To Sew or Not to Sew

Around November 28 or 29 every year I get this great desire to make a gift for someone. Usually I've run across some Christmas gift idea or I have unearthed a project I started months (sometimes even years) ago and I become convinced that I can make this item before Christmas.  Sometimes they are simple items like a scarf or a small quilt and sometimes they're not. This year was no different. While scanning Pinterest one afternoon I happened upon a sweater quilt. It was beautiful. Made from old wool sweaters, felted and cut into large blocks, sewn together into a soft,cozy looking quilt. I had been wanting to make a quilt for my oldest niece for years but never seemed to find a pattern or style that I liked for her. But this was it! I read through the blog with the "easy" to follow instructions and within hours found myself at Goodwill stock piling wool sweaters.

Now coming from a line of fabulous seamstresses and quilters one might believe that I had inherited a gift for sewing. One would be wrong. My grandmother was always able to whip up beautiful dresses, lovely summer outfits, and gorgeous quilts. My mother could take any bolt of material and turn it into a fantastic pageant dress, amazing prom dress or heart stopping wedding gown. She evened owned a custom bridal shop for a while and produced a  number of the prom gowns that paraded through my high school prom.She could also pick up a pile of scraps and in a matter of days have a quilt to be cherished for a lifetime. I however had received none of this talent. For one I can't cut a straight line. Never have been able to, even with the use of tools that are guaranteed to produce a straight cut. For another, I have never mastered the sewing machine. I have always had the desire to use one, I even own one but in most cases allowing a monkey to use it would produce about the same results. Nonetheless I always get a stirring for creating some work of art using the sewing machine. ( I can piece and sew by hand but not really an option when you are trying to produce a quilt in less than 15 days.)

And so as soon as I gathered the sweaters I liked best I raced home to felt them. So far all was going well. The next day I cut out patterns for the block sizes I needed and quickly began cutting the sweaters to pieces. Before long a large stack of sweater blocks adorned my table. The quilt would be a mix of large solid blocks and large blocks made of 4 smaller blocks so first I needed to sew the smaller blocks together. So out comes the sewing machine (which by the way had been at my sister-in-laws for 2 years and I can't find the instructions for). In order to sew I first have to fill a bobbin and then thread it. So I pop the bobbin on, the spool of thread goes flying through the air, then the bobbin ends up in a tangle and after about 8 times of trying to get it to wind, finally I'm successful. Then I go to put the bobbin in the little thing that holds  it and guess what; It doesn't fit. Somehow there are three bobbins in the my stuff that do not fit the bobbin thingy. Time to wind a new bobbin. Next comes threading the machine. Not as easy as it sounds when you only use a machine every year or so and not having instructions is definitely a handicap, since to thread a machine takes a complicated pattern of up down and round several little metal objects and the correct order is very important. It takes several attempts but I remember just enough that I finally get it. But of course there is still the trial run to be done to ensure that everything is set up correctly. I grab a scrap of material and to my great surprise it all works wonderfully.

So I grab my first two small blocks. Now you might remember that I can not cut a straight line so in fact my squares are not technically squares. And if one can not cut a straight line I'm sure you are wondering how one sews a straight line. She doesn't. But that does not stop me. I quickly sew up 3 large blocks from the smaller blocks but low-and-behold on block number 4 the sweater material in this block is much thicker than in other the other blocks and machine just sticks. By this point it's late a night and I figure it best to head to bed and tackle this problem in the morning.

The next day I sit down at my sewing machine refreshed and ready to go. I grab that block that was giving me problems before and begin working with it. Again the machine just sits there. I'm pressing the foot, the motor is humming but the material is not moving. I jerk on the block and suddenly it pops through under the foot, only when I turn it over, instead of a beautiful nice stitch there is a mess of thread on the back of my block. I pull it all out and try again. Same thing. After a couple of more tries, re-threaded the bobbin a few times and a call to my mother I finally figure out that needle is no longer threaded correctly. I re-thread the needle and try again. A few stitches into the block suddenly I realize there are no stitches happening anywhere. The bobbin has run out. Re-load the bobbin and now I have to try to thread it again and 20 min later we're back  in business. I sew a few more squares together and the needle breaks. Replace the needle, start again, the spool runs out. I find a new spool of thread, get it threaded (I'm starting to get pretty good at that) and back to work. Then the foot falls off (if you aren't familiar with a sewing machine this is the little piece that holds the fabric down and pushes it through the machine).  I fix the foot, making sure it's tight. Of course by now it's time to get back to the business of running my household, so I put everything away to tackle again later.

