Happy Birthday!

I have two sisters-in-law who remember everyone's birthdays.  Everyone.  That is no small feat in a large extended family.  I figured that this year I could at least send a birthday card to all of my siblings-in-law.  And my brothers.  And my parent-in-laws.  Whew - we're up to 16, but I should be able to handle that many.  We've got a lot when you factor in my family, Jay's family, and now Trent's, too.  I thought it might be fun lettering practice, too, and it was.  

I say "was" in the past tense because I did really well at sending out cards (February was a killer!) until the summer, then I just forgot.  I think it had something to do with getting a new planner so I didn't have my birthday list to remind me.  But mostly I just got summer-busy and forgot.  Mea culpa.  I'll try to finish out the year better!

I didn't forget my own children's birthdays though, because that would be mother demerits and I have enough of those.  Today, I'm celebrating the birthday of my first daughter-in-law.  I wasn't in a good place when she came into our lives.  I desperately wanted to be warm and welcoming, but I was so wrapped up in a big wad of anxiety that I didn't always reach out like I should have.  Regrets.  I wish I would have been warmer and welcoming-er.  

I still love her to bits, though.  She has the most beautiful smile, and I love the sparkle in her eyes when she's excited about something.  I love how my son loves her, and how she makes him happy.  It was so fun to see him get excited/stressed about getting her just the right engagement ring.  He had a hard time even holding still when he got it, and it wasn't but a moment later that he popped the question.  Happy memories.

Happy birthday, my dear.  Thank you for bringing some light into this corner of our family.  May your day be as lovely as you are, and many more to come!

Funny Family Faux Talent Show

We were in charge of the talent show for the family reunion.  We have so many talented people in the family, and a few with fabulous talents (I'm looking at you, boys who perform on Broadway!).  We all love to hear them sing and play the piano, but it does make some of the others a little bashful about sharing their talents.  No.  We need all the talents.

A couple of weeks before the reunion, I got all the volunteers I could, and then set out to find talents for the others.  Everyone has talents!  You just might not know about them yet.  So anyone who didn't offer a talent would get assigned one, and I let them know.  Too many people gave the wimpy, "I'm not really good at anything." Maybe this is how they would find out that they were good at something, after all.  Ha!

When everyone knew that I was serious about having a variety of talents, we got some pretty good volunteers.  We had a grocery guru share the secrets of picking produce.  We saw coin collections and home-made arrowheads.  We had singing and piano-playing, knock-knock jokes and skits.  We had a few art displays, as well.  But for the other folks, we had to draw them out and help them find their hidden talents.  

Between the volunteers, I called up family members and had them show us a talent that I picked from a list of possible talents.  They were impressive.  Here are the ideas I came up with, if you want to have your own faux talent show:

Sing a song from a Disney movie (we had soundtracks and props for several)

Yodel (with accompanying music)

Do a rain dance

Do a hula dance (wearing a grass skirt) (or tap dance, belly dance, riverdance, haka...)

Perform a magic trick (we brought a top had, gloves, a magic wand, and cards)

Dance the Can Can (with the appropriate accompaniment)

Play a song on a plastic recorder (of course we had a cheap plastic recorder!)

Walk down the runway (with large heels and a feather boa)

Impersonate a famous person

Pick something up with your toes

Breakdance or do the limbo

Do a puppet show (with socks)

Be a mime

Paint your best Bob Ross happy trees

Do a yoga demonstration / teach a yoga class

Do a dramatic reading from Dr. Seuss (we brought Hop on Pop)

Do a superhero demonstration (with cape)

"Whistle While You Work" while pantomiming chores

Yo a yo-yo

Snap all your fingers at once

Perform a kazoo duet

Do a cartwheel

We did have a bucket full of props (like a long red wig for "Ariel" to sing "Part of Your World," wooden spoons for the Swedish Chef) and soundtrack music for all the accompaniments.  Yes, it was a very long talent show.  But I've never laughed so hard!  Everyone had a great time and we did discover some impressive new talents.  Dr. Suess has never sounded more... impressive than the day Grandpa read it out loud.

