Have you been watching the media brouhaha about Arlen Specter's switching parties? I watched his news conference explaining his reasoning the other day and the one thing that struck me was his honesty. How often do we get to see true honesty in a politician?
Sen Specter stood behind the podium and, in front of God and the media, said he was switching front right to left because he had looked at the poll numbers in his state and realized that he was going to lose the primary. Either he had become too liberal for the Republican voters or they had become too conservative to support him. It didn't matter, he wasn't going to leave his 29 year career in the hands of the people who vote for him. Trust the unwashed masses? Horrors. Surely if the Repubs couldn't see how fabulous he was, then the Dems would.
Specter's personal fabulosity aside, isn't it nice to hear a career politician say straight out that he really does consider the average voter to be too dumb to be trusted with anything as important as universal suffrage? He didn't talk about high minded political ideals or a spiritual awakening that let him to shed his personal principles and embrace the other side of the aisle. He did try, once again, to explain why he voted for the bailouts, but I don't think anyone is really paying attention to that anymore. The Democrats need no explanation and the Republicans are sick of hearing it.
Say what you want about Specter: turncoat, liar, career politician, opportunist, etc. For myself, I am relieved to see an honest man holding elected office in this country. He freely admits that he isn't there for the public, it's all about his own image and legacy. That's fine. Many people run for office to feel important. In fact, a certain level of narcissism is necessary in a politician. They just don't usually have the cojones to state that it really is all about them.
So, Arlen Specter, kudos to you on your brazen honesty. The voters of Pennsylvania will have a choice this Fall between a Conservative Republican and you, an honest man. How will they make that decision?
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Tim Allen Syndrome
My husband is suffering from Tim Allen Syndrome, the poor thing, and I think many others are suffering as well. It's worse than the Swine Flu and a tad bit more annoying. Although if they keep talking nothing but swine flu non-stop on my television then TAS will be quickly moved down the list.
I have been aware of his symptoms for a while now as he exhibited the classic "bigger is better" mentality of most married men in their mid 30's or older. I once asked him for a scoop of ice cream and he brought back an entire ice cream cake. I told him I'd like a few kids and we're expecting our sixth. I tell him we need some meat from the store and he comes home with half a cow. You get the idea. He tends to go a bit overboard. Then this weekend he decided that what I really needed (and I don't remember even wishing for it) was a second monitor for our computer.
"She works really hard," he reasoned, "and this would help her multitask." "Now you can check email, and blog at the same time," he told me with a smile. It's all for me, isn't it?
Are you kidding me? It's all about his being able to play Star Wars Battlefront and work from home at the same time. I'm onto his evil plan. I know the whole "multitasking" thing was a semi-clever ruse to butter me up and convince me to let his toy stay on my desk and block my view of the backyard and the children's school desks. We just can't let the Rebel scum take over the Universe from the Empire while doing actual work, can we? Of course not.
I find the whole TAS thing very amusing, especially the part where the man who works 60+ hours a week to support our family thinks he has to justify bringing home a monitor that he got for free so that he can relax on a Sunday afternoon. But I'm not going to tell him that. I like it when he thinks he's being clever and getting his way and avoiding a fight (that would never happen). He grins like a schoolboy who's just snuck a pile of Oreos.
FWIW, two monitors are not that great. It's annoying and hurts my eyes, and gives me headaches from information overload. I would never tell him that. I can't let on that he might be superior in some way. I would lose my edge and that would benefit no one. So I only turn on one screen, use it as I always have, and turn the other to the side so that I can keep an eye on #2 and #3. The thing about Tim ALlen Syndrome is that boys catch it from their fathers, so I need to pay a little closer attention to those two.
I have been aware of his symptoms for a while now as he exhibited the classic "bigger is better" mentality of most married men in their mid 30's or older. I once asked him for a scoop of ice cream and he brought back an entire ice cream cake. I told him I'd like a few kids and we're expecting our sixth. I tell him we need some meat from the store and he comes home with half a cow. You get the idea. He tends to go a bit overboard. Then this weekend he decided that what I really needed (and I don't remember even wishing for it) was a second monitor for our computer.
"She works really hard," he reasoned, "and this would help her multitask." "Now you can check email, and blog at the same time," he told me with a smile. It's all for me, isn't it?
