Peas on earth (or in it)

I find myself wandering out to the sodden deck in my bare feet (so as not to get any socks wet. Heaven forbid I put on shoes or even sandals) every hour or so to see if any peas have sprouted in my garden. I know it has been less than a week, but it's hard not to check!

I'm glad I planted when I did because it has been wet ever since. The next dry day we have, I'm going to start planting carrots. The beans will have to wait until late May.

I have a little pot with oregano, basil, and chives planted, and they've sprouted. I hope they like it by the only south facing window I have access to (the other south facing window in the house is in the boys' room and if I were a plant, I'd be afraid to be in there).

C'mon peas!

The Burnsville 500 (inches)

Last night was the last Pinewood Derby any of my children would ever participate in. It is Matt's last year in Cub Scouts. Jim is not a worker of wood by any means and I think he's glad to be done with Pinewood Derby cars (this was the 9th one). I tried not to get involved with the Derby other than to watch it and cheer on my son's vehicle; I'll do every thing else to help my sons advance rank in the Cub Scout program, just not help with the Pinewood Derby car. I can only do so much, and so much doesn't involve coming within 10 feet of a band saw, or watching my sons come within that 10 feet either. I'd get very nervous. Think "freak out."

Our parenting philosophy, when it comes to school or scout projects, is to let the children do as much work on their projects as possible; and (forgive me for doing this) we tend to raise an eyebrow at some of the nearly professional-looking cars that the other Cub Scouts bring to the Pinewood Derby. Of course we wonder who did more work on the car: the kid or the parent. Who knows, maybe some boys are pros with electrically-powered saw technology; mine certainly aren't. My boys' cars have always looked like a kid designed (i.e. boxy and ill-painted with inexplicable paint color choices) and made them, with Dad strictly relegated to advisor/safety inspector/assistant. This year was no different.

Matt titled his car "The Million Dollar Car" because he thought it looked like a lump of gold. Can you see the $1000000 with the misplaced comma on the side? He used coins for weights to add to the idea that his car was "worth a lot of money."
To me, it looks aerodynamically challenged. But he came in 6th place out of 40, so I guess "boxy and angular" doesn't necessarily mean "slow". Sadly, I didn't get to see the race this year because of a conflict with Paul's track schedule. But Matt knows I was cheering him on from where I was stationed, waiting for the call to pick up Paul.

I looked around the corner and what did I see?

The end of school gunning straight for me!

(sung to "Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree")

It wouldn't be so bad, but it is hard to get anything done with children around, even big children. But we will have plenty to keep them busy. I think Hayley will have summer band lessons and girls' camp, Paul has a scout camp, Jimmy is going to EFY in St. Peter, Matt and Hayley both want to do swimming lessons. And as always, I'll have fake child.

Remember my unfinished projects? I'm getting close to finishing the shrug! I just have to sew up the sides and find a pewter brooch to act as a clasp. And I finally got another copy of the sock pattern and was able to turn the heel last night at Paul's band concert. (No pictures from that because I was too busy knitting. If you want to see pictures of Paul playing his horn, go here. Or here.)

Want a really good chicken recipe? I made this last night.

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (or whatever birdie meat you have, I guess. You could use bone-in meat, too, it'll just take longer to cook)
1/2 c. honey
4 Tbsp. soy sauce
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
2-6 cloves garlic minced (use however many you want. I used 6. Or you could substitute garlic powder, but I'm not sure how much)
olive oil for cooking

Heat oil in a saute pan big enough for four chicken breasts. Mix together the honey, soy sauce, salt, pepper and garlic. Place chicken breasts in pan. Pour sauce over the chicken. Cook until chicken is cooked all the way through, turning the chicken over occasionally and stirring it around in the sauce to cover. Since the chicken I used was frozen solid when I put it in the pan, it took a little longer (20-25 minutes perhaps), but longer was good because it sorta carmelized the honey/soy sauce glaze. Or at least made it thick. Anyway, I'll be making that again.

The recipe came out of a book (one I bought at a used bookstore), but it called for barbecuing the birdie and I didn't feel like barbecuing so I just cooked it on the stove.