Sailing by Ash Breeze

I was up in the night last night.  I like that "up in the night" means that you are not thinking straight, or are just plain crazy, as well as literally being awake in the middle of the night.  It is admittedly harder to think straight when you haven't had enough sleep.

I go to bed at a reasonable hour, think for a long while as my body calms down and relaxes, then finally drift off into a peaceful slumber.  About half an hour later, I'm awake; eye-poppingly awake.  Thank you, menopause.  I realize that my sleep hygiene could be better, but my currently-shifting hormones require that I have an absolutely perfect blend of vitamins, exercise, calm environments, good food absolutely devoid of sugar, no evening screen time, and zero stress before I can sleep well.  The irony is that carefully tweaking so many variables just makes me tired.  Thus, I don't usually sleep well.

Lying in bed becomes increasingly uncomfortable, and boring, so I do what any self-respecting bibliophile does when presented with unexpected spare time: I read a book.  I've been cleaning out my bookshelves recently, and re-reading all our books to make sure I love them and want to keep them.  I have been wanting to make sure that my bookshelves contain friends, like Anne Shirley Blythe would say.  Every book needs to "belong to the race of Joseph" in order to justify its dusting.

Last night, I re-read one of my favorites, "Carry on, Mr. Bowditch."  It is an historical fiction novel based on the life of Nathaniel Bowditch, a renowned mathematician, astronomer, and expert on ocean navigation in early American history.  He was self-taught due to being an indentured servant during his schooling years and not having the opportunity to attend classes.  When others mocked him and said he was "becalmed" and had no further room for growth, he roared, "Only a weakling gives up when he is becalmed!  A strong man sails by ash breeze!"

Of course, we would love to have our sails always full of just the right amount of wind, blowing us effortlessly into a calm and prosperous harbor.  But when the wind dies, or is going the wrong way, we break out the oars and row.  Oars were usually made of ash wood, so by paddling you can make your own "wind," or "ash breeze."  It's a good reminder that you can make your own path, no matter what your outside circumstances are.  Now excuse me while I go take a nap.  I mean, ponder this.

Family Funnies

We hear the funniest things at our house.  I only wish I could remember half of them!

Freddie: Dad, do you get backscratches?
Dad: No, sometimes I scratch my own back though.
Freddie: Doesn't Mom give you a backscratch?
Dad:  Not really.  She did give me a good backscratcher though, so I do it myself.
Freddie: Oh.  That must be why your life is so sad.

Heard at dinner: that was so lit-astic!  Loving books as I do, I will insist that the "lit" comes from "literary," and not "literal" or "lit" as used at the turn of the last century to mean someone who is drunk.  Nor will I assume that the speaker was referring to a library that was on fire.  Maybe I should stop.

Angel: there is a dead rat just outside my window and its really gross.  On the bright side, the flies and the bugs are doing a really good job of decomposing it.

Just a Minute

I made the world's ugliest bagels today.  Georgie and I watched a little video yesterday about how bagels are made, and he got all excited about it.  Of course, we make some.

I made the dough and let it rise overnight.  This morning, I shaped the way-too-sticky globules into round-ish shapes and pretended they looked appetizing.  I preheated the oven and set a pot of water to boil.  Checked the instructions again.  I was supposed to boil them, a couple at a time, for one minute.  Flip and boil for another minute.  Easy.

When the water came to a good boil, I slid the first couple of bagels into the bubbling water, hoping they would fill out and look less like grandpa raisin when they came out.  I set the timer and waited.  I have to tell you that 60 seconds is a long time to wait when you are just watching the clock.  Flip.  Wait.  Wait.  Wait.  Want to scream.

It feels so long, but a minute is way too short to actually do anything.  I can't leave the room.  I can't start anything else.  Forget about a quick bathroom break.  After a few exhaustingly long minutes of staring at bursting bubbles in the pot, I was ready to try a different path.  How much could I get done in a minute?

Turns out that a minute is just right for lots of kitchen chores.  I can clean out a sink in a minute.  Sweep one area of my kitchen floor.  Chop a handful of walnuts.  Unload one rack of the dishwasher.  Clean one counter.  It became a game of beat the clock and by the time all the bagels were boiled, my kitchen was looking pretty clean!  I learned not to underestimate one minute, and not to wait to start a project until I have a big block of free minutes.