Are you kidding me? It's all about his being able to play Star Wars Battlefront and work from home at the same time. I'm onto his evil plan. I know the whole "multitasking" thing was a semi-clever ruse to butter me up and convince me to let his toy stay on my desk and block my view of the backyard and the children's school desks. We just can't let the Rebel scum take over the Universe from the Empire while doing actual work, can we? Of course not.
I find the whole TAS thing very amusing, especially the part where the man who works 60+ hours a week to support our family thinks he has to justify bringing home a monitor that he got for free so that he can relax on a Sunday afternoon. But I'm not going to tell him that. I like it when he thinks he's being clever and getting his way and avoiding a fight (that would never happen). He grins like a schoolboy who's just snuck a pile of Oreos.
FWIW, two monitors are not that great. It's annoying and hurts my eyes, and gives me headaches from information overload. I would never tell him that. I can't let on that he might be superior in some way. I would lose my edge and that would benefit no one. So I only turn on one screen, use it as I always have, and turn the other to the side so that I can keep an eye on #2 and #3. The thing about Tim ALlen Syndrome is that boys catch it from their fathers, so I need to pay a little closer attention to those two.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Thank You, Taxpayers!
All around Oklahoma City are these dumb billboards about things that were invented in our great state. I'm not sure what the purpose of them is since they are paid for by the Department of Tourism, and I hate to point out the obvious, but we're already here. See that? I could have saved the state thousands of dollars if only they'd asked. Why don't they ask me?
Those dumb billboards paid off for my daughter today when she called in to Radio Disney for a contest. She had to be the 50th caller and then know three things that came from our state. She quickly rattled off "the electric guitar, the parking meter, and the twist tie." She won! They're shipping a Wii and Guitar Hero to our house in the next few weeks. Everyone has been very impressed that she knew this weird assortment of Okie inventions. They keep thinking it's due to my superior teaching ability. All I can take credit for is teaching her to read the signs as we go down the road. (By the way, you can thank us for that whole "parking meter" thing at any time.)
I did turn her win into a mini-research project. I am a homeschooling mom. Educate yourselves on a few more Okie firsts:
THE FIRST BOY SCOUT TROOP IN AMERICA WAS FORMED IN 1909 IN PAWHUSKA, OKLAHOMA.
THE HULA HOOP WAS INVENTED IN BARTLESVILLE, OKLAHOMA.
THE FIRST PRESSURIZED SPACE SUIT WAS INVENTED BY WILEY POST IN BARTLESVILLE.
THE SHOPPING CART, YIELD SIGN AND AEROSOL CAN, WERE INVENTED IN OKLAHOMA.
THE PERSONAL COMPUTER WAS INVENTED BY OKLAHOMA STATE UNIVERSITY STUDENT EDWARD ROBERTS.
Those dumb billboards paid off for my daughter today when she called in to Radio Disney for a contest. She had to be the 50th caller and then know three things that came from our state. She quickly rattled off "the electric guitar, the parking meter, and the twist tie." She won! They're shipping a Wii and Guitar Hero to our house in the next few weeks. Everyone has been very impressed that she knew this weird assortment of Okie inventions. They keep thinking it's due to my superior teaching ability. All I can take credit for is teaching her to read the signs as we go down the road. (By the way, you can thank us for that whole "parking meter" thing at any time.)
I did turn her win into a mini-research project. I am a homeschooling mom. Educate yourselves on a few more Okie firsts:
THE FIRST BOY SCOUT TROOP IN AMERICA WAS FORMED IN 1909 IN PAWHUSKA, OKLAHOMA.
THE HULA HOOP WAS INVENTED IN BARTLESVILLE, OKLAHOMA.
THE FIRST PRESSURIZED SPACE SUIT WAS INVENTED BY WILEY POST IN BARTLESVILLE.
THE SHOPPING CART, YIELD SIGN AND AEROSOL CAN, WERE INVENTED IN OKLAHOMA.
THE PERSONAL COMPUTER WAS INVENTED BY OKLAHOMA STATE UNIVERSITY STUDENT EDWARD ROBERTS.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
What's in a Name?
We decided to name our sweet #6 after the Computer Guy's grandfather. It's a sweetly old-fashioned name that, truthfully, sounds better suited to a retirement community than a playground. It also sounds weirdly out of place when we rattle off our children's names. It falls like a stone at the end of the sentence. Thud. We love it anyway.
