ability level. He's getting rather large, physically, for that class. When he plays he sometimes throws his weight around, and considering he weighs twice what some of the other kids do (literally) it can be a problem. His friends are moving up as they get older, and he is still in preschool. Are we doing right by him? Are we holding him back?
I moved him up to the first and second grade class for Wednesday night kids' club. I thought he would enjoy moving up with his peers. He didn't understand why he couldn't go back to the preschool class, and cried. Is it too much change with school and now kids' club? Should we acclimate him in one area before advancing in all areas? Should we just assume he'll have a bit of transition but will be fine in a few weeks, because it's only what all kids go through?
When Micah was a year old, I asked the pediatrician if I could give him strawberries and fish, or should we wait until his mental age reached a one year old's level? I mean, if several different aspects of him were developing slower, would his digestive system be behind as well? Should we risk the allergies? The doctor had no idea what the answer would be to that question.
That seems to be the recurring theme in this parenting journey with Micah. Nobody seems to know what to do with Micah, or where to place him, or what to expect from him at this stage in life. Sadly, we're right there with the Nobodies.
I need an instruction manual. And a whole lot of prayer time.
The first day of school went very well, and we kind of sighed with relief. That sigh was premature. Things deteriorated quickly after that. By the third day Micah was in time out, and it seems to be the norm daily. Both he and the teacher are frustrated with each other, and I know this from the notes that she sends home.
I'm not blaming the teacher. I'm not blaming Micah. I'm not blaming anything on anyone. What I am doing is lamenting the fact that this will probably be the new normal with Micah. I fear that as he gets older it will be more difficult to determine exactly where he is, or where he should be, and what to do with him as a student.
In church, we've kept him back in the preschool class because that seemed to be more of his ability level. He's getting rather large, physically, for that class. When he plays he sometimes throws his weight around, and considering he weighs twice what some of the other kids do (literally) it can be a problem. His friends are moving up as they get older, and he is still in preschool. Are we doing right by him? Are we holding him back?
I moved him up to the first and second grade class for Wednesday night kids' club. I thought he would enjoy moving up with his peers. He didn't understand why he couldn't go back to the preschool class, and cried. Is it too much change with school and now kids' club? Should we acclimate him in one area before advancing in all areas? Should we just assume he'll have a bit of transition but will be fine in a few weeks, because it's only what all kids go through?
When Micah was a year old, I asked the pediatrician if I could give him strawberries and fish, or should we wait until his mental age reached a one year old's level? I mean, if several different aspects of him were developing slower, would his digestive system be behind as well? Should we risk the allergies? The doctor had no idea what the answer would be to that question.
That seems to be the recurring theme in this parenting journey with Micah. Nobody seems to know what to do with Micah, or where to place him, or what to expect from him at this stage in life. Sadly, we're right there with the Nobodies.
I need an instruction manual. And a whole lot of prayer time.
Can You Get Injured Fighting the Inevitable?
They say it happens to every woman, but I refused to believe it. I swore that it would never happen to me. I would stand against the forces that be, and not become my mother.
I lied. Apparently, there is nothing you can do to stop this rite of passage from happening.
About a month ago I fell and injured my shoulder. *ding* Only old people get injured when they fall down. I remember thinking that old people are so fragile - there was no way I would become that because I was a teenager/twenty something. (Don't even get all over me for thinking that my parents were old. What teenager doesn't think that?) (And don't ask about the events leading up to the fall - that's a long story that you really would find amusing but I won't be telling. Just know that black ponies at 2 AM are nobody's friend.)
Said shoulder that I injured a month ago hurt like the dickens, but has since abated to a slow, dull ache. I miss the outright pain. I have discovered Aleve, and discovered that sometimes Aleve doesn't work. Neither does Advil. I lay awake from the dull ache throbbing from my shoulder a lot of nights. *ding* My mother complains of things like this frequently. Old people get injuries that keep them awake at night.
While laying awake last night, in so much pain that I could barely move my arm, willing the pain to go away and sleep to come, the thought occurred to me that I can't even take pain pills to help at that hour. Taking pills on an empty stomach, or between the hours of midnight and pre-breakfast makes me feel as though I have an ulcer. *ding* My mother has complained of such things for years. Old people have ailments like "Advil upsets my stomach."
Because of my lack of sleep during sleeping hours, I have the overwhelming desire to nap while the boys are in school. I have not stooped to this yet, mostly because it would be the last straw. My mother can be caught napping on her sofa at any hour of the day, mostly because she doesn't sleep well at night. I am fighting this one tooth and nail.