The next few attempts go better and I eventually get the top of the quilt finished. Now to put the back on. Now let's review. I can't cut a straight line, I don't really sew a straight line so when I lay the top out on the back it's not anywhere close to straight. When I ask my Mom's advice she says "Just square the back and it will look fine." Yeah right. So I do my best to square the back and attach it. Just in time to bind it on Christmas Eve. I chose a quick closed blanket stitch and by 3 am I'm done. The finished product wasn't too bad, a little crooked and I've got my fingers crossed that it won't fall apart, but finished. All the work and complications were definitely worth it when I received a grateful thank you from my niece.

And now arise the questions, do I have so much trouble with my machine because I only use it once a year or do I only use it once a year because I struggle so much? As of now I think I'll put the machine away, being sure to put the instructions with it which I happened to find as I was cleaning up from Christmas. Maybe I pull it out again soon or maybe next November I'll get the itch to make something new and the fun will start all over again.

Finished product - one square has a pocket and a couple have buttons. Not too shabby!

Oh Christmas Tree

Getting a fresh cut Christmas tree has become one of our family's favorite holiday traditions. It's kind of funny though as neither my husband or I grew up with a fresh cut tree. Sure we had the occasional real tree. But in my home I remember dragging the large box that contained the tree up from the depth's of the basement and spending hours trying to find all the right holes for the right branches. Then we'd fluff , bend and twist each branch trying to give the appearance of a real tree. In fact for the first few years of our marriage we used an artificial tree. In some ways I preferred it. I could put it up when I was ready instead of waiting for a day when we could all make at trek out to the tree farm, it didn't leave needles all over the floor, I didn't have to water it, and when it was time to take it down it was pretty quick and easy. But one year we decided that we wanted a real tree and after we had done it once we couldn't go back.

I'd like to paint you picture of a family of seven that merrily packs into the car with smiles on each face and Christmas carols on our lips as we make the 30 minute drive to the tree farm. All getting out with kind and caring words to one another excited to share in the process of choosing the perfect tree. Our family strolling through the lot laughing and joking with one another as we discuss the pros and cons of each tree before choosing the one that will look just right in the family room adorned with the family's collection of ornaments and lights. Father and son working together to cut the tree and load it on the cart. And of course the merry ride home as we all chat about Christmas memories and plans for the next few weeks. I'd like to paint that picture but that wouldn't really be fair. As much as we enjoy our tradition it is not without it's challenges. Of course what adventure with seven people is.

This year started out much the same as always. A thirty minute search for hats, gloves, and appropriate outerwear. Amazingly even though we had all those items just yesterday it still took a while to locate them. Once we were finally loaded the car ride was rather dull. (Nope no singing of carols.) We arrived at the lot and as always there was a little crying and pushing as everyone tried to get out of the car at the same time. Not because they were overly excited about the tree but that's just the way they always get out of the car.


We gathered our crew, picked up a saw and a cart and headed into the somewhat barren lot of trees. (We were a weekend later than usual so the farm was a bit picked over.) As Roy , K, B, and I discussed the few trees left, C used the cart to drag the little ones around occasionally being helped by the oldest two. This is where the third line form the picture above actually works. It only took us about 20 min to decide on a tree, which is quite a record for us. We've been known to be out in the lot for an hour or more. But with limited selection and the kids behaving well it was an easy decision. We took our traditional picture in front of the tree and then cut it down. B pulled the tree up to the main part of the farm and waited in line for it to be shaken and wrapped. As he and Roy stood in line I took the K, C, and the younger two to the barn to pet the sheep and llama. Lil B and Lil K desperately wanted to feed the animals but as I had no purse with me so there was not a quarter to be had. I left K there with the others and went to see if Roy had a quarter or two. Now up to this point I know your thinking what kind of challenges have you had, well here it comes.