And I learned that even ugly bagels can be tasty.

Angel Wings

This cutie just had a birthday, and I'm amazed.  After 5 boys, I thought I was getting the hang of the whole "child growing up" thing.  But then Heaven sends me this... girl... and everything is different.  For starters, she's taller than her older brothers were at this age (except for the one brother who is honestly closer to 7 feet tall than 6 feet).  She thinks differently.  She still hates having her hair brushed. She is more gentle.  She goes through a range of emotions at lightening speed, and lands gracefully back at her usual plucky.  The boys didn't go on crying jags.  The boys didn't get offended when someone else would talk over them.  The boys didn't begin puberty until junior high!

So here I am, a mother of boys, a sister of brothers, trying to navigate these growing up girl waters.  They are occasionally choppy.  Mostly, however, it has been a delight.  I didn't expect our "your body is changing" talks to be so heart-felt.  I didn't expect her fierce hugs.  I am loving watching her grow into fierce young lady.  And as she walks down the sidewalk, I marvel.  The metamorphosis from child to woman is beginning, and I am fascinated to watch.

Happy birthday, dear little caterpillar.  May this year be full of growth and adventure for you.  I have no doubt that it will.  I'm looking forward to seeing your wings!

Focus

There have been a bunch of things tearing at my heart lately.  A bunch of little things, and several solidly heart-rending Really Big Things.  I've felt unheard, rejected, and abandoned.  It hurts to know that your love - the only thing you really have to give - isn't wanted.  It's devastating to see that people you care about don't care to be with you.  I've cried and stayed up all night and moped about the house.  It didn't help.  If anything, I felt more unloved, more unwanted.  I've been a little lost.

I'm not sure where we were when I took this snapshot of  a white flower.  Plants and nature scenes bring me such peace, and I keep thinking I'll learn to draw them.  My kids laugh at me for taking pictures of "every leaf" as we go for walks through verdant places.  I got this shot because I wanted the head-on perspective so I could see the shape of the leaves.  As I examined the photo later, I noticed the little bug on the top petal.  Can you see him, the tan-colored bug close to the center there?  I have to admit that I'm not fond of creepy-crawlies, and I wished I had seen it before I took the shot so I could pick a different bloom.  But if I had been paying attention that closely, it might have been too close!  

It took me a while to realize that in focusing on the bug, I missed the whole flower.  It is a gorgeous blossom!  So it is with life.  There is so much good and heaps of beautiful.  And some hard and a bitter dose of hurt.  Focusing on one part does not make any other part go away.  I'm not pretending that those hurts are less than they are.  But remembering the goodness of the whole will help us to cope better.

Summer Reading

This is how our summer has been so far - piles of books, frequent trips to the library, lots and lots of reading, and shaggy haircuts.  I'll trade a nice hairdo for a good book any day!

We're All Immigrants

I was looking at our family history and wondering "how much" of us were from different countries.  I realize this is very nearly impossible to completely figure out.  To simplify, I looked at our great-grandparents and their family's country of origin.  Since we have a blended family, our numbers are all a bit different.

I'm half German, 3/8 British, and 1/8 Scottish.

Jay is half British, 1/4 Danish, 1/8 Canadian, and 1/8 German

So then our older boys are 3/8 German, 1/4 Scottish, 1/4 British, and 1/8 Danish.

Trent's makeup is more homogenous: 5/8 British, 1/4 Swedish, and 1/8 Swiss.

The makes our small fry a little bit more scattered: 3/8 British, 1/4 German, and 1/8 of each Scottish, Swedish, and Swiss.

We're pretty northern European around here, but all of them had to come to America at some point.  None of them had very much when they came over.  My grandmother had to slip some money to her husband-to-be so he could even get off the boat in New York.  I'm grateful to those pioneers, those immigrants, who settled here and paved the way for us.

Letting Go

My dad's hands are cold, the skin blotching pink and white, and I want to take them in mine and rub them until the color comes back and the cold leaves.  His thin legs look like they need to be gently stretched and take a short walk.  I'd like to give him a cold chocolate shake to sip on and moisten his dry mouth.  His eyelids are heavy - I'm sure he just needs a nice afternoon nap.  The skin on his feet is stretched thin and dry, crying out for a little foot rub with smooth lotion.  There are thing that beg to be done - I need to get on them and go.