I am already predicting that I'll be chipping a tooth in the fight. My mom did that once; chipped a tooth.
And to clarify, I'm way less concerned with turning into my mother as I am becoming my mother's age. I can't be old. I'm only 39.
I lied. Apparently, there is nothing you can do to stop this rite of passage from happening.
About a month ago I fell and injured my shoulder. *ding* Only old people get injured when they fall down. I remember thinking that old people are so fragile - there was no way I would become that because I was a teenager/twenty something. (Don't even get all over me for thinking that my parents were old. What teenager doesn't think that?) (And don't ask about the events leading up to the fall - that's a long story that you really would find amusing but I won't be telling. Just know that black ponies at 2 AM are nobody's friend.)
Said shoulder that I injured a month ago hurt like the dickens, but has since abated to a slow, dull ache. I miss the outright pain. I have discovered Aleve, and discovered that sometimes Aleve doesn't work. Neither does Advil. I lay awake from the dull ache throbbing from my shoulder a lot of nights. *ding* My mother complains of things like this frequently. Old people get injuries that keep them awake at night.
While laying awake last night, in so much pain that I could barely move my arm, willing the pain to go away and sleep to come, the thought occurred to me that I can't even take pain pills to help at that hour. Taking pills on an empty stomach, or between the hours of midnight and pre-breakfast makes me feel as though I have an ulcer. *ding* My mother has complained of such things for years. Old people have ailments like "Advil upsets my stomach."
Because of my lack of sleep during sleeping hours, I have the overwhelming desire to nap while the boys are in school. I have not stooped to this yet, mostly because it would be the last straw. My mother can be caught napping on her sofa at any hour of the day, mostly because she doesn't sleep well at night. I am fighting this one tooth and nail.
I am already predicting that I'll be chipping a tooth in the fight. My mom did that once; chipped a tooth.
And to clarify, I'm way less concerned with turning into my mother as I am becoming my mother's age. I can't be old. I'm only 39.
The Fall Runway, Home Edition
Fall is here, as far as I'm concerned. September, October and November are the best months of the year. Ever. I love everything about these months, including the fact that I get to break out fall fashions. Sweaters, boots, jeans, warm scarves, all these things make me happy. Today's weather was a bit chilly, and I delved into the warmer reaches of my closet with glee. That didn't last long.
The jeans that I tried on didn't fit me the way they did last winter. It must be that 18 years of marriage, shifting things around. I found just one pair that I rocked. The things I tried with the other pairs shouldn't ever be mentioned, but I will. I've heard people tell of using elastic bands through the button hole to give a little extra space. Since my sweater was longer, I could totally get away with this. But I needed a bit more space than an open button, so I slid down the zipper a bit. That's where things got nasty. There were things oozing out of the open zipper placket that I keep under wraps at all cost. It bulged so large that you could see the bump under my sweater. It looked like an overgrown hernia, visible to all the world. That was the first and last time I'll ever try that elastic in the button hole trick. My eyes will never focus correctly again after that trauma.
The cowl neck sweater that I thought looked fab last year now threatened to eat the lower half of my face, so I switched to another cowl neck with a lower plunge. It was fab, right up until I leaned over to zip up my boots. Oh, yeh. Peep show, six o'clock. (The shifting, remember? Everything falls to middle when I lean over. There is no three and nine anymore, if you know what I mean.)
The boots were the only thing that loved me as much as I loved them. Ah, those ankle boots with the high heels. How I love them. Being as my jeans are floor length even with the high heels, those fab boots are completely hidden and nobody knows that the two inches in height I've gained are false. The most wonderful thing happens when you gain two inches in height - you lose weight instantly. I love those boots. I will sleep with them on and clean the house with them on and I will never take them off.
It's just a shame that I don't walk well in heels.
The jeans that I tried on didn't fit me the way they did last winter. It must be that 18 years of marriage, shifting things around. I found just one pair that I rocked. The things I tried with the other pairs shouldn't ever be mentioned, but I will. I've heard people tell of using elastic bands through the button hole to give a little extra space. Since my sweater was longer, I could totally get away with this. But I needed a bit more space than an open button, so I slid down the zipper a bit. That's where things got nasty. There were things oozing out of the open zipper placket that I keep under wraps at all cost. It bulged so large that you could see the bump under my sweater. It looked like an overgrown hernia, visible to all the world. That was the first and last time I'll ever try that elastic in the button hole trick. My eyes will never focus correctly again after that trauma.