Just imagining a small child with such an old man name is such an odd juxtaposition that the thought of it makes me smile. He won't always be tiny. He will grow into his old man name, and perhaps by then it won't seem to be dusty and old, but new and fresh. It doesn't matter.
It is his name. We knew instinctively that it was right from the moment that I first jokingly proposed it to my husband and waited for all the reasons it wouldn't work. I had suggested it with a laugh, but he listened to the meaning behind the jest.
The Computer Guy's grandfather died and we miss him terribly. He was the laughing center of the whole family. The war veteran who bubbled over with emotion when his family was all together in one place. The respectable father of 6 and president of his church's congregation who reveled in his old man status because it gave him license to flirt with all the pretty girls. The man who never forgot an embarrassing moment and teased his grandchildren mercilessly about the dumb things they had done, but couldn't remember hurt feelings any longer than it took to apologize.
The patriarch of a family that, too often, rejected the lessons he sought to teach and the wisdom he tried to impart. Teasing us from the first baby about what we would do when we got to number 6. At the time, it seemed like a funny, teasing joke that old men tell and younger generations laugh at because they know better. Here we are at #6. Hoping that his little eyes hold the same twinkling smile and his mouth the same rollicking laughter his great-grandfather's did.
It is an old man name and seems a little out of place for someone so fresh and new. I hope that it won't always seem like an odd couple mix. I hope that once he finds his way in the world, our new guy's heart will know the same love and compassion, his hands hold the same strength, that his arms will someday hold the same comfort and his soul will know the same sure and quiet faith.
Just imagining a small child with such an old man name is such an odd juxtaposition that the thought of it makes me smile. He won't always be tiny. He will grow into his old man name, and perhaps by then it won't seem to be dusty and old, but new and fresh. It doesn't matter.
It is his name. We knew instinctively that it was right from the moment that I first jokingly proposed it to my husband and waited for all the reasons it wouldn't work. I had suggested it with a laugh, but he listened to the meaning behind the jest.
The Computer Guy's grandfather died and we miss him terribly. He was the laughing center of the whole family. The war veteran who bubbled over with emotion when his family was all together in one place. The respectable father of 6 and president of his church's congregation who reveled in his old man status because it gave him license to flirt with all the pretty girls. The man who never forgot an embarrassing moment and teased his grandchildren mercilessly about the dumb things they had done, but couldn't remember hurt feelings any longer than it took to apologize.
The patriarch of a family that, too often, rejected the lessons he sought to teach and the wisdom he tried to impart. Teasing us from the first baby about what we would do when we got to number 6. At the time, it seemed like a funny, teasing joke that old men tell and younger generations laugh at because they know better. Here we are at #6. Hoping that his little eyes hold the same twinkling smile and his mouth the same rollicking laughter his great-grandfather's did.
It is an old man name and seems a little out of place for someone so fresh and new. I hope that it won't always seem like an odd couple mix. I hope that once he finds his way in the world, our new guy's heart will know the same love and compassion, his hands hold the same strength, that his arms will someday hold the same comfort and his soul will know the same sure and quiet faith.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Happy Birthday #5!
From the moment I first learned of you, you were my special gift from my Heavenly Father. Just by being, you helped to soothe the aches in my heart and assure me that life carries on even when it takes unexpected turns. Your being taught me again to trust and know that good comes from tragedy and that that good can be better than you ever imagined it to be. Your being taught a group of teenagers about the humanity of developing babies and your own siblings to look at that flicker on an ultrasound screen and see the beating heart of their little brother, and to love you before they could even hold you.
Two years old already. That is so hard for me to believe. It feels as if I just saw your little red face for the first time yesterday. Small and loud, but already a Mama's boy, snuggling in and sighing your contentment.
Your serious demeanor and quiet ways led those who didn't know you well to think you were, in the words of your grandmother "sober as a judge." We knew that a boy who doesn't smile himself can still be the funniest guy in the room.
As the youngest of a big family, there are always people ready to stand up for you and protect you. You've never wanted that, preferring instead to meet the world on your own terms and stare it down yourself.