I'm his daughter, a caregiver, a mother.  It's my job to soothe and set right and heal and nurture.  But now, as I sit by his bedside, all I can do is listen to his raspy breathing.  He's not long for this world and there isn't anything I can do to change that.  I have to let go.

I let go of my role as caregiver.  I let go of my role as chief information-gatherer.  I let go of my role as worrier supreme.  I let go of the reins I've struggled with for so long, and hand them over to God. Hand Dad over, hand my heart over.  It's hard, but I'm learning to let go. 

Happy Valentine's Day

We started the day by whipping up seven servings of breakfast, three Valentine boxes, nearly 100 valentines, and an emergency trip to the orthodontist to fix a broken bracket.  After the last kids straggled out the door, I took a deep breath, then a nap.  But wait, there was no time for a nap!

I scurried up to the high school in time to find Eddie before he went into his next class.  Or rather, he found me.  He saw the car through the window and came out to see what was going on.  I opened the door and asked him if he wanted to play hooky for the day.  His face lit up and he jumped in the car.  I wanted to take him out to lunch for his birthday, but the next couple of weeks will be so crazy.  This day was the closest we could get to his actual birthday, but a surprise day off school is fun anytime, isn't it?

We went home so he could have second breakfast. Then we packed up a few Valentine's Day things for our older kids and set off to do deliveries.  A bouquet of carnations and a bottle of sparkling apple cider for our first boy and his wife; a matching bunch of carnations for the next boy and his fiancee, another carnation taped to the apartment door of the third boy.  The carnations are our little Valentine's Day tradition, started by their dad over 25 years ago.  That was the how I first started falling in love with him.

After that was done, we hit the bookstore for a good browse and difficult selection.  We want all the books!  We had time for lunch in the food court before heading back to school for a calculus test.  He had the test, not me.  That's the stuff of my nightmares!

It was a busy, full day, filled with family and love.  Oh, and sugar.  But that's not a happy part of the day, so we son't go into that!  And that's how Valentine's Day should be.

Flu Deodorant - a New Recipe

We all got the flu a few weeks ago.  Thankfully, I have a family full of strong, robust children (and husband), and they are all doing much better. Some of them didn't even get sick.  Some were only sick for two or three days.  And then, me.  Still sick.  I have this nasty cough and I'm still so, so tired.

I got up this morning at the usual way-too-early-in-my-opinion hour, had a nice discussion over breakfast with my high school boys, snuggled my elementary boys, helped the girl brush her hair, and got them all off to school on time.  I'm trying to do all the mom stuff, but it just wears me out.  So I went back to bed.  And I stayed there.

A couple of hours later, my phone decided to go bananas with texts (Trent's dad had surgery this morning, and his family is great to keep each other posted).  But I was stubborn and wanted to stay in bed.  I was still tired!  So I stayed and stayed, read Facebook, scrolled Instagram, got caught up on the news, perused a few favorite blogs...

And finally, when I felt like the laziest human being that wasn't walking the earth and doing productive things, I got up.  I should get dressed, but I'm out of deodorant and I can't possibly pull on a shirt that will get stinky.  So I stayed in my house dress and wandered into the kitchen for breakfast.  I think it was past noon.  I had a nice bowl of granola and bananas because my nice husband made a batch of granola and I found the jar.  I picked out all the rock-hard raisins and sat down in the sunshiny spot at the table.  Felt nice to go so slowly.

I got my phone and looked up natural deodorant recipes while I chewed.  I can't use the store-bought ones because I'm too sensitive to all the chemicals they put in them.  Fortunately, deodorant is one of the simplest recipes ever, so even I can make it.  One little batch lasts me for months, and keeps me smelling like a daisy.  Except that I'm not sure off the top of my head what exactly a daisy smells like.

I got out the coconut oil, the non-organic corn starch, and the baking soda.  See, I told you it was an easy recipe!  I use this one from Wellness Mama.   I'm getting going on this day, I tell ya.  And then I proceeded to carefully spoon that good powdery stuff into my bowl of granola.