The cowl neck sweater that I thought looked fab last year now threatened to eat the lower half of my face, so I switched to another cowl neck with a lower plunge. It was fab, right up until I leaned over to zip up my boots. Oh, yeh. Peep show, six o'clock. (The shifting, remember? Everything falls to middle when I lean over. There is no three and nine anymore, if you know what I mean.)
The boots were the only thing that loved me as much as I loved them. Ah, those ankle boots with the high heels. How I love them. Being as my jeans are floor length even with the high heels, those fab boots are completely hidden and nobody knows that the two inches in height I've gained are false. The most wonderful thing happens when you gain two inches in height - you lose weight instantly. I love those boots. I will sleep with them on and clean the house with them on and I will never take them off.
It's just a shame that I don't walk well in heels.
Redefining 18
We celebrated our 18th anniversary over the weekend. Actually, it would be more factual to say that our 18th anniversary was this past weekend. There was little in the way of celebrating. Sam had to work, I attended a baby shower, life happened. We did go out to eat, just the two of us, and it was nice. And before you wonder about the state of our marriage, I'll just say that we're not the celebrating kind. Nor really the romantic kind. Our marriage is just fine; stronger after 18 years than it was that day we pledged our vows to each other. As it should be, of course.
But we've been married for 18 years. I am having a hard time grasping this. I think of an 18 year marriage and I think an older couple, he with graying hair at the temples, she with a good colorist. I think of a couple who sips coffee together over the newspaper before he runs off to the office and she runs to the grocery store to restock the creamer. I think of a couple whose children are nearing graduation, and they've applied to college already, and there's a savings account set up to cover that expense. I think of a yard with a white picket fence and tire swing sadly dangling from the tree in the front yard, neglected these many years.
I have a hard time with the fact that we've been married for 18 years because that couldn't be further from who we are. We are the couple with kids ranging from teens to toddlers. We are the couple whose house is in disarray from morning to night because of the chaos constantly happening underfoot. We are the family who is always out of milk despite always being at the store. We have four kids in four different schools because something easy just wouldn't suit us well. We have no fenced yard, and the trampoline gets a workout daily.
We do not have gray hair, and for that I'm both grateful and amazed.
I cannot pair us with 18 years of marriage. The two just do not seem compatible. And yet it's true. Just today I was busy upstairs, and was greeted with a scene downstairs that normally makes me sigh with exhaustion. The trail of toys across the living room. The movies all over the floor. The dress up clothes scattered in the hallway. The counters cluttered. The doors to the patio wide open.
Today I smiled. I wouldn't trade our chaotic, unorthodox 18 years of bliss for the world. Not even for a clean house. That would mean that we wouldn't have kids, and that kind of life in the Rocking Pony home would just not be right.
I am redefining what 18 years of marriage should look like. Happy is in. Boring is out. Thank you, Sam, for remaking my life something that I could never have achieved alone. It's been simply wonderful.
But we've been married for 18 years. I am having a hard time grasping this. I think of an 18 year marriage and I think an older couple, he with graying hair at the temples, she with a good colorist. I think of a couple who sips coffee together over the newspaper before he runs off to the office and she runs to the grocery store to restock the creamer. I think of a couple whose children are nearing graduation, and they've applied to college already, and there's a savings account set up to cover that expense. I think of a yard with a white picket fence and tire swing sadly dangling from the tree in the front yard, neglected these many years.
I have a hard time with the fact that we've been married for 18 years because that couldn't be further from who we are. We are the couple with kids ranging from teens to toddlers. We are the couple whose house is in disarray from morning to night because of the chaos constantly happening underfoot. We are the family who is always out of milk despite always being at the store. We have four kids in four different schools because something easy just wouldn't suit us well. We have no fenced yard, and the trampoline gets a workout daily.
We do not have gray hair, and for that I'm both grateful and amazed.
I cannot pair us with 18 years of marriage. The two just do not seem compatible. And yet it's true. Just today I was busy upstairs, and was greeted with a scene downstairs that normally makes me sigh with exhaustion. The trail of toys across the living room. The movies all over the floor. The dress up clothes scattered in the hallway. The counters cluttered. The doors to the patio wide open.
Today I smiled. I wouldn't trade our chaotic, unorthodox 18 years of bliss for the world. Not even for a clean house. That would mean that we wouldn't have kids, and that kind of life in the Rocking Pony home would just not be right.
I am redefining what 18 years of marriage should look like. Happy is in. Boring is out. Thank you, Sam, for remaking my life something that I could never have achieved alone. It's been simply wonderful.
Hygenist In Training
Micah does not like the dentist. I think this stems from a sensory issue in his mouth. He also does not like to brush his teeth, or have us look inside his mouth. I tried once, way back many years ago, and decided I'd never do that again when he bit hard enough to draw blood. My dogs are more cooperative than that boy.