Poetry corner to combat Monday moodiness

Like a child

Adventure awaits
Beckoning with a beam
Courage to do
Daring to dream

Enjoying the day
Fearing nothing at all
Glad to be here
Heeding the call

I stand at the ready
Jumping at a chance
(Kite-like in the air)
Leaping into dance

Most of the day
Noontime and night
Opens up to the willing
Perchance to take flight

Quivering with energy
Roiling and ready
Summoning the will
Tighten up, hold steady

Up to the treasure
Vivacity hath
Where does it lie?
X marks the path

Yearning to play
Zealous, facing the day


OK. Poetry slam is over. Did you make it this far into my post?

I picked a writing prompt from a list of ideas. Guess what the idea was that prompted me to write this? No peeking at other's guesses!

Have a wonder-filled day!

Edited to add: Hayley and Matt are memorizing poems for Grandma Olsen. Hayley has already memorized one called "Abou Ben Adhem" at Grandma's request. It's a beautiful poem and one that makes Grandma a little teary because her father knew it and she recited it to him when he was on his deathbed (I think that was her story about it). Matt is now memorizing it. Hayley is on to "Jabberwocky," one of my favorites.

Give peas a chance

Today I will plant peas. I have had it on my to-do list for several days, but the ear infection and several unexpected events (like missionaries showing up unannounced and chatting for over half an hour after using the bathroom, and another vehicle scare involving inability to shift into overdrive and going 45 mph down a road on which people like to go 65. I think my car might need a walker to help it get around) prevented me from getting out into the dirt and shoving seeds into it.

So my mantra for today is "I will plant peas. I will plant peas. I will plant peas."

But first I have to blog. Which I am doing right now. I don't know WHY I have to blog, and WHY I feel compelled to do it most every day. Most blogs I read don't update every day. And what I post surely isn't earth-shattering, earth-shaking, or even earth-twitching. Perhaps I blog to remind myself that I did something nearly every day, even if it was only thinking a few thoughts and writing them down on a computer interface mechanism.

I will plant peas. I will plant peas.

I will also get my children to help me plant peas. That way I can have them to most of the work and I can still feel the sense of accomplishment of finally finishing a task.

Furry leas

The other day, Matt and I were in the car, driving through an industrial part of town when Matt asked me a question. His voice carried all the way from the back of the van (he loves to sit in the way way back) despite loud groanings from my aging vehicle, bumpity-bump noises from driving on a wretched wretched road, and my left ear canal hosting a cage match between white blood cells and invading forces of throbbing evil. Matt's voice is unlike that of another child of mine, whom I have to command to speak up even if she is sitting right next to me, talking through a megaphone, and all other sound has been sucked out of the universe.

Matt asked (this is what I heard), "What does 'Fur Elise' mean?"

Ah, a music question!

I replied, "'Fur Elise' is the name of a song by Beethoven. It's in German, and it means 'For Elise.' He wrote it for one of his students to practice arpeggios I think." I thought to myself that perhaps I'd consult Wikipedia later on that one for more information.

Silence from the backseat.

I wondered why he asked. His piano playing skills have not progressed that far that he would have encountered the song in his own books. Hayley hasn't played it either. I wondered if there was a piano book lying around in the back of the van opened to a page with "Fur Elise" on it. While I mused I drove through another retail section of the city.

Matt finally spoke. "That doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't? Beethoven wrote a song and called it that." Makes perfect sense to me.

"Why is it on so many signs near buildings then?" And then he pointed to a sign that said...


For Lease


*insert deaf mother related punch line here*

*insert reference to the DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince song, "Parents Just Don't Understand" here as well*

Boy, did I feel stupid. This is why I don't go out much, why I socialize very little--I misunderstand people all the time. So if you know me in person and strike up a conversation with me and you think that I am acting batty or saying strange things, just remember I probably misheard something you said and am commenting on what I heard instead of what you really said.

