Wednesday, December 30, 2009
#1 Run It's Course? As I questioned the educational choices we had made for our children, I came to you seeking feedback. You came through in a big way and our school now looks a lot different because of it.
#2 Things I Enjoy Cleaning You all know how I adore housework. This post outlines my very favorite chores. (Make sure you check the comments to read about your favorite things to clean!)
#3 Mad, Mad, Mad! outlines my fury at the government handouts that began at the beginning of this year. Just a note, here. The CEO of AIG (which the government (I mean, We the People) bought out for $85 Billion) has opted to leave the company (with a multi-million dollar compensation package) rather than abide by the government imposed salary cap. Also, GM is getting a few Billion more to get them out of their "slump." Most of my news comes from NPR (notoriously liberal)--none of this is from Glenn or Rush. Just to validate my info.
#4 Friends was during a particularly hard moment in time. One commenter threw my own quote back at me, "Yes, just one suggestion: give yourself a break! We love you. And, good grief, we all have crap we need to change. It takes a life-time."
#5 Great to be Gross My son's 10th birthday. It was really gross.
#6 Thirty-two Years Ago, Today My mother's cameo appearance in which she describes my birth. We were in the paper.
#7 Thoughts on Shots I dared broach the subject.
#8 Wise Choice in which I philosophize about the importance of healthy friendships and highlight one particularly valuable friend.
#9 Danny Boy My Down Syndrome brother came to our home when he was still a toddler. My parents have adopted him and Zach, another Down's boy. These are a few thoughts about growing up with retarded siblings (and why I still use the word retarded).
#10 To the Busy Bodies where I gripe and complain.
#11 Newsy You get to read about the randomness in my life--and see my huge laundry pile.
Thank you for making 2009 fun to report. It makes me excited for next year.
Actually, I'm already excited for next year 'cause I like saying twenty-ten. Isn't it, like, waaay, more fun?
Happy New Year!!
I made this this morning.
Pretty close, I think. The kids all helped distress it (and will surely continue to do so). It will need paint and a coat of pod-tough polyurethane. But, it seats six children or four adults.
Hurrah for necessity!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
I didn't get a picture of my boy. Crap. Well, he looked good, too. He makes me cry 'cause he is a ten year old boy who is enjoys ballet--and can take the heat of being the only boy doing it. And 'cause he still gets kinda grossed out by the fact that he has to touch girls in order to lift or turn them. Ewww. He also likes basketball and running.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Okay, take a deep breath because Here. It. Is. The Sanders’ Family Roundup!
We are really proud of the progress Justin has made since he started drug-court two months ago. His meth scabs are healing nicely and he is getting his public profanity under control. His next challenge is to cut back on his lottery obsession. Actually, he is in his first year of Pharmacy school and is a funny dad and super husband.
Emily is working on her new goal to pour her whiskey into a glass, instead of drinking it right out of the jug. She enjoys keeping up on Brad and Angelina, Jen and John, and is continuing her You Tube campaign to STOP THE HATE toward Britany. She also reads classics, blogs, stretches dollars and raises her massive brood.
Our oldest, _____, is nine and is working on his colors and shapes in school right now. He can sing the ABC’s the whole way through and only slurs the LMNOP part–but who doesn’t, right? He reads several grades above grade level. He is learning everything he can about rockets, space, flight, and has started saving for Space Camp.
Next in our “line-up” is ____, age seven. Finally, after weeks of practice, she can go potty on the toilet! Let’s all cheer . . . only three in diapers. She loves to watch Teletubies! _____ is our smarty pants who luh, huh, huves to read. She is wonderful with our baby–rocking her like a practiced adult, not the barely-four-foot tall creature that she is.
Our five year old, _____, had silver caps put on all of her teeth this fall, so she can finally eat something other than bananas and baby oatmeal. _____ likes to watch Judge Judy with her mom and can swear just like the plaintiffs. Boy, is she funny. She loves everything fancy and loves to dress-up. She says the nicest things and likes to surprise her mom by cleaning without being asked.
____ is three and can climb the ladder and get on the roof all by herself. WOW, isn’t she something? Sometimes she jumps off, but usually lands in the manure pile. She is getting handy with knives and helps make breakfast every afternoon. ____ is still our cuddly, sweet girl. She loves people and gets along with everyone. She is not shy and has many of the elderly people in our neighborhood wrapped around her finger.