Maybe I should go back to bed after all.

Wanted: a Better Narrator

When I was a little girl, I read a lot.  I mean, A LOT.  I read every book in my parent's library - multiple times.  I read the "A" encyclopedia dozens of times - because that was the only volume we had.  I practically lived in the school library.  My grandmother was an elementary school teacher and I remember spending many hot, sticky summer days in her cool basement, reading books from her bookshelves.  Maybe that's I walked around with a narrator.

My narrator lived in my head, and gave me a play-by-play of everything going on.  When I walked through the kitchen, the narrator explained that "she glided effortlessly across the cool linoleum, her eyes flitting around the sunbeams slanting in through the southern window."  It made life a lot more interesting to have a narrator, I'll tell you that.

My narrator also told me that one day, when I was walking around singing, a talent scout would hear me, marvel at my pure, clear voice, and make me a star.  I don't remember that actually happening, though I imagined it many times.  Maybe my narrator was better at telling stories than predicting the future.

As I think about picking up my writing here, I wonder what happened to my narrator.  She's gone.  Maybe my life is interesting enough?  No, I doubt it.  Maybe I just don't listen to her, or maybe I haven't listened for so long that she doesn't bother saying anything anymore.

I think I'd better find her, or get myself a new one.  I need that spark of imagination as I go through my days.

I Missed This!

The kids were giving me a hard time about the pictures in our living room.  Specifically, our family pictures.  We have a larger picture of the whole family, surrounded by smaller individual pictures.  What?  They are the faces of the people I love most in the world!  I see no problem with them.  But Mom, they protested, the pictures are more than 5 years old.

They are?  I looked at them again, harder this time.  Yes, the twins were adorably chubby in their toddlerhood.  There were cute little boy faces of David and Eddie grinning at me.  Those two boys have lost their round cheeks and are in high school now.  The pictures were taken in our backyard - two houses ago.  It was a different time for our family, when they all lived at home and things seemed to move a trifle slower.

Maybe I'm a little bit nostalgic for that time when I made dinner for ten people every night.  I liked having them all home, with me.  It's easy to forget the hard parts and just remember the happy smiles that hang on my living room wall.  I know I should get some new, more current pictures.  I just don't want to forget these ones.

I realized that I remember the happy parts of those times because I wrote about them.  I don't have to write about all the parts, but whatever I do write is what I remember.  And not writing for the past few years has meant that I'm not remembering.  Big swaths of our lives have happened, ended, and are now being forgotten.  That makes me sad.  Especially now that they are growing up and leaving home at a frighteningly fast speed, I want to hang on to the happy things a little bit tighter.  I need to fill my mother-heart with all the good of today, and be able to remember it tomorrow.

And so I'll start writing again.  My family is worth it.  Our memories are worth it.  All the good we can add to the world by just pointing it out is worth it.

June Tidbits

I've found a whole-foods friendly treat that makes my mouth hop-up-and-down happy: fried or grilled pineapple!  Don't need any oil, just slap some fresh pineapple slices in a hot non-stick pan and wait until the edges are brown and toasty and caramelized.  Don't burn your tongue but you will want to because it's horrible having to wait until they cool off enough to eat safely.

Georgie and I were talking about one of his little friends who lives nearby.  They have a multi-racial family (white parents with kids in various shades of black and brown) and are some of the nicest people you'd ever meet.  I mentioned that the kids were all adopted, and Georgie turned to me with dinner-plate eyes.  "What??  How can you tell??"

Freddie and Georgie have taken to wrestling.  Or maybe it's ninja mixed with parkour.  And a little bit of hip hop dancing with vocal sound effects.  It often ends in one or the other getting hurt, and sometimes both.  I have been trying to teach them to be more aware of when it stops being play and starts getting hurtful.  The other day, they were doing karate-type moves in my room, kicking their legs out at each other in all odd angles.  Georgie suddenly stopped and demanded, "Fred!  Are we having fun?"  Without missing a single awkward kick, Freddie responded, "Um... probably."