Micah has taken an interest in dental work on the other kids, and with Luke at the orthodontist every six weeks on average, his interest has become more of a fascination. Just this week, Luke was reclined in the ortho chair choosing band colors for his braces yet again. Micah thinks it's his job to help, so he pointed out yellow. Last time it was red. And from there, I'm not sure how things progressed to what they did, because the dental assistant assured me that Micah could stay and assist if I wanted to go out to the waiting room.
When I came back in to check on the boy he was wearing gloves and poking his fingers into Luke's mouth. He was also reaching for the dental tools on the tray. This is where we both drew the line for him, the dental assistant and I. The boy was completely fascinated with what was going on in Luke's mouth, and the hygienist had to call the dentist over to observe the fun. Everyone was highly amused. It was cute, for real.
But here's the real question. The next time Micah is at the dentist, will he be a little more tolerant of what goes on inside his own mouth? Or better yet, will he even allow the dentist a little look-see? One can only hope. And I am. Trust me, I am.
Micah has taken an interest in dental work on the other kids, and with Luke at the orthodontist every six weeks on average, his interest has become more of a fascination. Just this week, Luke was reclined in the ortho chair choosing band colors for his braces yet again. Micah thinks it's his job to help, so he pointed out yellow. Last time it was red. And from there, I'm not sure how things progressed to what they did, because the dental assistant assured me that Micah could stay and assist if I wanted to go out to the waiting room.
When I came back in to check on the boy he was wearing gloves and poking his fingers into Luke's mouth. He was also reaching for the dental tools on the tray. This is where we both drew the line for him, the dental assistant and I. The boy was completely fascinated with what was going on in Luke's mouth, and the hygienist had to call the dentist over to observe the fun. Everyone was highly amused. It was cute, for real.
But here's the real question. The next time Micah is at the dentist, will he be a little more tolerant of what goes on inside his own mouth? Or better yet, will he even allow the dentist a little look-see? One can only hope. And I am. Trust me, I am.
Opinions and Parenthesis
I worked outside the home before I had kids. It started out part time, and when I just found out that I was pregnant and sicker than a landlubber in a gale force storm at sea, the other secretary in the office quit and the boss asked me to come in full time to fill in until they could hire someone, whom I was then expected to train. I got a raise for compensation, which was sweet, because mostly I got paid to hug the porcelain god in the ladies room. It's more than I got to do the same thing at home. My boss was none too happy with me when I told him I'd be quitting just before I was due.
Around the time our second kiddo was born I decided that raising a family in a dual income world, while living on a single income, was an exercise in frugality. While not opposed to frugality at times, an extra income would be nice to be able to eat out with. Or buy diapers on occasion. (If I'd only known then that it would last 15+ years, every single day without a break. YOI.) I started selling Pampered Chef. I soon realized the error of my ways (hello lousy 20% in commission) and switched up to Home and Garden Party. (Woo-hoo! 40% was double what I was making!) (Incidentally, HGP doesn't exist any longer. They merged with Home Interiors and have a fancy new name now, but I'm not sure what it is.) I made decent money through the home party plan for many years before I just decided that I needed to close that chapter of my life. (I did a party two days before our third child was born. Dedicated is what I was.) I think I hung up that hat right around the time I put the kids in school.
Of course, when I put the kids in school, I dusted off the sewing machine to relieve the boredom. (That's how the story goes at least. I don't ever really remember being bored, and would like to re-experience that so that I can fully appreciate it this time around.) I opened The Rocking Pony on Etsy and have been working from home ever since.
I've told you all this so that you have an appreciation for the fact that I've been in just about every seat there is on the mom-front. I've been a stay-at-home mom, a working mom, and a work-from-home mom. I used to think that being a SAHM was easy. I mean really, all we do is sit with the kids and read books for hours on end, go for nature walks together, and create fun things in the kitchen. (I know, right? And I WAS one. *eyeroll*) I thought that working moms had the worst of the lot because oh my word, how on earth do you keep up with all the housework AND the kids AND a job? You've got my full appreciation and sympathy. I thought work-from-home moms had the best life ever because they had an income and didn't even have to leave their kids. Cake AND icing. Stellar.
I've since changed my opinion on things. I'm giving fair warning now that I'll probably offend a whole lot of people, but just remember that it's my opinion.
Working moms actually have the easiest time of all of us. It took me a long time to realize that if nobody is home through the day, no messes are made. If the dishes are done and the floors are cleaned, they are that way when you come home from work. The kids aren't there to get out every toy they own. The dishes and laundry don't double themselves in your absence. In short, in the little amount of time you've got in the evening to spend with family, you're doing what a SAHM does all day long.
