Home Is Where My Heart Is.

Well, so much for my career as a lunch lady! When one goes through cancer, one experiences a lot of different feelings and thought streams. I would guess that I am not the only woman to have cancer and think, "What if I die? What will happen to my children?"

For awhile I danced with the idea that my homeschool friends would take them in for school, and help them make it through. I have no doubt that many of them would be willing to do it. I'm pretty sure I even pleaded with my husband to not ever put them in school. I'm pretty sure he had moments of panic about the whole thing too.

Then I came to the idea that putting them in school might be okay, so that if something did ever happen, they would at least know the drill, be able to "swim" and better to do it while I am here to help them get accustomed, right? So that's what we did.

#1 was already in public high school by this time. She wasn't crazy about it, but God proved Himself faithful in her situation, many times. I thought #2 should go for 6th grade, so she could join band, and sports or whatever interested her. And little #3 begged me to see her local school, since her sisters were "getting to go". So we visited and she liked it a lot. It helped that it is a lovely new suburban school with primary-colored ramps and banners from the ceiling, and it was recently named the #2 elementary school in our state! I felt so much better.

So they went. And, I immediately decided I should get a job while they're gone, so I can bring in money to help remodel this place. So I did. And it was fun. I got a job in the main kitchen at a large high school in the city next door. The pay rate was great, the fellowship was nice and the work was strenuous, but invigorating.

That was last year.

This year, after #2 and #3 had gotten to hear every single cuss word ever invented, on the school bus and beyond, we prepared to do it all over again. Only I went back to work 2 weeks before they went back to school. My mom was in town, so we muddled through, sans kitchen and everything.

Then the middle school notified me that #2 had scored poorly on a statewide test, in math. And their plan to rectify this was to remove her from art (her special talent which I have paid extra to indulge, for years), and put her in a second period of math wherein she would do an online math program that would help her solidify her math foundation.

When she continued to struggle and the regular math class teacher started spending a portion of the class teaching an individual who did not speak english, I met with the guidance counselor to see what my options were. He thought she would be able to get out of this lower-level class, away from the poorly-behaved, unmotivated students, to get into a better environment for learning. When I contacted the math teacher directly, she disagreed. She said #2 should stay in her class, and perhaps stay after school also, for homework club.

So I had her stay. #2 explained to me that homework club involved sitting in the library (sorry, media center), where the math teacher gave her flash cards. This after spending two hours during the day, in math classes.

Something had to give. The homeschooler in me reared her American-born, mother-bear head and said, "Not with my child, you're not." So the lunch-lady career careened into the ditch, and we made major life decisions.

Thank heavens for choice in education! We have friends who have been attending a charter school that is 60% online, 40% brick and mortar, for several years. This year, that same school opened at 100% virtual option, using curriculum I had already admired, developed by the man who wrote The Book of Virtues.

We applied at Thanksgiving and got in for second semester. I went ahead and transferred #3 also. I had spent many years homeschooling #1, and felt like I was missing out on that time with #3. She liked school, but like most children, loves being at home.

Is it perfect? No. Is it easy? It's not HARD. It is a terrific hybrid of homeschooling and accountability/diligence/tutor-type education. We can be online live with the teachers every day if we want or need to. We can motor along on our own, following their pacing guides to make sure we make adequate progress. It is an amazing option that I actually enjoy.

The most wonderful thing about this type of program is that the student doesn't move forward until they exhibit "mastery" of a subject by scoring 80% or above on an assessment. These assessments are frequent and immediately scored by the program. There are oodles of optional activities to assist you when you struggle, and you may retake the assessments as many times as you need.

Isn't that the way education should be? Last year, #2 got left behind when she had trouble with fractions. The class had to move on. Essentially, her can was kicked down the road for next year's teacher to deal with it. If she didn't get it in the time alloted for this year's class, too bad--movin' on. ACK! How many others are being rolled to the side of the road by this type of program?!

Next thing you know, she's giving up on herself and any hope of post-high school education. No one cares WHEN you learn fractions. No one ever asks that. You just need to learn them. If it takes you one month to get them down pat, rather than 2 weeks, no one cares, EVER. But you do have to get them down. This system handles this rather large dilemma wonderfully.

Do I wish I had all my time to myself, to clean house, or read books or post on my blogs? Absolutely. But the confirmation of my decision became clear last week, when #2 told me she wasn't smart enough to attend a college-prep, charter high school I am considering for her. --What?!

She was sure that since she had been relegated to that math class, and its various entities, she would not be able to cut it in a college-prep program. Only halfway through seventh grade and the label is firmly ensconced on her self-esteem. Ugh. I knew right then I had made the right choice, not waiting until the end of this school year.

Change is always hard. My parents moved me in the middle of 7th grade. It was HORRIBLE. Honestly, I think it damaged my academic progress permanently. I thought about that a lot when I was deciding what to do with my daughter. I wish I had never sent her to public school. But what's done is done. And the experience there will teach her many things I cannot.

Thank you, State Legislature, for allowing us to have charter schools. Thank you, Mr. Bill Bennett for developing the K12 curriculum. Thank you, Sally N., for telling me to go home to my children.

Germs run amok!

Just so I can prove that our lives are completely not-normal...here is the timeline from one week ago:

Wednesday pm: We have Awana at our church, where I shepherd 65 2nd graders around for 2 hours. Hectic and worthwhile. Of course there are plenty of germs to go around. 10pm, after we are home, #3 starts complaining of stomach pain and begins vomiting--yea!

Thursday am: I stay home from my amazing lunch lady job to keep #3. She barfs throughout the morning, going through 3 sets of sheets. Somehow she can't get it to the trashcan, or the bathtowel on her bed.

Thursday pm: after washing umpteen sets of pukey sheets, things seem to have settled down and I got the kitchen CLEAN, just like they taught me at work. :) I take #1 across the street after school to keep the little boy who usually comes to our house on Thursdays, trying to save his family from any contamination. She gets to watch 2+ hours of Kipper and some scottish claymation show with funny dialogue she recites for the next 36 hours.

Friday am: I take #3 to her Grandma's for the morning, until Handyman comes home around noonish. (Oh, yeah, he was out of town, of course.) She hasn't barfed since yesterday morning and no fever. She just wants to sleep. My mom is flying in from FL on Saturday night, for an out-patient surgery. Tonight we are supposed to get together with cousins at MIL's house for my SIL b'day.

Handyman picks up #3 after lunch and takes her home. She seems okay. So we take her back to Grandma's and we all have a terrific supper. Fried chicken, homemade slaw, mashed potatoes with horseradish and green beans with bacon. Mmm, mmm, good. (This is important. It'll be the last meal I have for several days.) ;)

Saturday am: I cannot lift my head off the pillow. Somehow, miraculously, I do not barf my brains out. I drink honey water and pepto bismol tablets and never leave my bed, really, for about 8 hours.