Earworm

I have another ear infection. Blah. This is like my 6th one in probably as many years. I never had them as a kid (that I remember anyway). Then again, I didn't have seasonal or dust allergies as a kid either. So I'm stuck with a bum ear that hurts for a few days until the antibiotics' magic kicks in (oh sweet sweet antibiotics, how I love you!). I was amazed yesterday--when I realized that I needed to see a medical professional with legal prescription-writing power, the clinic actually had an available slot during the one hour time window that I was able to go! And I was in and out in fifteen minutes. (Too bad the pharmacy at my favorite store took close to 45 minutes to fill the prescription. And since it was my favorite store and I had to wait, I couldn't just stand there. I had to go buy two bottles of blood orange Italian soda, Yogos, flower seeds, new earbuds for iFlossie, yogurt--as suggested by the nurse practitioner-and a Neti pot--also suggested by the nurse practioner. Stupid ear infection cost me more than just the $7 for the amoxicillin)

Last night, despite the left side of my head feeling like cement, I got together with some women from church to practice a song to sing in Relief Society a few weeks from now (Relief Society is the women's organization in my church). I will be doing piano duty for this song, not singing, though. And I could have sat at the piano all night and listened to these three lovely women sing. I almost felt like I didn't have any right to be there, because what talent I have musically is far outshined by any of these ladies on their own, much less combined. I felt like the dorky little sister whining to be included with the cool big sisters (I've never been a little sister, so I can only imagine this is kinda what it feels like). I was lucky just to be there. And I'm grateful for what little musical ability I have so that I have an excuse to hang out with the cool kids.

Practice writing a short personal essay on getting off a plane

The plane ride was shorter than all the other times I flew from my Midwestern home to the Pacific coast; we must have hit an unusual tailwind going west. I wore a dress on the plane. Not so unusual, I had always worn dresses on plane trips. The dress was a dropped waist floral knit, very comfortable, very pretty. I wore pearls too, the pearls given to me by my mom and stepdad for my high school graduation. Come to think of it, I made the dress to wear for my graduation party too. Both were two years old. Both signaled my transition from childhood to independence, taking life into my own hands.

Maybe the flight was short because I was nervous. It wasn't the first time I'd flown solo (not that I piloted--of course I hadn't. I'm strictly passenger material); I flew out to college and back all by myself. I knew planes. I loved planes (I still do). I love the sound of overhead compartments clicking shut in succession as the flight attendant strolls down the aisle doing the final check of the cabin, making sure we were listening to the command to fasten our seatbelts. I love the adrenalin rush of taking off, the deafening roar of engines demanding that you notice that all laws of gravity are becoming invalid. I love the smell of circulating recycled air. I love the smell of the meat sauce of the (now extinct) stroganoff dinner in a plastic, shrink-wrapped tray. I love drinking free gingerale on an airplane, trying to keep it from spilling if we hit turbulence. I know how to use the oxygen mask, I know to put mine on first before I assist other passengers. I've always harbored a secret desire to fling myself down the emergency exit inflatable slides. I've always wanted to use my seat as a flotation device. I love planes. I love to arrive in a new, faraway, previously inaccessible place in just a few hours. So I wasn't nervous about the flight itself.

Whatever was making me nervous was not on the plane; it was what was waiting for me at the gate (back when they allowed anyone to stroll to the gate for any reason), or rather who. For all my other trips to the Pacific end of the country, I had family waiting for me, a family I was born into. I didn't need to impress them much, they were supposed to love me. The one who waited for me this time was under no such obligation.

What waited for me was an unknown, a potential. I hadn't ever risked this much for a future relationship before. Flirting and giggling and makeup and fashion only gets a girl so far. Actually spending a couple hundred bucks and asking someone that I didn't know all that well to pay attention to me for a whole week was enough to question my sanity all the way over the Rockies. And I'd have to stay with people I had never met and hardly ever heard talked about.

But as I walked down the jetway, through the door to sunny California airspace with the tang of salt in the breeze that followed me up to the gate, I saw the reason I came. He smiled. I smiled back. And my nervousness got back on the plane and continued on to parts unknown, taking a well-deserved vacation from me, not to be heard from that whole week.

Into the wayback machine

Time for more old pictures of me, the not-so-bad version! Unless you think 80s fashion was of the devil, in which case, you might want to look away.

My senior year was really the only year I participated in anything. It took me that long to finally realized that it was fun to hang out with people (or to get a driver's license so I could get myself to and from activities and work).