My sweet independent boy who used to love his Mommy the best, but now the whole of the world disappears the moment your Daddy walks through the front door. No more the Mama's boy, now your Dad's little buddy.
Not my baby any longer, but now officially a big kid. My heart melted a bit this morning as you walked down the stairs holding not my hand, but the railing. Growing and changing and learning every moment of every day. Don't grow up too fast, my son. Take a moment and slow down, curl up in my lap and still be my baby every now and again. You may be ready to be a big guy, but I'm not sure I am ready for it.
Two years old already. That is so hard for me to believe. It feels as if I just saw your little red face for the first time yesterday. Small and loud, but already a Mama's boy, snuggling in and sighing your contentment.
Your serious demeanor and quiet ways led those who didn't know you well to think you were, in the words of your grandmother "sober as a judge." We knew that a boy who doesn't smile himself can still be the funniest guy in the room.
As the youngest of a big family, there are always people ready to stand up for you and protect you. You've never wanted that, preferring instead to meet the world on your own terms and stare it down yourself.
My sweet independent boy who used to love his Mommy the best, but now the whole of the world disappears the moment your Daddy walks through the front door. No more the Mama's boy, now your Dad's little buddy.
Not my baby any longer, but now officially a big kid. My heart melted a bit this morning as you walked down the stairs holding not my hand, but the railing. Growing and changing and learning every moment of every day. Don't grow up too fast, my son. Take a moment and slow down, curl up in my lap and still be my baby every now and again. You may be ready to be a big guy, but I'm not sure I am ready for it.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Who Is John Galt?
We went to the Tea Party yesterday at the State Capitol, myself and all the children. The media was predicting a crowd of around 1500, but they were off by almost 4000. I suppose that they simply underestimated the anger of the common man who is tired of seeing his paycheck be squandered by people who are not having to trade their own lives for the money they spend.
The people we saw yesterday were tired of being used as a piggy bank for the pet projects of people for whom they had never voted. They took their lunch hour to come and stand in the sun and the Oklahoma wind to hear ordinary citizens speak the truth as they see it. They sang The Star Spangled Banner so loudly that the soloist's voice was completely drowned out and then pledged allegiance to that same flag with tears in their eyes. These patriots, these good-hearted men and women have finally reached the breaking point. At long last, they have been pushed as far as they are willing to move and will yield no more.
What was the tipping point? Was it a stimulus bill which passed without having first been read by any of the voters? Was it being told that their hard earned money,so carefully managed, will go to pay the mortgages of those who weren't so prudent? Was it being mocked and ridiculed publicly by the very people who are supposed to work in the best interests of the citizenry, but don't think the people are smart enough to know what their own best interests are? In a word, yes.
History teaches us that when the silent majority grows weary of feeling oppressed, abused, and ignored by the people their tax dollars support, they will rise up in opposition to that power structure and the structure will either change or be torn down.
Col. Travis at the Alamo famously used the point of his sword to draw a line in the sand at his feet and challenge the men around him to either leave quietly and go live their lives under the tyranny of Santa Ana or to decide that they had had enough of being pushed around and stay behind that line to stand up for something more important than their own individual comforts. I believe we are seeing the modern day equivalent all around us of people drawing their own lines and saying "only to here and then no further." Like the defenders of the Alamo and her sister mission Goliad, the tea-partiers are declaring themselves to be free men who are unwilling to live under oppression no matter the cost of their freedom.
The people we saw yesterday were tired of being used as a piggy bank for the pet projects of people for whom they had never voted. They took their lunch hour to come and stand in the sun and the Oklahoma wind to hear ordinary citizens speak the truth as they see it. They sang The Star Spangled Banner so loudly that the soloist's voice was completely drowned out and then pledged allegiance to that same flag with tears in their eyes. These patriots, these good-hearted men and women have finally reached the breaking point. At long last, they have been pushed as far as they are willing to move and will yield no more.
What was the tipping point? Was it a stimulus bill which passed without having first been read by any of the voters? Was it being told that their hard earned money,so carefully managed, will go to pay the mortgages of those who weren't so prudent? Was it being mocked and ridiculed publicly by the very people who are supposed to work in the best interests of the citizenry, but don't think the people are smart enough to know what their own best interests are? In a word, yes.
History teaches us that when the silent majority grows weary of feeling oppressed, abused, and ignored by the people their tax dollars support, they will rise up in opposition to that power structure and the structure will either change or be torn down.