Handyman heads to the airport to pick up my mom, and take her to HIS mom's house (where we had dinner last night). The two moms can hang out together and avoid the Bubonic plague that is reproducing in our home.

Sometime late Saturday pm: I learn later that this is when #1, #2 and MIL start barfing their brains out. I am blissfully sleeping through it, while Handyman cringes on the far side of the bed, facing away from me, clutching a Lysol can.
My mom is immersing herself in hand sanitizer, while her hostess is heaving in the next room.

Sunday afternoon: I am able to sit up and watch a little tv. I hear that girls have stopped barfing, but I do not venture downstairs until the later playoff game. Handyman doesn't really want me to sit by him, I can tell. I see rolled up sheets by the washer. I'm sure he'll get those washed for me. Mom is not barfing yet.

Sunday pm: #1 and #2 are grey with blue lips. I think they can stay home tomorrow. #3 is back to normal. Mom makes a batch of Cracker Barrel chicken and dumplings and sends them up with Handyman. They are awesome. I eat two entire spoonfuls!

Monday am: #1 and #2 stay home. I go to work. #3 goes to school. MIL is reputedly recovering. Mom still not barfing, which is good. She has to be at surgery at 7 am tomorrow.

Monday pm: #1 and #2 have regained their color and have watched the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy all day. #2 is with me that the battle scenes are too epic, too long and too boring. Everyone will be heading back to school tomorrow. I discover rolled up icky sheets still by the washer and take them directly to the trashcan.

Tuesday 5:40 a.m. I wake up to that familiar sound: "Bwaaaaaah!" It's Handyman, in the bathroom! Ack! Quick call to Mom, who says MIL is up and going already and she can take Mom to surgery and bring her home. Good thing--Handyman isn't leaving the bedroom. I cover all the chores, dogs, chickens, horses, cats, kids and head back to work while my head starts getting snotty.

Tuesday pm: Surgery goes well and Mom arrives back at Base Camp #2. Girls take out trash cans and Handyman remains completely out of commission. I continue to do all chores and make a new batch of laundry soap.

Wednesday: Another Wednesday, here already?! Off to Awana again. Handyman rises from his sickbed in the late afternoon. I still haven't seen my mother, who came into town last Saturday.

Thursday: We seem to be over it and I got a jump start on losing those 5 lbs. I gained over Christmas. I get to see Mom, who is leaving on Monday. We laugh (not at all) about the amazing-ness of bacteria.

Top 10 List

Year's End

I love New Year's...it's a great big way to wipe the slate clean and go at it once again. Like Mondays, only a lot more fun and with great snacks! I got to go to lunch with BFF today, cleaned my stalls this morning and wear my way-cool purple shiny silk shirt from GW again. So it's already been a good New Year's Eve afternoon.

But to succinctly wrap it up, I'll give you my Top 10 Lists for 2010.

Top 10 Things for which I Am Grateful:

1. A personal relationship with the one, true God, through the person of His only Son, Jesus Christ. This has to come first, not because it should but because it is the filter through which I try to live, really. That doesn't make me better than anyone, or smarter or more spiritual. I am the chief among sinners, but thankfully, I am "on the line" and appreciate each time the Lord reels me in for a little one-on-one with the Holy Spirit, reminding me of the stupidity of "going it alone". I tell my children, the only hope we have is through Jesus. Hope for the future of our country, hope for our lives, hope for the dreams that are in each of us.

2. Loving, kind, well-mannered, funny parents. Yep, they're all that and more. I am thankful for their raising of me and their continued relationship which has evolved into a wonderful friendship, where I get all their best stuff! As I have posted here many times, my poor dad is still barn-building for me after all these years! And my mother will soon begin sleeping more peacefully, knowing that my kitchen/laundry/dog kennel/storage room will soon be completely demolished and replaced with something akin to a...kitchen!

3. Of course, HANDYMAN! I am what I yam because of him. Really. My parents got the first couple decades, but I grew up a lot when I met Handyman, because I wanted him to like me. I paid attention to what was important to him and I morphed! I gave up some of the goofy, girly nonsense and got serious about being a grown-up. I also read Debi Pearl's "Created to be a Help Meet" and learned how Biblical truths will always, always, always work--duh! And then of course, I read 17 years worth of This Old House magazine, so I can converse intelligently about moulding, spray-on insulation foam, underlayment, fiber cement siding and drip edge. ;)

4. My Bratinellas--all three of 'em. Because, well because I like them better than I like anyone else's bratinellas! They know me. They know my bark is worse than my bite and they know that I am trying to teach them things it took me awhile too long to learn...like picking up after oneself. They know Mommy loves Daddy the most and she's gonna do what he wants first. And they forgive me...thank heavens!

5. My awesome estate. Some might disagree with me, but it's wonderful in the summer, and terrific on dark, starry nights and pretty in the fall and wonderful in spring and even pretty in winter. It continues to evolve into something more terrific each year. And this year will be the biggie: New kitchen, back room stops being a storage unit and will become living space, with NEW back staircase, new laundry room, new mudroom. And I'm gonna make Handyman build a riding ring, pour concrete on the barn porch and frame up the tack room, so I can really ride horses again. (My dad better get back soon. There's work afoot.)

6. My critters. Goes without saying. Even on the most bitter winter mornings, IN THE DARK, once I get out there, I am so glad to be with them and feed them and rub their long, shiny winter coats. They give me something to get out of bed for...durn it! And the ones in the house are even better with that non-stop flow of love. Poor Handyman, didn't know what he was getting into. I promised him, once the kids left, I would be a crazy cat lady, who cleans the litter boxes. Next up, baby goats and bees!

7. I have this amazing, small circle of friends who are as faithful and loyal as anything I could have hoped for. When you're in high school, you think your friends are so deep and true and life-long and nothing could be further from the truth! You don't even know what life is about or what hard really is. When your friendships aren't about what any of you are wearing or doing, but about slogging on through devastating personal crisis or illness or significant loss and you keep linking your arms together and pulling forward and laughing whenever possible and taking care and not calling as much as you should...this is friendship. And I have been the beneficiary of some beautiful friends over the last decade or so. Women who I should get together with MUCH more than I do...who have been the sisters that I never had to grow up with!

8. In-Laws--I sure lucked out in this department. When I hear the stories from others, I almost can't believe the grief other women suffer. My in-laws have given me about 2 hours total of trouble in 20 years. Maybe less. In return, I have eaten at their table and opened their gifts and dumped off the bratinellas many, many times. My FIL is gone now, but I remember that a long time ago he told Handyman to get on with marrying me or he would do it himself!