This is the Woodwind Quartet (notice there are seven of us. Perhaps the director couldn't count. He never was known for being particularly smart). I am second from the left. Call me a band geek, but I LOVED being involved in music.
I only went to Prom my sophomore year but I managed to repurpose the dress for a theater awards function during my senior year (I didn't win anything). You can see the tip of my show peeking flirtatiously out from the hem of the dress! (I wish I could still fit into that dress. Too bad Katie wore it for Halloween several times and destroyed it. YES, I'LL ADMIT IT. I STILL LIKE 80s FASHION)

Here, I have slipped the puffy sleeves of the dress off my shoulder and I am toting around a black fan. My friend, Mike, was willing to pose with me despite my delusions of flamenco dancer grandeur.
You've seen the girly side of me, now on to the sporty side. I once waited at an airport for a sports team to deplane. The team was the 1984 Minnesota Twins. They had just missed out on the playoffs to the Kansas City Royals and my friend Frank and I wanted to show our team support by welcoming the team home (along with a few hundred other people who cared enough to show up).
I got to touch one of my favorite Twins players that day. Kent Hrbek. I got to slap his hand as he drove away and held his hand out his car window for us fans to touch. I smiled all the way home! I still harbor a soft spot in my heart for Kent. Everytime I see his show on latenight TV (it's on either Saturday or Sunday nights) I want to shout, "I still love you, Herbie!"

Shot in the (not so) dark

I got to check off one more thing on my list of things I've done that it had never occurred to me to do or that I could do. I gave someone a shot.

I had to get up at 5:50 a.m. to do it (oh yeah, feel sorry for me! I see a few of you rolling your eyes). (The shot is for fake child's mother. For privacy issues, I won't discuss why she needs a shot, or why I am the one giving it to her, etc.)

I wasn't nervous--needles do not scare me--but I was a little concerned that I might do it wrong or cause FCM (fake child's mother) some pain. FCM and her husband gave me a demo last week, so I knew what to do (in theory). I was worried that my bathroom wasn't clean enough though. Last week when they gave me the demo, my bathroom was not at its best. I was a bit red in the cheeks. Not so this morning. The job of cleaning the bathroom was entrusted to Paul this weekend, and as usual, he did an admirable job, even if he went a bit heavy on the Soft Scrub for the counter, resulting in a bit of residue. BUT ANYWAY.

The syringe isn't tiny--the shaft is about 2 1/2 inches long and very sturdy-looking. FCM got it loaded up with viscous goo (otherwise known as "the medication") and handed it to me.

The needle and I got along just fine. It's weird that the needle doesn't poke through the skin immediately, the skin resists for a bit and then you can feel it give way. Kind of a weird sensation; as the needle holder you can feel the resistance give way with a little pop. And then there was another resistance as the needle was about halfway in, but it gave way too. I plunged the syringe slowly and evenly, as directed. I retracted the needle slowly and steadily too. And voila, the innoculation was finished! FCM pronounced me a fit administrator of medicine, saying I did very well; she hadn't felt a thing.

So I have mastered a new skill this morning. And because I have accomplished so much today, I feel justified in not doing anything else all day long, except maybe I'll knit, since I have such a good way with needles.

On deck and on letters

Matt and Hayley wanted to sleep outside last night. We've had beautiful weather this last week (this week should have been spring break for the kiddies) and they begged and pleaded and used puppy dog eyes on Jim and me (no, it is NOT "Jim and I" in this instance) until we relented. Actually I didn't know that I had relented until I woke up this morning and went out to the dining room and saw them on the deck in their sleeping bags. I hope that Jim knew that he had given his permission too.They are only about a foot outside the deck door, but hey, outside is outside. Personally I don't see what is so fabulous about sleeping outside on slabs of wood cushioned only by blue foam that wouldn't support a feather. Judging by the picture, they also read by flashlight on the deck. That makes my neck hurt just to think about it. Oh well, whatever. They enjoyed it and survived it and will probably want to do it all summer. I can save money on laundry, at least.