Col. Travis at the Alamo famously used the point of his sword to draw a line in the sand at his feet and challenge the men around him to either leave quietly and go live their lives under the tyranny of Santa Ana or to decide that they had had enough of being pushed around and stay behind that line to stand up for something more important than their own individual comforts. I believe we are seeing the modern day equivalent all around us of people drawing their own lines and saying "only to here and then no further." Like the defenders of the Alamo and her sister mission Goliad, the tea-partiers are declaring themselves to be free men who are unwilling to live under oppression no matter the cost of their freedom.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Signs of a Life Well-Lived
We spent today at the funeral of my husband's great-uncle, Harold. Normally, I am not a fan of funerals especially of distant relations. I just feel like an intruder and a spectator to someone else's grief, but not today.
Today I watched the signs of a life lived in love and service of family and humanity. A man who was loved not only by his widow, 5 children, 30 grandchildren, and 18 great-grandchildren (with a great-great due soon). He was mourned also by his 15+ "adopted" children, those who somehow or another found their way to his household and were never turned away. They were fed and bedded down and given love and support, not just for a brief period, but for the rest of his life.
He was a good old country farm boy who lived in the house his parents built with their own two hands. When it became clear to everyone that he was dying, he insisted on dying at home in the same room where he was born 80 years ago. He was laid to rest in a coffin made for him by his own sons from a tree they cut on his property. For the last week they stripped the bark and lovingly planed each piece until it shone with the lovely richness that only cedar has. They marked each corner with his brand and then lined it with a quilt made for him by his sister.
Over 300 people crowded into a tiny country church and spilled out into the Fellowship Hall just to take a moment to tell him good-bye. They all laughed together as they sang "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" on the day before Easter because it always made him smile as he recalled the boy he was who thought it was his own special hymn, "Hark! Harold's Angels Sing." They all cried together as Taps sounded out across the windy Oklahoma prairie as he was laid in the ground surrounded by generations of his family, exactly as he would wish it.
He is an example to us all of a quiet and seemingly unimpressive life that in truth changed the lives of everyone he met. His is a life lived in faith and charity, exactly the way our Creator asked him to live it. May we all follow the example of Uncle Harold, and when we hear the call of God, rise up to meet it.
Today I watched the signs of a life lived in love and service of family and humanity. A man who was loved not only by his widow, 5 children, 30 grandchildren, and 18 great-grandchildren (with a great-great due soon). He was mourned also by his 15+ "adopted" children, those who somehow or another found their way to his household and were never turned away. They were fed and bedded down and given love and support, not just for a brief period, but for the rest of his life.
He was a good old country farm boy who lived in the house his parents built with their own two hands. When it became clear to everyone that he was dying, he insisted on dying at home in the same room where he was born 80 years ago. He was laid to rest in a coffin made for him by his own sons from a tree they cut on his property. For the last week they stripped the bark and lovingly planed each piece until it shone with the lovely richness that only cedar has. They marked each corner with his brand and then lined it with a quilt made for him by his sister.
Over 300 people crowded into a tiny country church and spilled out into the Fellowship Hall just to take a moment to tell him good-bye. They all laughed together as they sang "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" on the day before Easter because it always made him smile as he recalled the boy he was who thought it was his own special hymn, "Hark! Harold's Angels Sing." They all cried together as Taps sounded out across the windy Oklahoma prairie as he was laid in the ground surrounded by generations of his family, exactly as he would wish it.
He is an example to us all of a quiet and seemingly unimpressive life that in truth changed the lives of everyone he met. His is a life lived in faith and charity, exactly the way our Creator asked him to live it. May we all follow the example of Uncle Harold, and when we hear the call of God, rise up to meet it.
Friday, April 10, 2009
A Good Friday Haiku
Complete perfection
Bloodied, wounded, and stumbling
Lurching towards death
Dislocated arms
Wrists and feet spread wide by nails
Gasping for each breath
Thirst, utter fatigue
Crowned, beaten, scorned, ridiculed
Sacrificial One
parched lips, rasping breath
"Why have You abandoned Me?"
Then "It is finished."