9. My health. Of course there is no order to the things on this list. They're all about equal for me. But this would fall pretty high. Having walked through cancer, I feel stronger and surer and much, much more focused and I am glad for that experience. I recognize moments now and am more willing to sit and soak them up. I can just enjoy time for what it is. I regained a sense of wonder about much that was being swallowed up in the inanity of everyday American existence.

I am THANKFUL for the "broken" American healthcare system that allowed me to pick my doctors, and organize my treatment program according to what I wanted and needed. I didn't require the approval of anyone or anything. We pay our own health insurance, and for the majority of our medical needs, we pay for those too. My insurance company didn't give me one minute's trouble about anything I needed and I was NOT booted out. I didn't ask anyone else to pay for me and I'll be the first to join the group of "folks who don't want to pay for others' healthcare".

10. I'll be a little flippant and just say, that I love the internet. I love shopping on it. I love reading other blogs. I love reading the news on it. I love emailing my kids' teachers. I love skyping with my parents. I love watching old tv shows and movies, INSTANTLY. I love watching horse-for-sale ads on youtube. Okay, I love the White Knuckles dog video on YouTube. I even like Facebook, a little. The internet is awesome, and I hope the government keeps its grimy, greedy big paws off of it!

Leave me your list, if you wish!

As the worm turns...

And man, has it ever turned! We are a changed family. We decided back in the spring to put #2 into school this year, since she was ready for 6th grade. We wanted her to have the chance to get started with band and sports and things that #1 really missed out on, when we stuck her into 8th grade, mid-year. (Not the best timing, we realized, but it was what it was.)

Well, #3 wasn't too interested in staying home alone, so we visited a teeny-weeny private Christian school that was absolutely darling, but didn't have a teeny-weeny tuition; and we visited our local public school. #3 said, "Mommy, it looks like the Children's Museum!" And it does.

So as summer was waning, both girls were signed up for public school, and I started looking in earnest for a part-time job. And I got one, at a local high school cafeteria.

So I spend my days making cold sandwiches, viewing the juvenile public up-close and personal and throwing away hundreds of pounds of food each and every day. (More on that later.) I've joined a team of ladies who work hard and strive each day for efficiency and overall pleasant-ness. It's really enjoyable.

The best thing about it? Each day, I complete something. Not like at home, where nothing is EVER done. I can totally see how women would come to rely on the separateness of going to work and shutting the door on home for awhile.

Oh, the other best thing is that the pay is very good and I am home every afternoon, evening, weekend and holiday AND summer! The tools of my trade: a hairnet and some plastic gloves...yee ha!

The Art Museum

Took the kiddos on a field trip to the Art Museum last week. It's been awhile since I've been to the Art Museum, thought we were about due for a trip, since we no longer need strollers and wipes, etc. I did remember my last trip to the Art Museum, where we encountered the GIANT piles of painted, knotted, piled nylon rope in the entry. These are piles bigger than furniture, some bigger than automobiles, uniformly knotted and coiled and stacked into massive structures, with little signs that say "Please Do Not Touch".

You're kidding me, right?! These things are indestructible and randomly placed in the ENTRYWAY, so that you have to walk around and through them, but we can't touch them?! They are made of rope, like from Lowes rope, and coated with seriously heavy coats of shellac..."Kids, don't touch the giant piles of painted rope. It's delicate."

But I digress. This time the entry was still in a state of un-pack, we thought. We were wrong. There were these frames, the size of patio doors, that had unfinished strips of plywood on the vertical sides and between the plywood there were different types of curtains sticking out. The frames were at all random angles and there was a second tier on top, that had shards of mirror sticking out of the edges. We could walk through them, and OF COURSE, not touch them. It was stupid and unattractive.

Of course, the descriptive card off to the side went on about how the different curtains and positions made the viewer feel different things, blah, blah, blah. Since my friends are just as shallow as I am, we could only feel endangered by the big shards of mirror sticking out of the edges of the unfinished plywood. Actually, the unfinished plywood made me think of my kitchen, but mostly all I could think about was that someone was actually able to get paid for such a piece of rubbish.

And then I remembered my favorite exhibit ever at the Art Museum...the unravelling cacti. I think that's when I realized how very shallow and uncultured I am. A man had paid some South American women to knit coverings for plastic cacti. These cacti were set up in a large diorama. Each knitted cacti had a yarn coming off it, running up to a powered spindle on the ceiling and at random times, the spindles would spring to life and unravel some yarn from the pieces. The "art" of this exhibit, was that it was always "changing" because it would be unravelled at random times, making it different. Huh? I've got stuff at my house that changes every time I look at it--the ring in the toilet, the stacks of laundry, even the litter boxes--perhaps I need to market myself more...

The "artist" didn't even do the knitting. Head banging on desk* Still don't get it.

We found our way to the clothing area, where we last saw women's outfits from each decade since the turn of the century, only to be disappointed--and shocked--at the display of coture from the 60's on, that included a swimsuit that was a brief attached to two suspenders that joined at the navel area AND NOTHING ELSE. The mannequin had other parts that weren't covered, fortunately the one boy with us was busy with the "artwork" that was simply a poorly-lit HOLE IN THE WALL, that you viewed from across the room.

I'm sure this description does little to explain the circumstances. There were some terrific things there and I am, for the most part, glad to take the kids. I just wish I could go without the whole Emperor's New Clothes feeling.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Yeah, yeah, yeah. My one fan (ccw) told me to my face the other night, that he was bummed that I wasn't blogging. Frankly, I'm bummed that I'm not blogging. I think about blogging every day. Then I think I must be pretty vain to think that my life is so entirely interesting that I qualify for daily blogger status. I mean how many times can you blog about where you have found socks? Or how many types of manure you handle in one day? (Bet I'd win.)

But really, the world is turning here at Netherfield. On Valentine's Day, Handyman's dad went into the hospital, and stayed for a long time. They tried to send him to a rehab a couple of times, but he got bounced back and then after yelling in my face that he wanted to die, he up and did just that.

It was my first up-close experience with death of a close loved one. I got to experience every single step of it, even the final end. I don't know how people go through this stuff without knowing Christ personally. What a bulwark it was for me to have God to rely on in all the various stages, with all the people I needed to help, in all the ways I was called upon to help.

All these decades of reading Dear Ann Landers and Carolyn Hax, and Billy Graham and all those columns in the magazines about life, have really helped. I was able to walk through those weeks without regret, saying what I needed to say and thanks to my dad, peeking during an altar call, I was able to reassure a lot of people that Grandpa knew Christ. And that was the ultimate peace for me and Handyman. We could say goodbye.