Our newest arrival is _______. I don’t have it in me to even pretend about our lovely new babe. She is the blessed event of the year. Her June 16th delivery was fast and furious and her personality in these first six months has proved her worthy of it. She is always moving and loves her brother and sisters.
And You. You are our friends because we know you will get this joke. We are grateful for our Savior Jesus Christ, for our incredibly blessed lives . We are happy and healthy and looking forward to seeing you at the next AA meeting.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
I have always been a poor speller. (I'm pretty sure I talked about this before.) It plagues my soul comparable only to the way my terrible house-keeping skills do. The spell checker isn't even that helpful. It will often tag words that are not spelled wrong. I try to look up words before I send them out into the great throng of people-smarter-than-me, but now and then, a mistake gets through.
In a recent post, I wrote about the ridiculous things my children demand. But, instead of ridiculous (laughable, preposterous), I wrote ridicules (derision, mockery). TOTALLY DIFFERENT WORD! If I had just written it once, it could have been written off as a typo, but I wrote it twice. Twice and not one of you thought it would be prudent to save me from myself.
Next time you notice a gross error such as this, please send me a private email and tell me. I don't care if you are gentle or rude, funny or pithy, just get the information from your head to mine.
Thank you, forever.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
it scares me. I have read the story many times, seen it on stage, watched Mickey Mouse and The Muppets interpret it. I've seen the freakily animated version and the Bill Murray version. I know that tears will spring into my eyes every time crippled Tiny Tim, full of goodness and typifying the light that Christ affords us, asks God to bless us, everyone. I know that the visiting ghosts will guide Scrooge into repentance and understanding. I know that many lives (except that of the prize turkey in the poulterer's shop window) will never again know the sadness of their lives previous to the fateful Christmas Eve night. All of this I know!
Yet, at the beginning, whether I am reading or watching or listening, I have a persistently uneasy feeling swimming around in my insides. I know that those scary ghosts are Going To come and Jacob Marley is Going To untie his head wrap, letting his jaw fall slack. The thought of all the freakyness happening in the relative safety of one's own bed is, well, unnerving.
I keep tuning in because the good in the outweighs the bad, but, I'm holding my pillow awfully tight until Scrooge wakes up on Christmas morning.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Moments later, my husband and I sprang from our warm bed because we heard water . . . a lot of water . . . and it was pouring out of the ceiling. Of course, the first thought is burst pipe! After a moment of sleuthing, we discovered our son taking a shower with the curtain outside of the tub walls. His shower was draining on the bathroom floor and, thereby, through the basement ceiling.
I came upstairs to find all five of my children awake (at least an hour before they usually wake up). They were on the couch staring at the Christmas tree. I remember doing that. Christmas is full of magic, when you are six. I squished in with them and we talked quietly, enjoying the lights, the companionship and the warmth under our shared blanket.
Then one child asked for egg nog. There is about 3/4 cup left in the carton. If I let her have some, the other six of us wouldn't get any. That would be terribly unfair. I told her "no" which invited a tremendous tantrum. This effectively ended quiet time.
After showering and starting breakfast, I logged on to read the headline: I Cheated and it Saved My Marriage. Wow. What a broken, fallen world.
After a little prayer of gratitude for my good and faithful husband, I cleaned up the water spilled by the child trying to water the tree, put yet another diaper on the baby--she keeps taking them off so it went on backwards this time--and made it before she did her duty. I raced around squelching a few childhood storms. The laundry is going, my bed is made, now a blog post is written.
It's 8:30 and I'm ready for a nap.
Friday, December 11, 2009
There is a list. It's kind of like asking for a favorite Christmas carol or scripture passage or child--the answer changes depending on my mood, my station in life and whether my pants are too tight.
In no particular order:
- Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. I especially love the golden thread that the woman uses to tie everyone together. It is a lovely analogy of a gift women have. We are, generally speaking, good at knitting hearts together with love.
- The Books of Genesis and Mosiah.
- Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. It is chock-full of wisdom and goodness.
- The Lord of the Rings trilogy by JRR Tolkien. Just a dang good story with every essential element: devotion, honor, horror, battles, suspense, bravery, fear, good, evil, greed, selflessness, humor, pain, hope . . .