Bloodied, wounded, and stumbling
Lurching towards death
Dislocated arms
Wrists and feet spread wide by nails
Gasping for each breath
Thirst, utter fatigue
Crowned, beaten, scorned, ridiculed
Sacrificial One
parched lips, rasping breath
"Why have You abandoned Me?"
Then "It is finished."
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
An Apology.....Sort of
A few months ago, we got a call from the teenage daughter of a friend ours. As long as we have known her, she has wanted to go to the University of Texas (I don't know why, but that's not the point.) This week she announced that she will be going elsewhere because that's where her boyfriend is going and she loved him and doesn't want to be separated from him for even a moment. Remember being 18?
Her parents are truly wise people. Instead of arguing with her, they handed her the telephone and asked her to call all the married people she knew and ask them where their love from when they were 18 happened to be today. Her folks know that most people don't marry their high school sweethearts no matter how romantic it sounds.
By the time she called us, she was sounding decidedly depressed. She had called 15 couples and none of them had settled down with their first love. She was on the verge of tears when in a shaky voice she told me of her college choice an then sobbed out "Where is your love from when you were 18?"
"I'm not really sure," I told her. "Do you need to know right now?"
"I guess not really," she sighed.
"Hang on a sec," I told her, then hollered "Hey, Computer Guy, where are you?"
"In the laundry room!" came the reply.(Is it any wonder I love him?)
"He's in the laundry room." I told her.
"Seriously? You married him? And it worked out and you're happy and everything?" she asked sounding suddenly rejuvenated.
"Yup. It wasn't always easy but I've never regretted a moment of it."
"Thanks!" she said. I swear I could hear the smile in her voice.
To her parents, I'm sorry that I couldn't give her the answer you wanted me to give her. Next time, give me the script first. To their sweet girl, if you love him so much then marry that boy. It will be a long hard road, but you can walk it together and that's what counts.
Her parents are truly wise people. Instead of arguing with her, they handed her the telephone and asked her to call all the married people she knew and ask them where their love from when they were 18 happened to be today. Her folks know that most people don't marry their high school sweethearts no matter how romantic it sounds.
By the time she called us, she was sounding decidedly depressed. She had called 15 couples and none of them had settled down with their first love. She was on the verge of tears when in a shaky voice she told me of her college choice an then sobbed out "Where is your love from when you were 18?"
"I'm not really sure," I told her. "Do you need to know right now?"
"I guess not really," she sighed.
"Hang on a sec," I told her, then hollered "Hey, Computer Guy, where are you?"
"In the laundry room!" came the reply.(Is it any wonder I love him?)
"He's in the laundry room." I told her.
"Seriously? You married him? And it worked out and you're happy and everything?" she asked sounding suddenly rejuvenated.
"Yup. It wasn't always easy but I've never regretted a moment of it."
"Thanks!" she said. I swear I could hear the smile in her voice.
To her parents, I'm sorry that I couldn't give her the answer you wanted me to give her. Next time, give me the script first. To their sweet girl, if you love him so much then marry that boy. It will be a long hard road, but you can walk it together and that's what counts.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Mercy Me
Head on over to Miss June's Place for her much anticipated Monday Swoon for some serious eye-candy, y'all. Today's variety were requested by yours truly. You can thank me later. (After your pulse returns to normal.) Yea-haw.
It Says So On the Chart
Pregnancy brain has affected me until I am now a chaotic mess. I need some serious help here. We're not getting anything done on time, and the house is slowly sinking into a pit beyond recognition. I need someone else to be in charge and tell me what to do. Any volunteers?
I didn't think so.
I created my own "boss". It's name is "Written Schedule". It took me an entire day of working on it while the boys did math and grammar next to me to come up with a color-coded chart for each day of the week. While I was at it, I threw in a schedule for laundry room use and a daily cleaning chart for every bedroom in the house, all personalized and carefully thought out. Jealous yet?
It has worked well for a week, except that I (in my brilliance) forgot to schedule blogging time. I'll bet you'd wondered why I was scarce around here. You weren't on my schedule, silly me. Now you are, feel better?
There is something very freeing about looking at children when they start to argue about doing anything and being able to shrug and say, "It's not me, sweetheart. It's on the chart. Go argue with it if you don't like it." They just accept that there is a higher power at work here, go look at the schedule and do as it says. We are beginning to run like a well oiled machine around here. Okay, I'll be honest. We're not quite at the "well-oiled" point. We're running like an old rusty engine that's just getting going, but still knocks and sputters and needs some fine tuning.