It was the first funeral I went to as a representative, rather than an attendee. And our friends came out of the woodwork--and what a blessing that was. You know how you never want to go to a funeral and you wonder if it's even worth your time...well it is. We were so blessed by the friends who toiled through an insane traffic jam to see us, just briefly--who bought us food because the stupid funeral home didn't even have a coffee pot that worked, who put on lunches for a huge entourage after the way-out-of-town burial--who colored with our kids in the funeral home kitchen so we could keep shaking hands. Note to self: remember how many ways you can be the body of Christ.

I actually stood at someone's bedside as they passed into eternity and I had absolutely no fear in my heart because I had said goodbye, days before, face to face, when he knew what I was saying AND because I knew he had asked Christ into his heart. Honestly, I always wondered if he remembered that he did that, and I probably should have talked more about it with him, but "that peace that passes all understanding" thing? It's real.

I could walk my kids through this first major loss of their lives with confidence in God and offer them peace for their broken little hearts.

Spring is coming now, I think. We have chicks in our attic room, with their mothers. We have contractors bidding on some alterations to our roof that are LONG overdue. My new horse is in training and I also have the opportunity to ride some other nice horses, to get legged up. #1 thinks she might get her drivers license this summer and #2 and #3 are going to school in the fall. Should be an interesting summer.

I have about 295 blogs in my head regarding the switch from homeschooling to public school, that I will be happy to unload at some point, but we're wrapping up some strep throat, orthodontia and raccoon attacks, so I really have to get out of this chair. Oh, and I didn't get pictures of the big crawdad I caught in the pasture this morning, complete with tail full of caviar, I mean eggs. I did release her into the creek and boy was she happy...

I haven't been posting because..........

because I gave up complaining about the weather for Lent! It's true. One of my daughters gave up wearing pants (which is wearing a little thin with her at this point.) I couldn't really think of anything I relished that I could possible give up, without harming someone else..."I won't clean the chicken house for Lent".

Then it dawned on me. I love to complain about the weather. It is the one thing I allow myself to complain about. I complain heartily. I complain about the weather with regularity. It is the outlet for the sarcasm I try to banish from the rest of my speaking day. I had to admit; I LOVE complaining about the weather.

And this state gives me so much material to work with. So, I gave up complaining abou the weather for Lent. It is a big sacrifice this year, because of the ridiculous statistics we are racking up here. But, I shan't go into them now.

Our life is roller-coastering right now as Handyman's father has been in the hospital since Valentine's Day. Two times he was sent out to rehab (after having a feeding tube put into his stomach). And two times he has been rushed back to the hospital. Today he is being moved to hospice. It is not going to be a long stay.

I am confident that he answered the call of Christ in the recent past and can rest assured that he will be free from his failing physical body soon.

Confession

I realize that it is risky to confess on an international stage--(yikes, someone from Turkey has read this blog). However, I have to come clean...in a manner of speaking.

My children are pigs. Completely, without hesitation, porcine in nature and behavior. When I look at buying a car, I consider the ability to power-wash the interior as a big plus. I have seen pens at the State Fair that look more hospitable than my living room on a Friday night. My car has greasy footprints on the windshield. Honestly, I think I would have a better chance being a housekeeper for a group of Vikings.

As I make my continuous rounds through the house, I regularly pick up about 20 hair rubber bands per day, most with hair wrapped around them. Then there are the socks. Handyman and I are constantly finding socks, EVERYWHERE. In the yard, on the tramp, on the driveway, on the porch, in the car, in the hall, in the treehouse, in the barn (not kidding) under the table, on the couch. And why don't I throw them away, you might ask...because then Handyman would have to cough up some of his hard-earned cash to buy more. That whole Arnold Schwarzneggar method of, "if it's not put away, I throw it away", works fine if your bank account is in Switzerland. Mine is a little less self-sustaining.

Plus the efforts keep my back limber, the bending and stooping to pick up the 57 paper napkins under the dining room table each day. I have never seen napkins reproduce like this. I know that no one uses them. I hand them out, they put them in their laps and they brush them onto the floor and we start over...and I've seen that floor up close and personal. There is no re-use going on after that. (I had to train the firefighter's kids not to eat anything that hits the floor here. No 5-second rule, kids. These boots have been in the chicken yard.)

When my jeans hit the floor at night, the left pocket is grossly swollen with teeny pink legos (yes, they make them), Polly Pocket attire to outfit a small city, several Puffs Plus (they don't come apart in the wash!), crochet hooks, safety pins, marbles (no one ever plays with them), dog kibble (to reward those who come--dogs not kids!), apple cores, old band-aids, drill bits (found in the washer) and the occasional odd change.

Fortunately, I am gifted with the indomitable spirit of the insane--optimism. Each day I tell myself, "Today, the bathroom sinktop will stay clean until Handyman gets home." or, "Today I will look for the bathroom sinktop." or "Today, I will go into their bathroom and use a lightsaber on the dried toothpaste foam coating the sink top." or my favorite, "Today, #1 will want to clean/shovel her room out to make herself feel better.

But expect them to A)close the bandaid box or pick up the band aid wrappers; B)rinse their spit from the sink; C)pick up the open shampoo bottle lying on the floor or C)get more toilet paper for the next person...??? That is indeed to set oneself up for disappointment.

#2 and #3 are still small enough that I can make them clean their room. And I am so thankful to have hardwood floor, so we can sweep all the bits into a pile and sort through the dog hair and dirty socks to pick out the princess jewels and (more) Polly clothes.

Christmas is coming, so I sense more toys in the future. I've asked Mimi to take the youngers so I can rummage through their current posessions and clear out. I know we have too much stuff, and that's most of the problem. But these kids would step over me if I was spurting blood on the dining room floor, just to avoid having to help with the mess.

The rule is, if you find the cat barf, you clean the cat barf. So, the inverse is, if you do not "notice" the cat barf, Mom will eventually find it when it is dehydrated and shriveled and we've stepped over it for a week. Also, if we stuff bowls of popcorn at the back of our loft beds, Mom won't venture in this far and we can hoard it. When I do climb the bed ladders to retrieve all my kitchen ware, there are cups with home-grown yogurt going full-steam ahead and candy wrappers by the bushel.

I know they will eventually have their own domiciles and I cannot wait. Just last week, my BFF related how her oldest was complaining about his new roommates leaving the milk sitting out and all the lights on when they were gone. She was ecstatic. Then he bought some whole wheat bread, because one of his roommates said it was better for you. She jerked the cart to a halt in the store aisle and retorted, "Oh, just because I told you that for 18 years, doesn't matter?!"

Amazing how parents get smarter as kids get older...