Paul ran in a "true team meet" today. There were nine teams and each team had their three top athletes in each event. Paul's event was the 1600m (1 mile). He was very excited for this meet because it was his chance to letter in track. Based on performance and place, the athletes are given points towards lettering. Paul already had 1 point for a top 6 finish in the first meet he ran. He needed 11 more points and if he placed 18th out of 27 in the 1600m, he'd letter.

So here he is at the start of the race. He's on the right in the dark blue jersey. He's standing next to Carl, the top runner in this event from our school. Paul is the second. The third place guy had to start a bit farther (further?) back.
One thousandth of a second into the race:
Third lap. He's looking remarkably undead, unlike what I would look like if I had to run a 1600m race.
Closing in on the finish line. Again, remarkably he's still able to breathe and his heart has not exploded.
Paul finished 10th out of 27, earning him 20 points! He lettered! Yay Paul! In fact, all three Prior Lake runners lettered. Congratulations Carl, Paul, and Josh!Paul said their team took fourth out of nine in the meet, which is a HUGE improvement over past meets. Theirs is a young team--half of the team is comprised of freshmen (including Paul). So there will be improvement over the next few years.

So you'll have to suffer three more years of pictures of Paul running. Can you handle it?

On track

Track season is in swing for Paul. Last night was the only home meet all season so I HAD to go. And I brought my new camera to test out its sports-picture-taking capabilities.

Here he is before the 1600m race. He's looking calm...or he's clueless (it's his classic "what?" face)
He likes to run with his head up. This was taken during the 1600m. He came in 11th out of 18 or so. It was actually pretty good--he shaved a few more seconds off his previous time and he ran varsity. His time was 5:02
This is the start of the 3200m race. I don't know if he ran JV or varsity because there was only one 3200m race. I'm thinking he ran as a JV participant, though. I don't know what he placed--just that he was in the middlish. He was one of two freshman from his high school; the other two entrants from our school were juniors.
Here he is at the end of his 8 laps around the track. The guy right behind him is the other freshman from our team.
Here is what Paul does when he isn't running.He raids the fridge.

I enjoyed watching the track meet. I never liked running, and I was never very good at it. It pleases me, however, to know that I have contributed a fair amount of genetic material to an offspring who does like to run and has the stamina to run 3 miles and not die a hideous, blood-spurting, heart-exploding death. Since he is 50% ME, couldn't some of his calorie burning be applied to my fat cells?

Unfinished business

Or projects, actually.

This somewhat psychedelic-looking ruffly rectangle is a future shrug (eh, whatever) for Hayley.I can't finish it at the moment because I'm out of yarn and am awaiting a shipment from the tropics (no, I'm not badgering my yarn supplier). Stare at the blue too long and you start seeing the ripples mo-o-o-o-ove. Then the walls start talking to you. Not really! Hayley will look very cute in it. She likes blue.

More trippiness:
This is going to be a sock (eventually even TWO socks). I'm knitting it while waiting for the blue yarn. The sock is a bit further along than in this picture, but pretty soon, I'm going to have to stop this project and look for the sock pattern so I know what to do to turn the heel of the sock. I have lost the pattern several times already. I have no idea where I put it.

Another project that never gets done: And there is more where that came from. Sigh.

There is also a large pile of pants to be sewn too. I'm doomed.

Easter picture dump

Did you all have a nice Easter?

Mine was colorful
and tastyFood coloring--it makes everything festive! And adding a peep makes it cute!

We ran exuberantly in random directions...
...and ambled casually as cousins, discussing egg location strategies......to find treasure.
We enjoyed one last turn at being young.We enjoyed wearing ruffled, pink aprons given to us by daughters.
And I survived playing the organ at church yesterday, although it could have gone better. Next time I'll leave the savagely-beating, racing, nervous heart at home; it was not helping. Internal organs doing the alien-clawing-its-way-out-of-my-chest routine interfere with brain impulses meant for fingers and feet, causing spastic seizures in the extremities and many, many wrong notes.

After church Jim and I took a walk in Murphy Hanrehan park. We've lived in this area for fifteen years and this is the first time I've been to Murphy Hanrehan park. What a shame I've never been. Jim's been before, though. I brought my camera.