SAHMs do the same thing all day long. Clean up. You clean the living room 15,837,291 times and by the time your husband walks in the door at the end of the day he has not a clue that anything has been picked up since 2006. The same goes for laundry and dishes. (Kids eat non-stop, let me tell you. Even when you're monitoring the food intake.) There are the art projects that you either know about or don't, and they both need cleaned up afterward. Same goes for cooking projects. And don't even get me started on potty training. (God bless daycare for working moms.)
Work-at-home-moms have the stress of work deadlines, and the SAHM fires to put out hourly. (Sometimes those fires are literal ones.) The work-at-home-moms get absolutely nothing done and can't blame a boss or co-worker. In fact, bosses tend to not be very understanding when you tell them that the dog was in the dryer and you couldn't finish the project. I have come to realize that work-at-home moms work fifteen times harder than any other kind of mom out there.
But to all moms, no matter what seat you're sitting in, there is not a one of us who is less important than any other. Raising our kids is a job with incredibly high stakes, and we all do what we can to make that work in our respective families.
Kudos to all the moms out there. It needs to be said more frequently than on Mother's Day.
Around the time our second kiddo was born I decided that raising a family in a dual income world, while living on a single income, was an exercise in frugality. While not opposed to frugality at times, an extra income would be nice to be able to eat out with. Or buy diapers on occasion. (If I'd only known then that it would last 15+ years, every single day without a break. YOI.) I started selling Pampered Chef. I soon realized the error of my ways (hello lousy 20% in commission) and switched up to Home and Garden Party. (Woo-hoo! 40% was double what I was making!) (Incidentally, HGP doesn't exist any longer. They merged with Home Interiors and have a fancy new name now, but I'm not sure what it is.) I made decent money through the home party plan for many years before I just decided that I needed to close that chapter of my life. (I did a party two days before our third child was born. Dedicated is what I was.) I think I hung up that hat right around the time I put the kids in school.
Of course, when I put the kids in school, I dusted off the sewing machine to relieve the boredom. (That's how the story goes at least. I don't ever really remember being bored, and would like to re-experience that so that I can fully appreciate it this time around.) I opened The Rocking Pony on Etsy and have been working from home ever since.
I've told you all this so that you have an appreciation for the fact that I've been in just about every seat there is on the mom-front. I've been a stay-at-home mom, a working mom, and a work-from-home mom. I used to think that being a SAHM was easy. I mean really, all we do is sit with the kids and read books for hours on end, go for nature walks together, and create fun things in the kitchen. (I know, right? And I WAS one. *eyeroll*) I thought that working moms had the worst of the lot because oh my word, how on earth do you keep up with all the housework AND the kids AND a job? You've got my full appreciation and sympathy. I thought work-from-home moms had the best life ever because they had an income and didn't even have to leave their kids. Cake AND icing. Stellar.
I've since changed my opinion on things. I'm giving fair warning now that I'll probably offend a whole lot of people, but just remember that it's my opinion.
Working moms actually have the easiest time of all of us. It took me a long time to realize that if nobody is home through the day, no messes are made. If the dishes are done and the floors are cleaned, they are that way when you come home from work. The kids aren't there to get out every toy they own. The dishes and laundry don't double themselves in your absence. In short, in the little amount of time you've got in the evening to spend with family, you're doing what a SAHM does all day long.
SAHMs do the same thing all day long. Clean up. You clean the living room 15,837,291 times and by the time your husband walks in the door at the end of the day he has not a clue that anything has been picked up since 2006. The same goes for laundry and dishes. (Kids eat non-stop, let me tell you. Even when you're monitoring the food intake.) There are the art projects that you either know about or don't, and they both need cleaned up afterward. Same goes for cooking projects. And don't even get me started on potty training. (God bless daycare for working moms.)
Work-at-home-moms have the stress of work deadlines, and the SAHM fires to put out hourly. (Sometimes those fires are literal ones.) The work-at-home-moms get absolutely nothing done and can't blame a boss or co-worker. In fact, bosses tend to not be very understanding when you tell them that the dog was in the dryer and you couldn't finish the project. I have come to realize that work-at-home moms work fifteen times harder than any other kind of mom out there.
But to all moms, no matter what seat you're sitting in, there is not a one of us who is less important than any other. Raising our kids is a job with incredibly high stakes, and we all do what we can to make that work in our respective families.
Kudos to all the moms out there. It needs to be said more frequently than on Mother's Day.
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