super glue?

This is one of my favorite things. It was a wedding gift from an old woman who has since passed away. It is graceful. It is beautiful. In a hectic moment, this young lady and her two dogs somehow give me a sense of peace and relaxation. And last night, buddy roe, I needed it.
If you look REAL closely perhaps you can see the fact that she will forevermore have a "necklace" of Super Glue. In time, the breakline will be much more noticeable, as the glue will yellow with age.
For some silly reason, number two thought the rulebook said that you CAN throw things in the living room - even if it is a huge exercise ball. (This was 2 hours after number 4, also male, decided that Mommy's sterling silver bead necklace would be a great toy and even more fun when it was apart so that we could play chase beads all over the downstairs before the baby gets hold of one and eats it.)
I heard a crash and cringed. I kept vacuuming the dining room just sure that if it were bad enough he would come get me to help. He sauntered in like nothing happened.
"Do I have a mess to clean up?"
"No, not really, it was just that lady with the dogs statue. Her head came off."
The blood drained from my face. My head grew icy cold. I didn't know what to do. I just stood there with my eyes wide open and my jaw on the floor. I didn't want this to be happening.

He had no idea what it meant to me.

My friend Vicki says that men (both big and little) have no clue about stuff like that. There is nothing that really means so much to them. They don't have prized possessions. Not when they are little, not when they grow up. It is so true. Must be a freeing feeling. Sort of like being happy with zero calorie salad dressing for the rest of your life.
However, I am not going to be so lofty.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (muah ha ha ha - no pun intended), once I finally took a breath and could move, I went into the kitchen and "tattled" to King. He was furious. Not only that something so special to me was broken, but also that the boy should have known.
THOU SHALT NOT THROW THINGS IN THE LIVING ROOM - It isn't even one of those obscure rules, either, like "thou shalt not whistle in the house". No way, it is one of the important rules, one ranking under #1) THOU SHALT NOT MAKE REPETITIVE NOISES.
Boy in question went up to his room. No doubt he felt like worm poo (yes, Bia worms DO make poo, haven't you read the book?
So, fast forward past dinner time, past bath time, up until the time we say "goodnight". (Here comes the good part... the part where I don't feel like the worst mother on the planet. When I do not utter obscenities which put me in need of confession.)
"My darling child, I want you to know that statue was one of my favorite things. You are one of my favorite people. I love you way more than I love that statue. But, I also want you to know that from here until I die, I will always be sad that her head got broken. (Off!!) There is an opportunity for you to learn a couple of things here: 1) never throw things in the living room again 2) do not disobey your parents 3) when something happens like that again, please do not act like it is nothing, please say you are sorry. It would be a good thing if any ONE of those three things could happen as a result of this one bad thing."
Moral of the story: Always try to see the positive in a negative situation..... mmm.....yes, much harder than it looks like when Mary Poppins does it.

because modesty is always in style

Our oldest daughter (number 1 for those of you who can keep up with this crowd) will be attending a formal dance very soon (eek!!!). I did not even try to go out to the stores to see if there was anything appropriate for a nearly 13 year old to wear to such an event. I am convinced that such an animal does not exist.

So, off to the fabric stores we went. Lost in a sea of satin and silk we held each of the colors up to her face to see which one brought the attention to her beautiful blue eyes. Then we found this most incredible pattern from Vogue's Vintage Collection. Nothing makes my heart sing louder than something uniquely beautiful. And this is. Now, why am I busy at the computer when I need to be whirring on the machine?!?!?!

looking for privacy

He just gives me so much fodder.....

This morning I got up with the two little ones so that King could sleep late. We went downstairs and played for a bit before the next person came down which happened to be #2. After playing a little longer, babykins decided she was hungry. So off to get her some breakfast. I passed off the chore to my oldest son and ran to the bathroom.
Right away I could hear my youngest son, in his sweet little toddler voice, starting to look for me. "Mommy...... Mommmmy.......M-aaaaah-meeeeee!" His footsteps got closer and closer to the door. I had to give myself up as found.

"Mommy is in the bathroom, give me some privacy," I begged.

He closed the door and cheerily said, "OK Mommy!" Then happily skipped into the dining room and asked his big brother for help.

"Help me pweese. Can't reach it. C'mon.... pweeese."

"Whatcha need help with?" Number two tried to understand what it is that his brother needed. He guessed several times as to what the buggah wanted, to no avail. The little boy with the Napoleonic complex just got more and more agitated.

"C'mon! Need pie vissy. PIE VISSY!!!!!!"