Foodies, Take Note

My friend Needa has FINALLY started a food blog. Needa's prowess as a cook is in a stratosphere all its own. Let's just say that when we did 30 Day Gourmet, I was the head dishwasher, okay.

After begging and pleading for months and months, she has finally agreed to put some of her best stuff on the web...so RUN to her new blog, The Four Sales Eat, and partake. You won't be sorry!

And ask her about her chicken pot pie recipe, or her chicken sausage recipe, or her enchilada recipe, or her peanut sesame noodles, or her son's boy scout cake, or her State Fair winning chicken fingers, or

'Tis the Season

...for the 4H Fair! Wooo hooo! We entered fine art this year, which is really, really appropriate for us, since our entire house is papered with home-grown, fine art. Really. I finally convinced them that some of this needed to be displayed elsewhere. Last summer I walked them through the display hall saying, "See, you can do this. Yours is this good--you need to enter." I'm such a non-competitive, easy-going mom.

So when #1 exited her school building this spring with a spectacular 20x20 charcoal portrait, as soon as I could lift my jaw out of my lap I said, "There's your 4H fair exhibit!" It is a great, great picture.

Well, #2 is no slacker in the art department. She has a big fat notebook full of fashion drawings, no joke. This girl is Vera Wang in saddle shoes. So she draws a really sweet pencil drawing--on copy paper. Wouldn't have been my first choice, but she did it without my input and it's done. So, I head off to Michael's to find a frame for it. Fortunately she left a lot of blank space at the bottom, so I could trim it to fit an 8x10 frame. (Didn't know there was an aisle with 8.5x11" document frames--that comes later.)

So I trim the picture and we get it into Frame #1 (this will be important). The 4H handbook says all frames must have wire to hang them. But since I just give the book the cursory one-sweeping glance, I fail to note that the wire has to be screwed into the frame itself. This becomes critical...

My 85 year old grandma is here to visit and watch the dog shows. I don't talk to her much because she is always bent over sweeping up dog hair or loading the dishwasher...poor woman. She babysits, cleans up, teaches embroidery and expresses great interest in trampolining, garden beetles, chicken activity and evening foot scrubbing.

So, I load up 5 children (babysitting for the fireman down the street who lost his wife last year to BC). So I have them for 24 hrs. every third day. Sweet little boy and girl, between #2 and #3. We're all in the car, except Grandma, who is sweeping up dog hair. (I'm thinking she's looking forward to 1 hour of silence as we go to fairgrounds to drop off art.) #1 is in front seat putting wire on brackets of #2's picture frame.

#1 pulls just the wrong way on the wire of the frame and breaks glass as I am climbing into car with five children and two large framed artworks. (#1 did a watercolor at a class at the library as well as the charcoal.)

No problem! We can just hit Michael's on our way to 4H fairgrounds. We must be there by 7 pm to drop off and it's only 5 pm. So off we go. #1 stays in car with #3 and NB (neighbor boy), while I go in with #2 and NG (neighbor girl). I now find the aisle with the document frames (wouldn't have had to cut picture!!), which I now buy. #2 and NG convince me to buy $1 calendars for them all to color while we are driving...

Back into the car, #1 goes at the framing thing with vigor (a little less vigor perhaps, to protect glass in frame #2). Frame #2 is a document frame, MADE FOR 8.5x11, so now the picture has been trimmed a little too much. TOO BAD! It's going in. White space be darned!

Off we go. We arrive at the fairgrounds with the approximately 200,000 other county residents who are hauling in artwork, furniture, and any other non-living project you can imagine. I bring my five little chicks in with me and we proceed to fill out our little cards (Mom, how do you spell charcoal?)

4H Fine Art Steward approachs us almost immediately to let us know that our wire hangars are not correct on two of the three projects. Thankfully, they have provided a table with screw-eyes, wire and tools to correct such malformaties as must be pretty prevalent, since there is a waiting line for the work table.

#1 gets her watercolor frame re-rigged quickly. That girl is handy. Then we go to work on Frame #2 while the other chicks hit the water fountain. (Stay together little chicks. Don't hang on the ropes that divide the lines little chicks. Stand still you little cretins!)

We realize that Frame #2 is not made of wood. It's not even made of a natural material, unless compressed cardboard counts as a natural material. Our fingers begin to show the strain of twisting little bitty screw-eyes...we give up and whine for special treatment.

We are taken to the Matron of Fine Art, who shows a teensy bit of leniency in allowing us some extra time TO GO TO WAL-MART AND GET ANOTHER FRAME! She said it--GO TO WAL-MART AND GET A WOOD FRAME.

Little chicks, get your little hineys back in the car, no you cannot go through the tents, no you cannot have a snack, put your eyes on those calendars!!! True, Wal-mart is just around the corner, but it's Super Walmart, so that means the parking lot is akin to Disney World and I'll need a map to find picture frames.

This time I take #3 (the loose cannon with a piercing whine) with me and everyone else stays with #1 in the car. What would I do without #1??? We find the picture frames and I pick one that says in bold letters "Solid Wood". But we're in Wal-mart for cryin' out loud. What are the odds that I will leave with one, singular item in my hand???

We pass the back-to-school displays and there are crayons for 20 cents--now can anyone pass that up?! And they go with the $1 calendars I bought at Michaels, right? And we're trapped in the car for another drive--I wonder if Dave Ramsey sees it this way?? So four boxes of crayons go into the bag, forgive me #1, and we're off.

Back to the fairgrounds. The entire tribe piles out and I hand them off to #1 to take through all the empty fairground tents, while I head back to the dungeon, I mean fine art area to begin my labor for Rumplestiltskin...did I mention how helpful #1 is?

Back to the table, it is now 6:30. There are a paltry few little screw eyes left and still the parents surround the table, twisting and hammering. I begin on frame #3 in earnest and believing that since I am lawfully joined to the handiest man on the planet, this should be a breeze. After all, my proximity to him for almost two decades should have rubbed off a little.

Sure enough, the first screw eye is seated in a reasonable amount of time, what with having to share the one little hammer with three other sets of parents, on a plastic banquet table. I did take the precaution of removing the glass and the picture from the frame while I droned away.

Screw-eye #2 was not to be done. Indeed, I did not see one shred of evidence that frame #3 was made of anything different from frame #2 once we delved beneath the paint...it still looked like powdered something or other. I fussed. I spun the frame around the eye. I tapped the eye with the hammer. I pressed and turned and spat. Well, not really.

Finally, some kind soul at the other end of the table took pity on me--it must've been my hair--and came to my rescue. And she did use a teeny, weeny nail to make a starter hole for the stupid screw eye. (Handyman would have thought of this.) Let me say that the nail was so teeny that I had to hold it with needle-nose pliers while the other lady whacked at it. I kept expecting the glass to somehow slide off the table to the floor, but it held. And suddenly, she was finished. She did it.