- Anne of Green Gables by LM Montgomery. She makes me happy.
- Little Britches by Ralph Moody. He shows how much joy can be found in life--even if you are poor and have to work hard.
- The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom. You won't believe her faith and courage. Have you read this book? YOU MUST.
- Something by Jane Austen and something by Mark Twain.
Obviously, there are others that are greatly loved, but, today, right now, this is my top list. I think.
If you weren't (fill in your first name), what book would you be?
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
I want to know why EVERY woman I saw there was dressed to the nines, had the
most stylish handbags, had no hair out of place, and had faultless make-up---- including the ones with perfectly stylish babies and strollers.
I'm aware that I fell off the fashion train some time ago, but SHEESH! Where are
these women coming from? What do they do all day?
I identify with this sentiment completely. While I try to be clean and presentable, I don't check my hair or make-up multiple times daily. I have no spare change for the latest anything. It got me to thinking about a story I read years ago. It's about Marjorie Pay Hinkley, one of my Mothering Mentors. One of her daughters wrote:
When we were young, it was very uncommon to have mothers in the
classroom--or anywhere at school. I remember only one day. We were
having a program in the lunchroom. Chairs lined the room, and the children
sat in them as we waited for the mothers to arrive. I noticed with curious
interest as each mother came in and then made her way to sit with her
child. The mother who came through the door just before mine was wearing
spiked heels and a darling dress and had all of this foofy hair. Yes, she
was young and, I thought, beautiful. In fact, she looked like a teenager. As she made her way over to her tap-dancer daughter (of course, I thought), I looked up to see my mother come through the same door. With that instant juxtaposition, I will never forget the flood of security and happiness I felt when I saw her--no foofy hair or spiked heels, not very young or very beautiful, dressed in her typically tidy house-dress. There was a warm, comfortable feeling and the thought clear as neon: "Oh, I'm so glad that my mother looks like a real mother! Whatever would a person do
if her only mother wore darling dresses and had painted fingernails?"
~Pearce, Virginia H. Glimpses Into the Life and Heart of Marjorie Pay Hinkley. Deseret Book Company: Salt Lake City, 1999. pg 49. Emphasis added.
While I will do the best I can, I'd rather people look at me and know that I am a mother, not a celebrity. I'll do all I can to avoid "frumpy," I won't wear sweat pants unless I'm running, and I vow to try to remember to put make-up on both eyelids, but I don't want to look like a teenager. I'm pretty sure I would just come off looking stupid.
PS A comment on Betsy's blog included this quote. It must be included here.
I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails.
I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp.
I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbors children.
I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden.
I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder.
I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived
— Marjorie Pay Hinckley
Friday, December 4, 2009
I worked out an entire diatribe about how we should pay for the wars we are fighting (Victory Gardens, collecting rubber tires and nylon stockings for the troops, war bonds, etc), but decided it was too much work. That was a topic that required thought and I don't want to think that hard.
Then I thought I would tell you all of the ridiculous demands my children place upon me ("You put the peanut butter on the waffle after the syrup and RUINED it!" and so on). After musing over that for awhile, I decided you've had enough of your own people demanding ridiculous things to ever want to read my junk.
My eight year old daughter made cookies all by herself the other day--from start to finish. I just washed the pans when she was done. I took pictures and everything, but decided that was a too close to the annoying "My Child is an Honor Student" bumper sticker and I didn't want your not-cookie-baking child to come beat up my cookie-baking one.
I wrote out an advent calendar that teaches a mini lesson about Christmas from the scriptures' perspective and thought about sharing. I didn't because (1) it may come off a little too NieNie, (2) I'd have to post twenty-four days straight and my children would never eat or wear clean underwear if I did that, and (3) you don't come to me for spiritual guidance (oh, please let that be true!!).
One day I actually started a post about how gross boys are because my husband and his brothers call each other to talk about their . . . well . . . their solid waste. You never saw that post because I couldn't bear to talk about it. It's just too disgusting.
I wanted to write about how I'm having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit this year. No, I'm not depressed or pregnant or suffering from any other emotionally swinging malady. I finally concluded that it's because I am shopping online instead of in the cheery stores. I'm missing the displays of huge wrapped boxes, mechanical elves hard at work in Santa's workshop, and puffs of cotton snow. (Yes, I am aware some of you would argue that this isn't the real Christmas spirit. I'd like to argue that there are two different kinds of Christmas spirit. You see? This is why I didn't write about it. Semantics would spoil that post.)