Two pictures of pre-spring Minnesota. Someday it will be green here.

Another reason I'm not getting anything done today

I had plans to use the kitchen at some point today (maybe even clean some part of it), but with the children home, they are always IN THE KITCHEN. Our kitchen is very tiny. Stick Matt in it and it's pretty much full. So come lunch time, which seems to be about three hours in length, access to the kitchen is unlikely. Thank goodness they can make their own lunches, at least.

Even when I'm the one filling up the kitchen, someone always has to barge in and say, "Can you get me a glass?" They could get themselves a glass, but I'm in the kitchen, and, thus, in the way. I either have to stop what I'm doing and get out of the kitchen, or stop what I'm doing and get them a glass. Perhaps I ought to tell them to drink out of the hose. Except then I'd have to stop what I'm doing and go turn the water on that leads to the hose. It never ends--the stop what I'm doing.

I'm hungry, but the children-shaped locusts have probably eaten everything in the fridge.

MomMomMomMomMomMomMom

The kids are home from school today because it's Good Friday (good for the teachers), except for Paul, who is at school for track practice.

I don't mind the kids having a day off school except that I never get anything done on those days. So despite my long list of things to do, I'm sure most of it will go undone today. Why? Why can't I manage to function when I've got kids around? They aren't little, they can fend for themselves, they obey, they do their chores when I nag them enough. Why is it that I can't manage when the children are around the house during the day? (and for that matter, when Jim is home, I can't seem to get in gear)

Maybe part of it is because no matter how independently functioning the children are, they STILL have to ask for things, or tattle on each other, or need reminding of things they should be doing.

"Mom, where's the stapler?" "In the drawer," I say. "No it's not." Then commences a hunt for the stapler that lasts at least 15 minutes.

"Mom, I need you to sew up the rip on my shirt or sew on a button" "Sew it yourself," I say. "I don't know how. Show me." Sigh. "Go get a needle and thread." "Where are the needles?"

"Mom, I need to make a cake. And decorate it. How do you make the icing? And where's your decorating stuff?"

"Mom, Olivia invited me over. Can you drive me?"

"Mom, there's no more cat food." "Mom, there's no more milk." "Mom, where is my track uniform?" "Mom, can you help me with my math? I don't get this problem." "Mom can you read over my English paper?" "Mom, when can we have lunch?" "Mom, can I sign up for the afterschool badminton class?"

So I sit around, not starting any big project because I know that I will be interrupted by something. And I hear someone calling me right now. I'm about to prohibit the use of the word "Mom" for a few hours. NO ONE TALK TO ME! ARRRGGGGHHHH!

Passover

I haven't blogged much about Katie lately. She's been working and knitting and texting and calling and attending Archuleta concerts.

And she got to do something I've always wanted to do--attend a Seder. Granted, I don't know much about the Passover meal beyond what I've read in the Old Testament (and that it involves horseradish and unleavened bread and the males must wear kippot), but I think it would be touching to get up close and personal with the symbols and hear their meaning read out loud in Hebrew (and hopefully English so I'd understand).

The family that Katie lives with (Jim's cousin and her husband and son) are of Jewish heritage and Sara's (the cousin) grandfather came to town to celebrate Passover with the whole Wright family. And they kindly invited Katie to join them. Aunt Karen sent some pictures and, hoping I don't offend, I'm going to post a few here. Karen, thanks for sending pictures!
Happy Passover!

How I came to watch the fake child

I don't talk about fake child much on my blog for privacy reasons, but today I wanted to write about how babysitting came about because I believe God was watching out for me.

I never wanted to babysit children. My mother made the suggestion years ago when Katie through Matt were still little and I pooh-poohed it (and rolled my eyes and gagged and sighed and harumphed) because I had enough of little children, thankyouverymuch. But when the time came for me to contribute financially to our circumstances, it was the best out of some not-very-palatable options. Matt was still at home when I started babysitting for a different family, but that lasted only two years. The dad decided when their second baby was born that he would become primary caretaker and thus my services were no longer needed. I spent one last pre-school year with Matt (although he was in kindergarten) and braced myself for entering the workforce as a substitute lunchlady or noon supervisor or some other non-certified school staffperson. I had even filled out an application and was about to turn it in when I got a letter in the mail.