When I got to the line I found B by himself. Roy had gone pay and since we were the next up to have our tree prepared for the drive home I decided to wait for a moment to make sure B didn't agree to anything with extra charges. After the tree was taken care of we walked back over to the barn and I instantly noticed that Lil B wasn't there. I quickly asked K where he was and she thought he had been with me. I gathered everyone up trying not to get panicky (but not doing very well) and told them to wait together while I looked. As I began looking Roy returned from the cashier and I told him Lil B was missing. We both began to search. There were so many places for him to be, so many people around I wondered if they would notice a little 3yr old boy wandering on his own and I suddenly couldn't remember what his coat looked like. As I rushed around trying to think of where he might have gone, what might have caught his attention I suddenly heard B yell, "There he is!" As I turned around I saw him walking out from around the little shed where the cashier is. The kids and I ran to him. I scooped him up and asked what he was doing. With a tear in his eye he said :"I wanted to see if Daddy had a quarter." Just then Roy walked up. Thankfully he had a couple of quarters. We fed the animals, loaded up the kids and the tree and headed home. It took almost 20 min for me to finally relax from the 5 min I didn't know where Lil B was.


The rest of the trip was uneventful. Except of course for the "pullover" you know when you have to actually pull over and get out of the car to explain to you children what "keep your hands to yourself means". In the end we have another beautiful tree and more memories for the kids pack away and share with their children. My hope is that these trips to get our trees will be events they look back on with fondness and not as a dreaded event their parents forced them into each year.

Lil B safely in the car

The Tree

Tradition

Bad Luck

Well I'm pretty sure I have some of the worst luck around.  Just look at my history with household appliances. I'm on my second washer, second dryer, had a refrigerator go out, a dishwasher quit working, moved into a house with a bum air conditioner at the beginning of a long hot summer, had a well pump almost fall into the well,  a sump pump quit in the middle of the night, an oven quit working the night before Thanksgiving while baking my famous rolls and the list could go on. This weekend my luck proved to be just as bad. On Friday night around 9pm I was driving home from 3 hours at my sons' basketball practices with all five kids in tow. We were at the end of a long day and were ready to get home and into our p.j.s. Only one thing stood in our way.....the drive home. Now we live less than 10 min from where we were. It's a path we take frequently, especially when basketball season begins. But on this night that quick drive home turned in to a 40 min ordeal.

Just moments after starting down the state road I hear a loud POP followed by a thud, thud,thud. Lucky for me (or maybe not) I had experienced a blown tire before so I knew instantly to get off the road and assess the situation. Now had this been several years ago I probably would have kept driving to see if the thudding sound got worse before pulling off.So I quickly pulled into the apartment complex, got out of the car and sure enough my back left tire was flat. And when I say flat I don't just mean a little low on air. I would say that there wasn't any air left in that tire at all. In fact the whole car was tipping in that direction. I drive an expedition by the way so I'm sure you can imagine the dramatic look of that scene.

Now I'm sure those who know me are thinking what's the big deal, your husband's a mechanic just call him and have him come fix it. Well unfortunately that evening he was home not feeling good, hence why I was at practice with all 5 kids. So I couldn't call him for assistance. I am however blessed with a great extended family that lives in the area. My sister-in-law, her husband, and my father-in-law quickly came to my rescue. The load us up and took us home, deciding the car was safe and could be dealt with in the morning.

Here comes the best part. The next morning my husband and his friend head over to the car to determine the damage done to the tire. When they get it off the car , in the tire they find not a nail or piece of something but a pair of pliers. Now I ask you who else but me could run over a pair of pliers just right to get them jammed all the way up in a tire. They weren't just kinda in there, only about a inch of the handle was sticking out of the tire. (If I think of it I'll have my husband take a picture.)

Really though ......pliers???