People in my part of these Great United States keep making the "s" sound like "sh." They are pronouncing "nursery" like "nur shree" and "straight" like "shtrate." It makes me nuts. If only I never said "acrost" when I mean "across" and "bage" when I mean "bag," I could be more vocally critical.
So, see? There is the proof in the pudding. I've got nothin' to say, so I'll just keep my mouth shut (or my fingers still).
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
I fiddled and worked and downloaded.
I called my sister, my brother-in-law, my mom (who knows nothing about computers, but she would as least curse the computer with me), my dad, and even my niece in Hawaii.
No one was home.
I called a neighbor. He taught me how to convert files. I converted the file into four different formats.
Not one would play on the TV.
I went to the store in my slippers and without make-up to buy a different kind of DVD.
"THIS IS NOT WORTH IT!" I hollered. "This was supposed to be a quick mouse click. AUGH!!" I stepped away for awhile. When I came back I decided to just play the song and practice singing. My son happened by and stopped to listen and watch the video.
"Oh, Mom. That was amazing."
I love my son.
I hate computers.
Friday, November 27, 2009
I know these days will be gone before I know it. I try to treasure them and I think I do. There is a line in the movie Finding Neverland, about J.M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan. He said,
Young boys should never be sent to bed... they always wake up a day older.Just another thing I want to always remember: Mom's bed.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
- My baby is officially weaned--and my breasts hurt.
- I look forward to one day hiking without a child in the backpack.
- I think it's weird when Jews put out Christmas CD's.
- My great-grandma's direction to roast a turkey in an oiled paper bag delivers THE BEST turkey. Every Time.
- The pods and I can now sing about six rounds. We have begun working on harmony.
- I miss singing with my siblings in the car.
- I dislike drinking out of plastic cups.
- The little holes in my shower head are plugged by calcium or lime or something. The water pressure that screams through the three unplugged holes can rip your skin off.
- It gets to this point at least twice a year.
- My family sang "Happy Anniversary to You" on our machine. Who does that? I adore them.
- I think about baby names all the time.
- I love my small house.
- Our children are loud and high energy. So am I.
- A friend has his children step on baby wipes to wash the floor. They play "Pippi Longstocking" as they push the wet wipes all over. I'm totally stealing his idea.
- Use your pizza cutter to cut the pancakes or waffles for your seventeen children to drastically reduce the time taken to prepare breakfast.
- When I was a Senior in high school, the only vehicle available to me was a 15 year old twelve seater van. A gallon of milk had been forgotten under a seat in the middle of July. It exploded. The van never relinquished the smell. Also, a can of gasoline had tipped and spilled. That van reeked.
- I never thought I would want a twelve seater van. Oh, how far I've come.
- I'm a terrible speller and it causes me a great deal of grief when my spell checker tags correctly spelled words.
- I'll write a real post tomorrow. Happy Thanksgiving.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
I dearly love books on tape. Not only do I "read" a book while doing other things, I often find more things to do, just so I can keep listening. Take today, for instance. I folded six loads of laundry, made angel costumes for seven small ballerinas, cleaned out my desk (no small job), did the dishes, made spaghetti with meatballs (rolling all the meat into small balls, rather than just browning the hamburger), swept the floors and so on. I found myself looking for jobs that kept me in the same room so I could continue to listen.
Now that it's over, I found I need to get another book on tape. You see, the fish tank needs to be cleaned out . . . the kitchen table needs benches built . . . the closets need organizing . . . Christmas gifts need to be made . . . . . . . .
Monday, November 16, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
I was the second or third car in line at a red light. The intersection was a very busy one with four lanes of through traffic, turning lanes, freeway on and off ramps and a often used railroad track. Traffic was particularly heavy and lines stretched long behind the changing lights. The light in my lane turned green; and this is when tragedy decided to strike.
A man was driving an old, rusty, yellow station wagon. There were four small children in the back seats. He looked a respectable man, but obviously poor. He pressed on the gas at the change of lights and his car bolted, then sputtered, then jerked to a stop. Having driven old cars, I could feel his frustration and his embarrassment. Oh, somebody please help him, I pleaded silently.