The letter wasn't actually for me. It was for my neighbor behind me. The mailman made a delivery error. I didn't know my neighbor very well, but I had chatted with her from time to time over the fence while she was gardening. I hadn't seen her lately or her boyfriend/husband (didn't even know their status). I kept the letter on the counter for a few days, wondering when a good time to deliver it would be.

The next Sunday (it was in early spring, one of the first warm days of the year), I saw her in her back yard sitting in a swinging bench with a baby. I didn't even know she had been pregnant. I grabbed the letter and went out to give it to her.

We got to chatting and she mentioned that her husband was in Iraq and she was supposed to go back to work in August but she didn't have a sitter lined up.

Ding!

without thought, I offered my services.

Later on that day, I hemmed and hawed over my outburst of support. On one hand, I didn't want to babysit again, but on the other hand, I don't like leaving my house. I spent all summer wondering how to get out of the situation. I wondered too long and my neighbor called me up to ask if I really wanted the job. She mentioned the pay and suddenly all hemming and hawing disappeared. I took the job.

I'm still not overjoyed at having to babysit, but I've come a long way and have learned not to complain. I'm at home when my kids get home from school and I still have some freedom from a work schedule. My hours vary, and sometimes go late into the night, or start early in the morning (early for me), but I can take the fake child grocery shopping if I need to, or over to the church to practice the organ. She's a well-behaved child for me, too.

Next year will be my last year babysitting fake child, since it's her last year before she goes to kindergarten. I have been babysitting her for nearly four years. I don't look forward to going somewhere to work; it's been a blessing to work at home. That little mis-delivered letter has blessed my family in many ways and has helped me to earn much-needed money and still be at home where my children need me to be.

Why do they call it a "meme"

Because it's all about ME. MEMEMEME!

I'm resorting to a meme today

1. Five things I've read recently:
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak--I highly recommend this book. Yes, it's about Nazi Germany, and it's about death, but it's a lovely book. The writing style is very poetic.
Part of the introduction to The Art of the Personal Essay. It's not boring, but it's long.
Jimmy's persuasive essay on doping in sports. It wasn't as high-schooly as it could have been. And he writes much better than I ever thought he would. And he didn't complain about having to write it as much as I thought he would.
The nutritional content panel of a packet of 100 calorie snacks.
Knitting instructions for day 6 (the last day) of the April knit-along
2. Five sites I've signed up for
Blogger--duh
Amazon
ebay
lds.org
flickr
3. Five shows I've watched lately
"Chuck" I have heard that it's in danger of being canceled. Sigh. Just like another favorite, "Pushing Daisies." NBC, don't cancel "Chuck!"
"House" Last night's episode was a shocker. I thought Taub killed Kutner. But I was glad he didn't. I wasn't glad that Kutner killed himself.
"As Time Goes By" rerun--I love that show. BBC shows are awesome!
"Stargate Atlantis" on DVD. Jimmy has me hooked. "Lots of power? Define lots." "In terms of joules or ergs?" "In terms of 'lots.'" HAHAHA
4. Five things I want right now
To go back to bed
To fix all the broken things in the house. Like the window sashes and frames and the ceiling in the bathroom and the screen door and the closet door in the sewing room. At least the kitchen sink is fixed and the van is operational!
To practice the organ so I can play well on Sunday
To read without interruption
Breakfast
5. Five things on my grocery list
I just went shopping yesterday, but I know I forgot stuff. Stuff like:
Hamburger buns
Spaghetti sauce
chocolate
more chocolate
lots of chocolate

And that's it for today, folks. Happy Tuesday to all of you.

Stuff to do

Ahh, the sweet feeling I get after dinner is well on its way to being cooked! I love my crockpot! I had dinner in the crockpot before Matt left for school. I'll still have to shred the pork (I'm making pulled pork for sammiches later. Yes, I purposely spelled it that way) later, but at least I've got SOMETHING for dinner. If I don't get anything else done (and there is a strong possibility of that) at least I made an effort at dinner.