I'm not usually one to give up my parental powers to anyone, much less to a piece of paper. I'm rethinking that right now. With my declining IQ leaving me feeling just a few points from the short bus, I need all the back-up I can get, and today that darn piece of paper is just smarter than me.
I didn't think so.
I created my own "boss". It's name is "Written Schedule". It took me an entire day of working on it while the boys did math and grammar next to me to come up with a color-coded chart for each day of the week. While I was at it, I threw in a schedule for laundry room use and a daily cleaning chart for every bedroom in the house, all personalized and carefully thought out. Jealous yet?
It has worked well for a week, except that I (in my brilliance) forgot to schedule blogging time. I'll bet you'd wondered why I was scarce around here. You weren't on my schedule, silly me. Now you are, feel better?
There is something very freeing about looking at children when they start to argue about doing anything and being able to shrug and say, "It's not me, sweetheart. It's on the chart. Go argue with it if you don't like it." They just accept that there is a higher power at work here, go look at the schedule and do as it says. We are beginning to run like a well oiled machine around here. Okay, I'll be honest. We're not quite at the "well-oiled" point. We're running like an old rusty engine that's just getting going, but still knocks and sputters and needs some fine tuning.
I'm not usually one to give up my parental powers to anyone, much less to a piece of paper. I'm rethinking that right now. With my declining IQ leaving me feeling just a few points from the short bus, I need all the back-up I can get, and today that darn piece of paper is just smarter than me.
Friday, April 3, 2009
La Cucaracha!
A few weeks back, a woman we hardly know brought us a box of clothes her children had outgrown. A box of ugly clothes and roaches, the gift that keeps on giving. I'm sure she had no idea the bugs were there, or she wouldn't have given me the box. I'm pretty sure she knew the clothes were ugly, but figured I wouldn't care. What is it about having a lot of children that I begin to look like an alternative to Good Will? Cute clothes any day, but bug infested ugly ones need to go somewhere else.
The exterminator came Wednesday, God bless the bug man. He sprayed everywhere and we saw nothing...at first. Yesterday morning, there were a few dead bugs and we swept them up and thought there weren't as many as we thought. This morning proved us wrong. The little suckers just took a long time to kill. My children have seen quite a few dead ants, roaches and spiders at this point, why do they feel the need to stand over each one and shriek like a girl in a horror movie? Just about the time my heart rate returns to normal, the screaming starts again and I think Freddy Kruger must be in the house. Nope, it's just a dead bug.
All this got me thinking about PETA people. What do they do when they get a box of ugly clothes and roaches? Do they let the little dears move into the spare room? Do they lecture each other about the value of each animal's life no matter how disgusting it is? Do they welcome them and feed them? I suspect they wait until night and then call the bug man under cover of darkness so that their animal worshiping friends don't know. I'll bet they swear him to secrecy and bribe him to say not a word. Then, I'll bet he takes the money from their bribe and drives to McDonald's and treats himself to a burger. Just imagine, PETA money buying a burger for a bug murderer. I love a happy ending.
The exterminator came Wednesday, God bless the bug man. He sprayed everywhere and we saw nothing...at first. Yesterday morning, there were a few dead bugs and we swept them up and thought there weren't as many as we thought. This morning proved us wrong. The little suckers just took a long time to kill. My children have seen quite a few dead ants, roaches and spiders at this point, why do they feel the need to stand over each one and shriek like a girl in a horror movie? Just about the time my heart rate returns to normal, the screaming starts again and I think Freddy Kruger must be in the house. Nope, it's just a dead bug.
All this got me thinking about PETA people. What do they do when they get a box of ugly clothes and roaches? Do they let the little dears move into the spare room? Do they lecture each other about the value of each animal's life no matter how disgusting it is? Do they welcome them and feed them? I suspect they wait until night and then call the bug man under cover of darkness so that their animal worshiping friends don't know. I'll bet they swear him to secrecy and bribe him to say not a word. Then, I'll bet he takes the money from their bribe and drives to McDonald's and treats himself to a burger. Just imagine, PETA money buying a burger for a bug murderer. I love a happy ending.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)