Of course I am in the bathroom chuckling and between guffaws I finally am able to blurt out, "I asked him to give me privacy. He must not have understood what it meant. He thinks it is something in the kitchen cabinet and he can't reach it."

blight

A non-Catholic friend of mine called this morning... we love to have a cup of coffee and chat together, even when we have to do it over the phone.

She told me that she was watching the morning news about the Pope's visit to the U.S. The news reporter was "showcasing" the t-shirts, ball caps, and soap-on-a-rope (which is called Pope-on-a-rope) that people were selling as souvenirs. She thought she understood the reporter to say that it was the Archdiocese peddling these items. (read: another baseball bat for anyone who might want to bash Catholicism) I doubt it was, but nonetheless, I think it is gross.
Cheap. Tasteless. Tackiness at the level of the likes of Disney World.
It so hauntingly reminds me of the scripture of the merchants in the temple (John 2: 13-16). These t-shirt peddlers may not be in the temple, but they are just as offensive.

Bia has a wonderful blog entry about her Pope Memories. Her experiences helped shape who she is as a Catholic Christian. I know that Pope Benedict, as the successor to Peter, will bring many, many people closer to Christ not only with his visit to the U.S., but anywhere he travels. I just hope that the peddlers, who are there to cheapen the experience, will not work in the opposite direction for an equal amount of people.

one of those days

Ugh... it's not even 2:30 and already it's been one of those days.
*To the toddler: "Come, on honey, try to make a stinky in the potty. I'll go pick out whatever color lollipop you want."
(put kid on toilet, then go check on baby)
*"Lovely, you've gotten into the Desitin. What is it about that stuff!?!?!"
(wipe up baby then off to check on the toddler's progress in the bathroom)
*"Doesn't work, huh? Well, just try to tell Mommy when you need to go."
(toddler runs off to play)
*Uh, oh, the baby has a dirty diaper.
*Egad! It's everywhere!

*oops, we're almost out of wipes.

(off to bathe the baby, re-dress the baby and back downstairs)

*To the toddler: "Why are you walking like tha...."

*Egad! It's everywhere!

(what in the world did these kids eat for dinner last night?!?!?!)

*Stupid #*&*#!*&@ empty box of wipes!

(off to bathe the toddler)

etc. etc. etc.

out at "the course"

There's a certain little tournament in town this week. You might'a heard of it. King and I were fortunate enough to have a very generous couple share their badges with us for the day. The National is an incredibly beautiful place. I don't know if there is anything quite like it in the world. Even if you don't like the game, you are drawn in by the incredible history these acres possess.
Despite the fact that we looked like drowned rats by noontime, I was quite content. In fact, in the middle of the downpour, when everyone was moaning and groaning, I told King, "I refuse to complain. I am not in the hospital with cancer. I am not at a funeral. I am not listening to children screaming. I am at the Masters. With you. And there's just no better place to be."

squalid conditions and grace

An article in a recent newspaper told about a couple who were arrested and charged with child-deprivation. The authorities were called just after midnight to an apartment with a report of a deceased person. They came in to find that the grandfather, aged 51, was dead in a bedroom which was filled with soda bottles and drink cans... 2 feet high! He had been dead since noon that day. Further inspection of the home revealed rotten food all over the counters and floor of the kitchen. All the cupboards were bare. There were a few leftover fast food bags in the fridge. There were two children, ages 6 and 4, asleep upstairs in a filthy bedroom on a mattress on the floor with no sheets. There were no dressers for the kids clean clothes. (Were there even were clean clothes?!?!)
Anyway, it got to me. Hearing stuff like this always gets to me. This, more so than an imposing figure in the shadows of a dark alley, is one of the biggies in my list of things to fear.
One of the things that makes it so is that it can happen SO FAST!!! If just one day goes by without loading the dishwasher or wiping down the counter tops, my kitchen very closely resembles what I imagine that apartment looked like. Sure, our cupboards are not bare, but with 5 kids eating like lawnmowers, it could happen in nothing flat. I'd be willing to bet that if I did not lift a finger to clean up any of the messes that we made, within a week we would live in squalor too.
What is it that separates me from this mother who is now in jail, separated from her two small children? Other than the Grace of God, I have no idea.

Did she ever use to concern herself with keeping a neat home?
Did something happen that caused her snap and not care about the condition of her home?
How is it that she looked in the faces of two beautiful creatures that God blessed her with and let them live in such horrific conditions?
Could that ever happen to me?