Then a most beautiful thing happened. At the head of four of the stopped lanes of traffic sat shiny, new trucks. How they synchronized to be there at the same moment, paint waxed and chrome lug nuts shining, I'll never know. But there they were. At the wheel of each gleaming truck sat a man--a good man. I know they were good men because before the dad behind the wheel of the broken-down vehicle could even get out of his car, these four men jumped out of their cars. It wasn't that one guy got out and the others thought, Well, I guess I should go help, too. No, it was more instinctive than that. It was automatic. Over they ran, dodging traffic, and helped the disable car to the side of the road.
As I drove past, I wondered if each of the Good Samaritans had once been the poor dad in the crappy car just trying to get by. How many years of hard work did it take to finally be seated behind the wheel of their fancy truck? Had they experienced downsizing or did they work full time while struggling to earn a degree? Did their health insurance company go bankrupt in time for them to get sick? Maybe they got a new truck on their 16th birthday and updated every year. Maybe, but I doubt it.
I was reminded of this experience today as I watched a dance team performing at competition.
Everything started out okay for this group of high school aged girls, but about a third of the way through their routine, tragedy struck. Their CD began to skip. It wasn't a quick skip then get back to the song, it was a stuttering, repetitive, persistent skip. The girls shied a moment and looked at each other quickly, but tried to soldier on.
Then a most beautiful thing happened. The crowd began to cheer. A few whooped, someone whistled. The momentum picked up as the audience shouted, clapped, and otherwise encouraged the girls. They kept going while the music was playing it's own happy game. The dancers beamed as they danced the routine they knew by heart--with or without Aretha's voice paving the way.
The song ended and they jumped into each other's arms. The crowd had bolstered the courage of the feeble hearted and they did it.
The world is full of nasty, wicked people. They do horrible and ugly things, but I believe that there is still more good. People are kind, they are generous, they are selfless, and they are loving. I am sometimes criticised for my belief in people (I believed Bill Clinton and the balloon boy's family, for instance), but I would rather be caught believing in the good in people than finding myself doubtful and distrustful. There is so much joy found in hope!
Doing good is a pleasure,
a joy beyond measure,
a blessing of duty and love.
~ Will L. Thompson
Thursday, November 12, 2009
It would be pitiful, if it weren't so tragic.
Work, slaves, work! And you will have actual dolls to put in those molded dresses.
Though, I have to say, I think Demon Mommy has been foiled.
Hot Chocolate is vital, essential, necessary (are those all the same word?), but if you want something different, here are two recipes you'll need to keep your families warm over the next few months.
(Have you always wondered what they were talking about in that Christmas carol? Here it is!)
3 c Apple Juice
2 c Pineapple Juice
1/4 c Lemon Juice
3 c Water
1 c Sugar
6 Whole Cloves
1 Cinnamon Stick
Combine all in a large pot. Simmer as long as possible to get the full flavor out of the spices. Remove cinnamon stick and cloves and serve hot.
46oz Pineapple Juice
12oz Frozen Orange Juice Concentrate
12oz Frozen Lemonade
5 quarts Water
2 1/2 c Sugar
1 t Whole Cloves
3 Cinnamon Sticks
Combine all in a large pot. Simmer as long as possible to get the full flavor out of the spices. Remove cinnamon stick and cloves and serve hot.
Oh, baby. Enjoy! (As an added bonus, these make your house smell sooo good.)
New Post today on The MotherShip Home Schools: Writing Inspired by Aesop
Friday, November 6, 2009
I was slightly anxious for him, and not because I was afraid of the social aspect or the academic aspect; I was anxious because of the complete newness of it all. He wanted to go mostly because his father and I both attended public school. "I want to know what you are always talking about," he said. Good reason.
When he walked in the door, I asked him about his day. "Long," he said as he slooped his way across the floor, landing in an exhausted heap on the couch. Hmmm, yes, I suppose, for a kid who is used to school consuming only four hours a day, four days a week.
I asked my dad how the new kid performed. He was generally positive, of course--we are talking about his grandson. He told me about some of the work they did. Dad had his students work on some fractions as a group. My pod has been focusing a lot on fractions lately, so I thought he probably held his own. This is the report I received:
The problem they were to solve was, "There were eight kids in the car. They're all fighting because there are only seven Subway sandwiches. How can you divide the sandwiches equally?" [Son] talked it over with his group, walked to the front and said, "Give everyone 1/4 of a sandwich then just throw away the rest."