Then I realized there was no wire left on the table, so I dispatched #2 (who had by this time come in to check on me) back to the car to retrieve the wire off frame #2. She returned with a wire barely long enough to make, but there was no stopping me now. I pulled the wire through and put those needle-nose pliers back to work pinching the wire around itself to close it.

Meanwhile, Frau Blucher the steward (not really--she was extremely patient and helpful), was bringing in some coated fence wire from her truck (I am not kidding about this) for the parents who were still there trying to get little Suzie's pictures corrected appointed.

Let me summarize: At this point I have paid about $20 to frame a pencil drawing on copy paper. This is one expensive little ribbon--she'd better win.

On to the dog show--bring your own baggies!

This has never happened to me before...

All my children are taking naps and so is my husband. There is a sinister reason for this...THEY ALL HAVE STREP THROAT! Well, except for Handyman, who is sleeping with Lysol in a holster on his side. He has three night shoots coming up.

My children have never had strep throat and they've never all been sick with something all at the same time. As a matter of fact, my children are hardly ever sick. In fact, #3 has never had a sick office call to the doctor, in her entire life.

I guess this is part of what you get when you send your child to public school.
:*(

#1 came home on Thursday, feeling rotten and tired. I let her stay home on Friday, even though she had a social studies test, and she continued to have on-and-off fever throughout the day. Meanwhile #3 had two playdates on Friday, both of them here. #2 went and spent the day at a friend's house, hitching a ride with Playdate #2's mom, in her van--with her 3 other kids.

Then last night, as #3 was getting ready to leave and spend the night with my parents, who had the flu last week, #2 was being dropped off by the family she'd been visiting ALL DAY. That mom is a nurse, and suggested that #1 might go for a strep test today.

Did I mention that #1 was supposed to be at the living history museum today for returning interpreter day? She went to Minute Clinic instead. But before we could get that accomplished, #2 came upstairs with a fever at 7am. (She's the one who rode in the van with 3 other children and then spent the day with 4 other children.) She missed the playdate scheduled for today. (We homeschoolers have trouble with socialization.)

So #1 is positive and #2 should go get tested tomorrow. Oh, and my parents thought #3 was cranky this morning because "she didn't go to bed until 10 last night." I'm thinking--#3 has been up until 10 MANY times before. Mom and Dad put her down for a nap. #3 hasn't had a nap for, oh, 3.5 years! (That's what happens when your sisters are home with you all day.)

Then at 2 pm, Mom and Dad call to say that #3 has a fever of 102. (No wonder she's cranky.)

To be fair, #1 could easily have gotten this at Awana. She leads a table of snotty little Kindergarteners. It's possible. In the meantime, I've got to go fumigate the bathroom and all the phones and doorknobs and car door handles. No rest for the wicked, I mean, well.

My Dad sent this to me...

...and needless to say, I loved it--Bet there's lots of "girls" who relate:

My daughter turned sixteen years old today; which is a milestone for most people. Besides looking at baby photos and childhood trinkets with her, I took time to reflect on the young woman my daughter had become and the choices she would face in the future. As I looked at her I could see the athlete she was, and determined woman she would soon be.

I started thinking about some the girls we knew in our town who were already pregnant, pierced in several places, hair every color under the sun, drop outs, drug addicts and on the fast track to no where, seeking surface identities because they had no inner self esteem. The parents of these same girls have asked me why I "waste" the money on horses so my daughter can ride. I'm told she will grow out of it, lose interest, discover boys and all kinds of things that try to pin the current generation's "slacker" label on my child. I don't think it will happen, I think she will love and have horses all her life.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has compassion. She knows that we must take special care of the very young and the very old. We must make sure those without voices to speak of their pain are still cared for.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she learned responsibility for others than herself. She learned that regardless of the weather you must still care for those you have the stewardship of. There are no "days off" just because you don't feel like being a horse owner that day. She learned that for every hour of fun you have there are days of hard slogging work you must do first.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she learned not to be afraid of getting dirty and that appearances don't matter to most of the breathing things in the world we live in. Horses do not care about designer clothes, jewelry, pretty hairdos or anything else we put on our bodies to try to impress others. What a horse cares about are your abilities to work within his natural world, he doesn't care if you're wearing $80.00 jeans while you do it.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she learned about sex and how it can both enrich and complicate lives. She learned that it only takes one time to produce a baby, and the only way to ensure babies aren't produced is not to breed. She learned how babies are planned, made, born and, sadly, sometimes die before reaching their potential. She learned how sleepless nights and trying to outsmart a crafty old broodmare could result in getting to see, as non-horse owning people rarely do, the birth of a true miracle.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she understands the value of money. Every dollar can be translated into bales of hay, bags of feed or farrier visits. Purchasing non-necessities during lean times can mean the difference between feed and good care, or neglect and starvation. She has learned to judge the level of her care against the care she sees provided by others and to make sure her standards never lower, and only increase as her knowledge grows.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has learned to learn on her own. She has had teachers that cannot speak, nor write, nor communicate beyond body language and reactions. She has had to learn to "read" her surroundings for both safe and unsafe objects, to look for hazards where others might only see a pretty meadow. She has learned to judge people as she judges horses. She looks beyond appearances and trappings to see what is within.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has learned sportsmanship to a high degree. Everyone that competes fairly is a winner. Trophies and ribbons may prove someone a winner, but they do not prove someone is a horseman. She has also learned that some people will do anything to win, regardless of who it hurts. She knows that those who will cheat in the show ring will also cheat in every other aspect of their life and are not to be trusted.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has self-esteem and an engaging personality. She can talk to anyone she meets with confidence, because she has to express herself to her horse with more than words. She knows the satisfaction of controlling and teaching a 1000 pound animal that will yield willingly to her gentle touch and ignore the more forceful and inept handling of those stronger than she is. She holds herself with poise and professionalism in the company of those far older than herself.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has learned to plan ahead. She knows that choices made today can effect what happens five years down the road. She knows that you cannot care for and protect you investments without savings to fall back on. She knows the value of land and buildings. And that caring for your vehicle can mean the difference between easy travel or being stranded on the side of the road with a four horse trailer on a hot day.

When I look at what she has learned and what it will help her become, I can honestly say that I haven't "wasted" a penny on providing her with horses. I only wish that ll children had the same opportunities to learn these lessons from horses before setting out on the road to adulthood.