There but for the grace of God go I.

egg hunt

Now that I have figured out how to upload movies.. I wanted to post this one, taken on Easter Sunday during the egg hunt. She wasn't the one who got the most eggs, but she sure was the cutest "huntress".

gumping rope

I realize that many of my posts involve #4, but doggone it if he doesn't give me SO much material to work with.

ouch, that smarts

Why is it that when you bite your tongue, you hear a loud *crunch* sound and see stars? And why do tongues have to bleed so dang much anyway? I know blah blah blah blood vessels blah blah blah, but come on. And why when you have bitten your tongue and it is red and sore as the dickens do you continue to nick it with your teeth for days afterward? I know blah blah blah awkward swollen tissue blah blah blah, but still.

fear of failure

I re-joined Curves this morning. Frankly, it is a little skeery.

The first time I joined was in 2002. It took me 2 years, but I worked off 80 lbs.! I remember that I didn't care how long it took me to get the weight off. My goal was to be healthy inside.

It is still my goal.

The skeery part comes in when I start thinking about how long 2 years is. Can I do it again? Two pregnancies happened after those 80 lbs. were lost. Then, like recurring bad dreams, nearly each one of those stupid pounds found their way back. It's no bad dream. It is reality. I am overweight and out of shape. Again.

The whole thing put me into a funk this morning. Sure, I had a great work out after I got signed back up, got weighed, measured, and even got my little key tag. But when I got home my mood plummeted. The "what ifs" happened.

What if I don't lose weight?
What if I fail?
What if my family, who are so supportive on a Saturday morning, can't be supportive on the weekday mornings?
What if I fail? What if I fail? What if I fail?

In an effort to think rationally I tell myself, "If I never start back on an exercise routine, then I will fail. So anything more than nothing is something, right?"

*sigh* I wish I would listen to reason. But, my fear of failure is enormous. My body is incredibly resistant to letting go of this weight. This is going to have to be one of those close-your-eyes-and-do-it-anyway kinds of things. Each and every day. The one thing that gives me a small ray of light and hope is that my children will see me attempting to regain health and wellness. More than anything, I don't want them to see me as a failure.

the greater of two goods

Number 3 is making her First Holy Communion in May. Saturday the 17th to be exact. Also in that month, King's company is springing for an all-expense paid weekend trip to the Nawth Jawja mountains. When we discovered that the weekends were the same, we planned on doing both. We'd just go up Saturday afternoon after we take our sweet girl to a celebratory lunch. My mom said she'd come down and watch the kids for the night.
The more I thought about it, though, it just didn't make sense.
She has been preparing for this moment for the whole year (arguably all of her life). It is a wonderful occasion. How could we duck and run after such a pinnacle? She tends to be a deep thinker - someone whose beautiful ideas are on a different plane than the rest of the world. She'll have tons of questions and comments. We wouldn't be there for the light bulb moments which wash over a person after something as monumental as her first encounter with Jesus - body, blood, soul, and divinity.
While a break from "it all" with my dearest would be its own manna from Heaven, I just can't miss any moment of what will be an important and immensely joyful weekend.

reinventing the (rather enjoyable) wheel

I have just read an *article which states "..scientists in Britain have developed a way to make sperm using female bone marrow." These altered cells produce "early-stage female sperm" which means that they can only produce more females. I want to go on record to say that I particularly like the male population and think it would be a sad world without them. Very often I get emails which contain jokes which degrade our God-made counterparts. Frankly, they offend me to the same extent that female-bashing jokes do.
Nearly as upsetting, I recently saw on one of the main TV broadcasters' news shows (ABC, I think) which stated that since women live longer than men, we will see an increase in elderly lesbianism. I will also go on record here to say.... well... EW! Gross!
Dear God! How many different ways can we humans find to desecrate what was so beautifully created for us?!?! Lord, have mercy!

*article was in the March 08 issue of The Limbaugh Letter

forecast: scattered thunderstorms

Just after the older kids went to school, there was a huge clap of thunder. Right away I did what I instinctively knew to do.

I made a fort.

Of course when I took this picture, the kids were busily playing in my laundry baskets in the other room, another rainy day favorite. But, as long as the dollar store keeps selling them for $5, I will keep replacing them when they get cracked from the "roiling current of the rapids" or the "most dreadful crash from which the passengers barely escape".

a fist full of flowers

I can promise you that there is no sight sweeter than a 2 1/2 year old boy whose grin spreads from one ear to the other running with a fist full of "shah-wers" to give to his favorite person in the entire universe. There is also no feeling more wonderful than to BE that person.