A student in his group (who knew that he was dealing with his teacher's grandson) added out of the corner of his mouth, "We didn't all agree on that answer."
I asked him about it later and he replied logically, "It was the correct answer because everyone got equal sandwiches and they stopped fighting. That was what he asked us to do."
It is hard to argue with that.
Dang home schooled kid, thinking outside the box again.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
A bunny who had a riotous evening. It is a great age for Halloween because they are just flabbergasted that people would keep handing them candy, candy, candy.
Little Red Riding Hood. Her grandma frequently tells her the story over the phone. I thought she was darling until my husband told me about a terribly freaky movie with Michael Douglas and a dwarf in a Little Red Riding Hood costume. I'm glad it was near the end of the night when he divulged. If it had come earlier in the day, I would have been frantically sewing yet another last minute costume.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I have never been a tidy person. Is it a part of my DNA? I don't know. I just know that it was very hard for me to remember to put the clothes in the laundry basket, hang up my coat, and to put my toys away when I was done playing with them. Mollie, on the other hand, was usually pretty neat. She made her bed, put away her folded piles of laundry (instead of my tactic: putting them on the end of the bed until they had all been worn or they fell off into the abyss that awaited on the floor below where they would be trampled until they needed to be tossed in the laundry again), and probably even dusted. I wouldn't know. I was busy throwing a fit.
It was called a tantrum, by those who saw it. It was my staple, my bread and water, my first response, my conflict resolution. Someone tried to make me eat lentils? Flail on the floor. You ate out of the bowl that I wanted to use? Screaming, hot face. I wasn't supposed to put the crayons on the baseboard heater, and I knew that, so you scold me? Stomping feet and "You are so MEAN!" But the premium tantrums were saved for, "Emily, you need to go clean your room, please."
"WHAT THE HECK? You want me to do WHAT? Have you SEEN my room? Do you KNOW who made that mess? Are you aware that I can scream like this for longer than it would take you to just do it yourself? I HATE the world! No one understands me! And (my family's favorite) I TRY SO HARD and STILL I have to clean up after myself? NEVER!! I will NEVER!!!"
Mollie quietly set to work while I lay on the bed kicking (literally) and screaming (literally). She cleaned her half of the room while I hyperventilated on the bed. Soon she decided she'd had enough of the mess and began cleaning the whole room. Yes! I thought, She's doing it for me. I knew if I just played this part long enough sooner or later I would get out of this demeaning task.
Mollie picked up Samantha, my precious doll that lay haphazardly in the middle of the floor (where she belonged) and lobbed her onto my bed. Next came the pink teddy bear and then a shoe. Soon I was being showered with everything from "my" side of the room.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? WHY ARE YOU MESSING WITH MY STUFF? I LIKE IT THERE!" I screeched, as I suddenly came to the realization that she wasn't really helping me. Mollie didn't say a word, she just kept cleaning the room and putting it all on me. Okay, that's not entirely true. She would say mean stuff, like, crybaby, but so quietly that Mom couldn't hear. I tried tattling. It never worked. Dejected and exhausted from the duration of my standing up for justice, I slowly stopped crying and just lay in my mound of clothes and school papers and hair brushes, hiccuping. Mollie swept my side of the room and scooped the dirt up into the dust pan. She walked patiently over to my bed and dumped it on me. With tingly, stretched out lips, I wailed, "You'll be sorry, Mollie! I'll remember this!!"
And I always have. HA. Jokes on you!
Today, it all came back as I watched my namesake throwing the fit and my second child dutifully cleaning "her" half of the room.
This picture is true blue. It has not been retouched or photo shopped. One side of the room is being vacuumed, the other is nearly as deep as the bed.
Yep. It must be in the DNA. And our Dear Heavenly Father has a sense of humor.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
I even know some who refuse to gather food because they would have to share. Huh?
This is not an anti-gun rant. I firmly support our right to own firearms so don't send me hate mail. This is also not an invitation to not make an effort to store your own food. Even if all of us who have food do share, we'd run out a lot faster if others didn't do their part.