Thanks Dad--for providing me with the opportunity of a lifetime; and for putting the plexi in my stall doors this week! :)

Time marches on

My 93 yr.-old grandma passed away this week, in a nursing home, in Ohio. It had not been a good situation for quite awhile and we were all sort of relieved. The service, done by my uncle, was really great. He spoke specifically to each of his brothers and sisters about how their mother felt about them and then he allowed people to come up at will and speak about "Gammie" and what she meant to us. That was so joyous and bittersweet for everyone. My own fine mother got up with yellowed recipe cards that had been written for her by Gammy many moons ago. As my mom read off the titles on the recipe cards, people were oohing and aahing aloud.

I came away thinking that I pretty much suck as a mother...I know that's an exaggeration and I know that Gammie's kids probably drove her nuts, but her life was distilled down to its most important impacts and they were all about how she made everyone feel special and she loved everyone, all the time, from their high moments to their bottom-dragging choices, she was all about love and support and more love and good food.

I'm about nagging and being disappointed and mad and frustrated. I'm about being a drill sergeant because nothing seems to work. My kids sneak off during the day to avoid me, because they say all I want to do is work. Where's the balance? #1 wants to spend time with just me, but she complains that she doesn't want to do it while I'm doing laundry...

Meanwhile every room, including the hallways and the cars, are piled with stuff and clothes and I get frustrated everywhere I turn. How can I be about love and good food, when I have trouble finding a horizontal surface to set a dish on? Why can't these darn kids do one thing they've been told to do over 487 times?? Is this just me?

Maybe I just need to wait for grandkids...

Yeah, yeah...still here...

I know, I know. It's just another thing that I haven't been able to accomplish. Not that I haven't thought about it. I have fodder for blogging going on every day, every minute, and I even recognize it when it happens.

Like day before yesterday..."Mom?" says #3. "Yes," I answer dutifully. (This is question 894 for the day.) "Do fish hold hands?" (I am dead-serious on this.) "No!" (Sarcastically, like, surely you know this #3.) Undeterred, "Do they hold fins?"

Emphatic "No." (Of course not--I think this is a little much, don't you?)

Pause.

"They do in Finding Nemo," with sincerity and trust and sweetness that pierces my heart and convicts my evil-mommy harshness to a sodden black lump in my chest.

"You're absolutely right, you little peanut! But it's a movie made by an artist, who can draw anything, just like you, little punky punk."

I'd love to write more, but I have a biology test to administer, my MIL's yard to finish mowing before she dies of a heart attack, a dinner party to clean up from and two horses that are begging to be ridden. Plus, I am now Awana Kindergarten room leader, and I have to get prepared for Menu Plan Monday and decide if I should rent a van with DVD players for Thanksgiving, and start some Christmas crafts, and....

State Fair Soliloquoy

We started off at the little trail where lil gals "learn about farming" and Mom and Dad say things like, "This is where you pick up your government subsidy check for producing ethanol," and "Obviously they don't know anything about chickens since they have 200 eggs under each hen." Then we feel sad for little city kids who think that you throw a (fake) seed into some sand and step across the way and pick up a veggie and then get paid at the end. But, the lil gals love it!



Here's #2 taking her first and last steps on and off a school bus. She pleaded with me, "Mom, I've never been on a bus." Yeah, yeah. Thank heavens for that #2.




Requisite picture with giant fake fish, where I remind #1 and #2 that there are really fish this big swimming in Lake Michigan; where they are going with grandparents.



We all love draft horses, although whenever I am around them, I can't help
but pull my toes back inside my shoes as I imagine what ungodly pain it must be to have one step on you...



This was without any doubt, the largest horse I have ever seen, EVER! I have seen a LOT of horses, but he took the cake, and ate it! I know the camera angle is pretty bad--people would not get/stay out of my way for one second. Handyman is 6'4", with Binks on his shoulders, easily makes them close to 7' and that horse wasn't on more than a couple of inches of shavings, if that. We did not see him put his head over the top of the stall, but I don't think it would have been a struggle. The yearling in the stall next to him was eating the edge of the easy-up tent in the aisle behind them...




Here's one of my favorites--look closely...a little "plumber's action" goin' on.

We've been wanting a truck--this is what Dave Ramsey is recommending for our current situation...




Look who's driving! (Another instance where complete strangers would not stay out of our pictures!)

I think everyone should have one of these shots...



Day's almost over...


End of the day...




What's a soliloquoy??

Finally...

I know, I know, it's been almost two weeks--but hey! I just found the camera in the purse I carried at the wedding and then I had to find new batteries to even get it going and today is #3's fifth birthday and I have made two trips to two ER's this month and Handyman is on location for ETERNITY and tomorrow I am hosting a princess birthday party for 7 and I can't find my mascara, okay???

Anyway, here's a glimpse...



More to come...if I survive the Princess-fest!

Okay, it looked so pretty, I wanted to add one more...



I can't decide who the prettiest girl is...


(Anyone who has made the chicken "drumsticks", please report in!)

Back from the wedding...

What do you call a housesitter who comes with 6+ children, takes care of all your critters, buys and plants flowers in your window baskets, leaves a tub of cookies, changes all the sheets on all the beds, does some laundry and leaves the house cleaner than she found it??

I'll call her "Often"!! What a treat...we got home at 12:30 a.m. this morning to a clean house and a pair of tired corgis--which I didn't know was even possible. I guess a passle of boys can do that. :)

I'll post some pics later of the world's cutest flower girl at one of the world's loveliest weddings. The weather was cooperative and we got to see some kin as well.

For now, I've got to unload the car...isn't that always a drag?

Menu Plan Thursd.........

Wow! What a beautiful day! Oh, did I mention that I spent 8 hours yesterday in the hospital with my MIL while she barfed her brains out?? Perhaps not. Yep. She called at 1:30 or so and needed someone to take her to the ER. So, that was me. Note to self: Do NOT wear flip flops to hospital. Cold feet, sore feet from standing, holding barf pan.

Fortunately, my mom (11 years younger than MIL) made supper for my whole family and brought it to my house. Fortunately, I have a child old enough to hold down the fort until reinforcements arrive. My mom even made an awesome dessert.

Sooooo, menu plan Wednesday: Call mom--food on the fly, and it's good!

Menu Plan Thursday--we're supposed to go to Costco today, and Handyman did a grocery store shoot yesterday, so he came home with bags of free stuff, so there shouldn't be any issues tonight...we'll see

P.S. #3 seems completely fine. I think it was a God-thing. If she had been well yesterday morning, we would have been at the pool when MIL called, so it would have been a struggle to cover all those bases. PTL.

We'uns!

Finally, I have some time to introduce myself! My name is "Netherfieldmom", because we LOVE Pride & Prejudice, actually all things Austen, most things English and historical. We live on a small hobby farm in the Midwest where the scenery is pretty boring and the weather is just ridiculous (although I am trying really hard not to complain, as has been my hobby this year.)