David got a construction job for the summer.  He literally digs ditches.  And other spots where big machinery is too bulky.  He is getting tan (very appealing farmer's tan) and strong.  And he makes double minimum wage!  For a seventeen-year-old, that is better than fast food any day.  We'll see how he likes it when the weather gets blazing hot.

Eddie has been working for $25 a day at a local cub scout camp.  It's not an awful lot of money, but a fifteen-year old has a hard time finding a regular job, so it's a good thing.  He is in charge of "aeronautics" so they fold and fly paper airplanes.  I think we have about seven hundred and thirty paper airplanes in various states of abandoned around out house right now.  Many of them are in a cardboard box in the kitchen that we call the airport.  We trip over it daily.

We got the end-of-the-year report cards, and all the children did very well.  The only less-than-super grade was one of Angel's.  It was in the "can find the main point" section.  Er... that's true.  To her, ALL the details are important, and she has to tell me about EVERY little bit of things.  Sometimes it takes her longer to tell me about a happening than it took to actually transpire.  She is the sweetest little chatterbox you ever did see, though.  That she can even talk is one of my biggest blessings after her fall and brain injury.  I am grateful for her.

With Alec married, and Ben and Chris both away at college, I feel like our home is nearly empty.  Someone asked me the other day, "How many kids do you have at home now?"  I mournfully responded, "Only five."  Only five!  How ridiculous that must sound to most people!  But there is a little spot in my heart where each of my children go, and I love seeing them and  hearing what they have been up to.  "Only five" does come with a smaller food bill, though...

Hope your summer is going well and delightful!

Hope of America Award

Today my body is demanding a rest day,  and I am happy to oblige.  This afternoon,  I'll be doing finances on the computer (wrapped up in two warm blankets and snuggled into the couch), but I spent much of the morning binge-reading some of my favorite blogs. I haven't done it for a while,  so there's a lot of catch-up to do.  Darn. 

http://www.nieniedialogues.com/2017/05/ollie-hope-of-america.html As I read about how proud one mother was of her 6th grade son because he was awarded the Hope of America Award, something warmed in the back of my brain. I got that award, too - when I was an awkward 6th grader.

I've always wondered why. I even wanted to contact my elementary school principal and ask him why, out of all the other much more talented and smart and cute and self-assured girls in the sixth grade, why did he pick me?  

The last few years of elementary school were rough. I had one or two friends at most. I was growing and gangly-tall, felt so different from all the other kids, and bounced a ball by myself at lunch recess, softly singing "Only the Lonely Can Play."  I wasn't good at socializing, I was pretty bad at jumping rope, and I hated dodge ball.  In the classroom, I alternated between cocky-smart and burying my head in my arms on my desk and hoping no one would see me.  What on earth did Mr. Nichols see in that little girl?

I looked it up. I found out the award is given under the direction of the Kiwanis Club to one girl and boy in each elementary school.  Usually they are chosen for their academic work,  good citizenship, and leadership. Another article cited the children's "positive influence on others" as a criteria. 

My beloved elementary school principal passed away a few years ago,  so I'll never be able to ask him my questions. I still wonder.  But for today, I can still work on being a positive influence on others. I can make my own little corner of the world a better place.  If we all did that, there would be plenty of hope for America.

My Mop

My hair grows fast - it always has.  Since high school, I have let it grow long for a while, then I chop it all off and donate it to a hair charity.  Or I think about selling my hair and let it sit in a box for a while while  I dream of all the money I'll make, and then I send it to a hair charity.

I've always gotten lots of comments and questions about how I can get it to grow so well.  Unfortunately, I don't have any good answers, since it kind of grows all by itself.  I have no hair elixirs or magic tonics - just the thick, fast-growing hair my mom and dad blessed me with.  They each had a pretty good head of hair so I know where it comes from.

Mostly, it grows so long because I am too lazy to get it cut often.  I've tried it short (like every few years when I chop it off), but it grows quickly enough that I'd have to go to the hairdresser every couple or three weeks, or it loses its shape in a big, messy way.  It's not that I don't like the salon - in fact I have a favorite hair center where I go (maybe yearly?) that I love.  Mostly because the hairdresser has known me since I was a wee little girl, because she loved my mother, and that Trent and I met because of that hair place.  Not getting my hair cut often, on the other hand, is cheaper and easier.  That's the win right there!