I have to practice the organ today and every day this week. Next week is not only Easter, but it's stake conference at church and the people in charge of these things asked me to play the organ. Rrr (they asked our regular organist, but she declined). Not that I mind playing the organ, but when I play in my own ward, many people know that I am not world's best, or even ward's best. But I'm pretty sure they appreciate my efforts and willingness. Now we will be combined with two other wards and I'm a little bit more nervous, because I think that people are going to be expecting someone who plays well. Even when I spend lots of time in practice and can play it well, when I get in front of a congregation I suffer major apocalyptic finger spasms that turn the simplest hymn into an unrecognizable mass of irritating notes. Why say yes? Mostly because it gives me the impetus to get to the church early on Sunday and get a decent seat. Embarrassment at the organ is a small price to pay for good seats. And I like having a good reason to practice, even though it does little to turn me into a virtuoso.

Monday is also grocery shopping day. I've got my list ready to go; I just need the time. I also have to exercise, write Creatively, and shower. And pick up Hayley from school. So I'd better get busy getting stuff done.

No more monkey clinging to my back

I just submitted another difficult assignment for a college class. The difficulty lay not in my ability to write it (as was the case in my writing rhetoric class), but in asking people to read it--having a writer's workshop. I hate to ask people to give up some of their free time to read some pitiful scrap of weirdness (which is what I assume people think of what I write, not what I actually think I write. What I write makes perfect sense to me) for me and then tell me what they think of it. Luckily the people I gave my story to knew how to critique and didn't all just say, "I thought it was good" or "I thought it could be used to line the cat litter box."

It ended up being a 30-page behemoth of an assignment (14 pages contained the short story). Those 30 pages weighed heavily on my mind for many months. I wondered if I would even be able to finish. I contemplated giving up. But I really don't like to admit to my mother that I quit something. So I forged onward, and in the last couple of weeks, I managed to have a physical gathering of women who didn't mind reading my story and I was able to complete the assignment.

So cheers to me!

Maybe I can actually finish this course in the year allotted to me. I'm still not convinced that I can finish the program in time, however. We'll see, though. I managed to live through the organ class. I also didn't implode while taking the Persuasive Writing class either. And my vital signs have stabilized during this class (Creative Writing).

Onward! (Three more assignments to go.)

Not named the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog and yesterday's lies

Matt likes to knit. He knit a miniature scarf while we were in Florida and when we went to the yarn shop the first time (when Jenni didn't know we went and when we got REALLY lost) the owner of the shop gave Matt a bunny pattern. We got him some yarn and he went to town on the pattern (a six inch square of knitting).

He finished it last night and now has a little green stuffed bunny, which he calls Bunners.It's kinda cute in a little green alien cuniculus kinda way.

So. Yesterday's list of possible April Fool's fibs? Only #1 was true. Thankfully, no cats puked in my laundry. My feet are fine. I'm not preggo. Getting an organ is just a pipedream (PIPEdream, get it? HAR). No conficker here. Kids lunch accounts--fine. My day off remained so. No mousies. Sadly though, no chocolate cake. The dishwasher problem turned out to be a quick fix related to the new garbage disposal, and no outside help was needed.

April Fool's.....or is it?

Ten things that might (or might not) be true:

1. Dishwasher isn't draining. This comes on the heels of a very sickly van (leaky brakes and bad body control module that controls windshield wipers and gas tank sensors).
2. Infection of our computer with the conficker virus.
3. Stubbed my toe on the bed frame this morning and now it is swollen and it hurts to put on my shoes. No exercise today.
4. All three kids needed lunch money TODAY.
5. Cats puked on the pile of clean shirts to be ironed, specifically MY shirt.
6. I'm pregnant.
7. Last-minute babysitting. Sigh.
8. I bought an organ.
9. I found another mouse in the garage eating away at my box of beloved dresses that WILL fit again someday.
10. I baked a chocolate cake to get me through this day of unfortunate events.

PS. Do you have old ties in your house that someone won't wear anymore? Do you also have children? Is Easter coming up? Check out this cool craft! I think I'm going to root through the tie collection of husband and sons to see if we can gather enough to try this out.