Our house was sold "as is", so we live in remodeling and that creates its own atmosphere of struggle/creativity and adaptability. We have three brainiac beautiful daughters, 14, 9 and 4. And I feel confident that I am one of the very few women in the United States who has a rooster living in her kitchen. Fear not, germ-phobic friends, lots of newspaper, a good sweeper and Yankee Candles keep the Board of Health at bay.


We homeschool, not because we ever intended to, but the Lord had plans for us--big plans. It is a challenge and it stretches me, a lot--hence my blog name. I always feel like I need to grow more and faster. I suppose that's good, actually. It is wonderful to decide my own schedule and not have to dance to anyone else's, but I think it makes me somewhat of a rebel, in a good way. "It's my life and I'll decide how to live it," kind of way.

We garden, we have chickens and horses and corgis (Welsh herding dogs) and cats. Both sets of our parents are living nearby, so we have elder care for his--making us the sandwich generation. We have loving family and friends. I really live a charmed life and I recognize it most of the time.



My husband is in the movie business although most of his time is spent in the much less glamour-filled role of lighting commercials...hospitals, groceries, appliance stores, restaurants, politicians. He is a lighting mercenary, known as a gaffer. He did films before we had children and now relishes staying home with his family more than travelling for months at a time. (Someday, we'll go do Lord of the Rings IV!! :)) We met at an antique auction, where he didn't tell me his name, but due to divine cooperation, I was able to hunt him down like a prize elk and well, the rest is a great story for another day.

I have ridden horses since childhood, competing through college and teaching into adulthood, finally "retiring" when my kids started costing more time than my riding could allow. Now, my husband has re-ensconced my dream, building me a barn, putting in four million fence posts and working himself to a lather to allow me to "have it all".



We raised chickens with some friends a couple of years ago, and still have that flock, including a couple of banties that we raised ourselves (with the help of a willing hen and the US Postal Service). They are dirty, silly, entertaining and friendly, and they make something to show for your work--as opposed to the horses who just make something to make you work (although my tomatoes may provide evidence of something worthwhile coming from horses--we'll see.)

I love to scrapbook, knit, crochet and do anything horse related. I read a lot whenever possible, which is usually in ten-minute bursts in the bathroom. We have books sitting on every horizontal surface of our house and we like to cook together when we're not building something. I used to grind wheat and bake bread, but my horses have eaten up all my time to do relaxing things. Maybe if I could stop standing there talking to them and brushing their tails while they eat.

Hope to meet lots of new readers this week! Gotta go hay!

So much to blog...

so little time. I've been limiting my time online, since I limit my kids' time online, it seemed a little unfair that I could jump on at the drop of a hat/chore, while they had to complete all day's worth of works before they can get on. I would love to blog lots more, because goodness knows I have a lot to share and I'm sure it's all worthwhile!! ;)

Raining slop here today. Lovely, as usual. I have my little beach calendar hanging nearby so I can gaze upon it and go to my happy place. My poor kids look at it and say "what's that?" It's a beach, Honey. Where the wind always blows and the sun is out, a lot and there is no snow or big, dripping boots.

Handyman cut my hair yesterday. What a scare/relief. It turned out fine, just what it needed. But the process was a little stressful. His fingers barely fit into the scissors and he was determined not to hold it flat between his fingers like a real hairdresser but to just press down and cut straight across my back. He did do two layers, so that was a help, and it does look much better. I wanted to put the hair out for the birds, but we've done that before and watched hair (ours and the dogs') rot in the flower bed for months.

I have almost paid off our Menards bill--it only took a whole month of sending some amount of payment every day by online bill pay. It's kind of fun and very motivating to check the balance every day and watch it trickle down. It will be paid off this week and then I'm onto the next highest one. I have Dave Ramsey's smiling face looking down on my computer, encouraging me to push on. I can't wait to be out of debt and it will be awhile, but I think about the things we will be free to do when we are not enslaved anymore. I am looking forward to buying flowers for my gardens. Not hand-me-downs (which are great and appreciated), but specific items that I would love to have. With our situation, we should be buying one evergreen a week for the next ten years to get our perimeter more established. We will buy a bigger ATV with attachments too. We could certainly use that. And it will be fun to buy it without signing our lives away.

#2 passed her Hunters Education test last week. I am so proud of her. It was 100 questions, multiple choice, the same test adults take to get their hunting licenses. She did not go out in the hall to have it read to her, but did the whole thing herself and passed with an 85! I had a moment of homeschool mommy-panic when I realized she had never taken any test like that, let alone that long, but she was a trooper!

4H will be gearing up soon and we've signed up for several new things, foods, cake decorating, gift wrapping and this year we'll have two dogs in the dog program. Gift wrapping sounds like a "sport" for the grossly precise but #2 wanted to do it. I love to wrap, myself, having been a wrapper for a book store for many years at holiday time. But I don't know if it's necessary to be judged on the basis of straight edges, seams and corners...

I have been working very hard to not leave laundry in baskets, sitting around for--weeks. It's my downfall. I don't mind doing laundry one bit. I like the warm clean smell when it comes out and I don't even mind folding. But I have some kind of completion issue. Flylady says not to even start a new load before unloading the previous one, but I can't go that far. I have too much piling up. So I've been through about a week without stalling out.

We are getting ready to stake out the riding ring, whenever the slop isn't hip deep. It will require cutting down several old, overgrown apple trees, so I want to get that done ASAP, or I will hear "we can't cut down apple trees when they are blooming..." and then it will be June before we even start. We were going to get bees this year, but held off to get our debt paid downs some more. So there isn't a bee excuse (they need the blossoms). Of course, I love apple blossoms too, but I want a place to ride more, sooooo, they gotta go!

Homeschool convention is coming up too. I always look forward to that. I think I am taking #1 with me this year, for the first time ever. I think she will enjoy the exhibit hall, a lot.

Well, it's time to feed, again. Reno stood out in the rain for too long last night and is still a little damp. I don't want him doing that again. I put a new bale of shavings in their stalls last night because we're about out of sawdust. This morning both of them had shavings stuck to the sides of their heads! So cute--it lets me know that they were laying flat out in the new bedding. I love to see that. Resting peacefully lets "mommy" feel good.

Snow's flying again, but I read a post at Kate's blog where she talked about spring arriving in South Carolina and how she was enjoying the flowers and that gave me a little hope. Now that the eyesore is gone from our "backyard", I am hoping to get some lilacs planted in that spot. Handyman and I sat down in the living room last night, gazing out to the north, watching the snow and it was so relaxing not to see that icky reminder of what our home used to be.

Well, this turned out to be quite the hodge podge of a post. I'll try to be more together next time. Time to eat!