When we bought our fixer-upper house this spring, I vowed I'd cut my hair off because I knew it would get in the way.  And it did, but I just didn't want to take the time out to 1) figure out what kind of a style I wanted, and 2) actually go to the salon.  So I put up with it.  And put it up a lot.  Yes, I did almost dip the end of my braid in the paint can multiple times.  Yes, I did get stuck a few times when my hair wrapped itself around a raw piece of lumber.  Yes, it did get full of dust and sheetrock mud.  But I bought a couple of Flexi-clips, and they were amazing!  I've never found anything that would hold up my heavy hair consistently and without pulling, but I am totally sold on these clips.  No product affiliation or anything, just an ever-so-happy customer.  And they are so pretty!

Anyway, I still have my long hair, and it's still attached to my head.  It was my Halloween costume this year. - we were Adam and Eve.  Actually, it was a reprise from last year, but hey, if you have a costume this easy, why not?  I did Lady Godiva for part of the time too, and handed out chocolates.

I do love my long hair, but it does tend to get in the way.  Like when I get in a car - I always close some of my hair in the door.  Or buckle it into the seat belt.  How about when you unbuckle your seat belt and the belt gets retracted back into the... wherever it goes... and it sucks some of your hair down there, too?  Love it.

I tuck my hair into my pants.  When I get dressed and pull a shirt over my head, I can't just flip the hair out of my shirt.  It takes three or four pulls to get it all out.  I've started zipping my hair into the fly on my jeans.  If I put on a coat over my hair, I'm frozen like that and can't move my head.  And static!  Oh, it's bad.  I'll zap everyone in the room at the same time if my hair starts getting big and charged.  Which is all winter long.

We won't talk about how really long hair is a liability in the bathroom.  Let's just say that I love my Flexi-clips and they are really, really fast at making and holding up a bun.  Because sometimes you need to be fast.  Showering, on the other hand, takes forever.  I can't roll over in bed because I'm laying on my hair.  Sometimes I can't roll over because Trent is laying on my hair.  Hair gets stuck in your armpits or wraps around your body, especially if it is wet.  The hair, not the armpit.

And the vacuum hates me.  There is always shed hair on the floor and it winds around your toes as you walk across the room.  I've never had hair this long, and it is pretty interesting to see how it is like a toddler and gets into everything.

But I like it.  It's flowy and feminine.  It keeps me warm in the winter - like wearing my very own fur coat.  And it's pretty.  The bottom of the braid is still beautifully brown, which is more than I can say for the hairs sprouting out closer to my head.  My hair is a beautifully fun accessory that I can do differently every day.  It's part of me, part of my identity.  One day I'll cut it, but for today, it's in a really cool 4-strand braid.  And I found a new bun I want to try for tomorrow!

October Tidbits

Georgie was taking a shower (the bathtub isn't working yet), and said he was done.  On being reminded to rinse the bubbles from his armpits, very loud laughing and giggling was heard from the bathroom.

When Freddie heard someone raising their voice, he said, "Hey!  You should be more like me.  Sometimes I am mad, but when I'm not, I always try really hard not to be mad."

Angel insisted that she could do a good job washing her own hair - and then got distracted and didn't wash out all the shampoo.  Or didn't wash her scalp.  Or something, but ended up with an itchy head.  She scratched it so energetically that she made sores in the thin skin of her scar before we could get rid of the itch.  Here's hoping it heals up quickly.

Alec and I were visiting while he was working on his car in Opa's driveway.  He's got a concealed carry permit, and he let me hold his gun - after he took the bullets out.  Can't have a crazy mother shooting up the neighborhood!

Ben ran into an old elementary school friend.  The boy didn't recognize Ben at first, but thought he looked familiar.  Ben remembered the boy and introduced himself.  The old friend's eyes lit up, "Oh yeah!  But I thought you had red hair!"  He does still.

Trent and I spent the weekend at a marriage retreat.  It was pretty incredible.  So many good things... that I wish I had known decades ago.  It's never too late to learn a better way to do things, so I'll start today.  We found it so valuable that we decided to gift the class - plus a 3-night hotel stay - to each of our children as a wedding present.

Side note: the kids at home managed pretty well (with some Grandma help) while we were gone, but were relieved to see us back.  I'm happy to take over Mom duties.

Chris had a girl leave a note on his motorcycle, complimenting his bike and asking for a ride.  Now we know why he got a bike...

David is the high school's production of Les Miserables!  He is loving learning the songs and we love hearing them around the house.  He just had a choir concert that made me laugh and cry.  I so enjoy going to music concerts that that my boys are in!  I'm missing the junior high band concerts right now.

Eddie has finished a few art projects and is really enjoying the class.  I'm kind of bummed he didn't take cooking because I like the homework he would have gotten.  He is doing fabulously in his classes.

Fall is in full swing, and the canyons are gloriously bedecked!  Go out and take a ride this week if you can.  Bonus points for taking a cute girl.

Laundry!

I'm doing laundry!  That normally wouldn't be too terribly exciting, but see,  I'm doing laundry at my own house! In my own washing machine that is actually hooked up to running water!  Because of city codes, we couldn't hook up the washer and dryer until the kitchen passed its final inspection.  Trent made that happen this week and I'm elated.  I am a lucky lady to have such a skilled husband.  

Man, I take so much for granted and having an in-house laundromat is a huge convenience, especially for a large family.  We can work through a dozen loads a week without any mishaps (like a bedwetting!),  so we give the washer and dryer a pretty good workout.  I can hear it chugging away in the laundry room while I write this,  and it makes me so happy.  It's like having my very own maid!   I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I've only been doing absolutely critical laundry for the past few months because leaving home to do the wash is so inconvenient.  It will be nice to have all the towels clean at the same time, or be able to do a late-night emergency load, or have clean sheets the same day.

I'm so spoiled.  And grateful today. 

Shredded Jeans

Growing up, my brothers and I wore jeans a lot.  We wore them until they were "high waters" or until the waist was so tight you couldn't sit down in them anymore.  Then you passed them on down to the next kid (who was obviously delighted to get another batch of hand-me-downs, of course!).  That didn't actually happen very often, because we always wore out the knees first.  I don't know why we think of denim as being so tough when the knees rip through so fast!  I say that as a mother of boys.  I do remember my mother getting Tough Skins jeans at J.C. Penney - or was it Sears? - because they had a double layer of fabric at the knees.  To her, it was worth it.

When my first little boys were getting bigger, Shop Ko had a return program that if the kids wore out any clothing before they outgrew it, the store would replace the item.  I would drive several cities away to get Shop Ko jeans for my little dudes, even though they were noticeably thinner than the other brands.  I went back to get those holey jeans replaced over and over and over... until I got sick of it and quit shopping there.  Boys are HARD on jean-knees!

When our knees blew out, the jeans were candidates for cut-offs.  Mom would cut the jeans off at the knee-hole.  Hopefully the holes in both knees lined up.  If we were lucky, she would hem the cut ends, or we would just roll them up.  Those were our summer shorts.  But we did not wear them with holes in the knees.  Not at all.

As I'm getting to be an old-lady-person, I'm surprised at the jeans on the racks at the store that are pre-thrashed.  First the jeans were pre-washed, then pre-worn-in, and now you can pay good money to have them pre-worn-completely-out?  I have a hard time with the idea.

David had a pair of jeans with holes in the knees.  They were hand-me-downs from Chris or Ben, so they came by the knee-holes honestly.  Usually I take such jeans and add them to my enormous pile of old pants that I fully intend to make denim quilts out of.  One day.  Don't ask how large that pile is (it currently lives in multiple big boxes), or when "one day" is.  But David liked the jeans and kept wearing them.  He even took a razor blade to them and ever-so-carefully WHILE wearing the pants scraped a few new holes in the legs.  This does not compute.

The holes got larger after every washing, and I think after every wearing and every time someone looked at the jeans.  Thankfully, there came a day recently when there was more hole than jean and they were declared legally dead.  Even more fortunately, there wasn't enough fabric left to worry about imaginary denim quilts.

Farewell, holey jeans!  Let's go to the store and get you a pair of new pants.  I'll pick them out.