The Nitty Gritty

Last night as a sat at my computer checking my e-mail a sudden scream comes from the bathroom, as I race up the stairs a dripping wet boy barely covered by a towel comes racing out into the kitchen. His screams turn into cries as he tells me about the mosquito that  is chasing him around the shower. WHAT! Of course at this point I am already on edge as it took a 20 minute argument to get him to take a shower and another 10 minutes of fighting over which bathroom he was to use. (We only have two, so if someone is in one it stands to reason you'll be using the other.) I walk into the bathroom to destroy this terrifying intruder, which I am unable to locate and send my son back in to finish what he started. 3 minutes later he emerges hair still dry and insisting that he's clean. hhhmmmm...

I'm not sure when it happened but at some point bathing became a point of contention between me and my two oldest boys. I think they should bath often, they feel like once or twice a month should be considered sufficient.

It use to be that this was their favorite part of the day. When they were little filling up the tub with warm water, bubbles and toys created an excitement unmatched by many of our other activities. If I didn't plan to give them a bath they would beg for one. As they got older nothing was more fun than getting in the shower and spraying water everywhere. And using the Daddy's shower was the coolest thing in the world. (That's our smaller bathroom with a shower stall.)

Now every couple of days I have to start the battle to get them in the shower. It always begins the same:
" B or C, you need to take a shower."
" I just took one."
"That was two days ago."
"I'm not dirty."
"You are and it doesn't matter, because I told you to take a shower. Now please do it."
"I don't have any soap"
"Let me get you some."
"Do I have to wash my body?"
"Yes"
"What about my hair?"
"Yes"
Sometimes there's an argument about which shower to use. Inevitably they always want to use the one that's already occupied. And then comes the fun part. As the child exits the bathroom within moments of going in and I notice their hair isn't even damp.
"Are you done?"
"yes."
"Did you wash your hair?"
"yes"
"Why isn't it wet?"
"It's short so it dries fast?"
"Really?"

Some nights I fight the battle to get them back into to wash their hair and some nights I just give up. It makes me wonder if I should look forward to when they are concerned about their personal hygiene but then I know that means GIRLS.

Fall Break

When you step out of the car after the 8 hour drive the smells of fall envelop you. Wafting through the air is the scent of the wood burning stove, the sweet musty fragrance of damp leaves float up from the woods, and all around is a breath of fresh air. You are quickly greeted by a dog somewhat unsure of the new arrivals but anxious to be petted all the same. In moments Grandpa is there to welcome you with a warm hug that leaves you warm and relaxed. His scent is a mix of the outdoors in which he spends most of his time, the wood burning stove he's probably just stoked, and Brut. He's quick to tell you how beautiful you look and always insists that you get more beautiful everytime he sees you.

As you walk in to my grandparents home you are instantly taken back by the heat of the wood stove. After a moments adjustment, Grandma comes to hug you and to offer you something to eat. Even if you told her not prepare anything, she almost always has a snack or meal ready. The house never seems to change much, maybe a new piece of furniture or new curtains, but for the most part the house has looked the same since you began visiting 30 years ago.

The visit goes much the same as always, sleeping in the cabin with a fire blazing through the night only to burn out so that you wake early to a frigid room,  an early trip out for breakfast on Saturday followed by  scouring the flea market for a hidden treasure, spending the day visiting with Grandpa in the garage or playing cards with Grandma at the kitchen table. You look forward to the visit from Aunt Teresa and clan for dinner, more card playing , trips to the local outlet mall that only has about five stores, and of course Wal-Mart (though you have one at home it's a requirement to make at least one visit while there). Early supper followed by a little TV and then it's time to head back to the cabin for another nights rest. Tomorrow will be much the same, there's no schedule down here, no place you have to be, just an opportunity to relax enjoy the comforts of the simple vacation.

These are the memories I have of most fall breaks since I was a child and I feel blessed that now I can share those same memories with my children.

It's a whole new challenge!

The one thing I always dreaded even before my first child was born was potty training. After years of working in nurseries, babysitting, and having younger siblings, cousins and nieces I knew that potty training was one of a parent's least favorite activities. And so when I was preparing for this event with my first child I wanted to get it right from the start. I wanted to be encouraging, positive, and efficient. Helping my daughter to accomplish this milestone as quickly and painlessly as possible. And so I read books, looked through various internet sites that offered advice, and discussed it with our pediatrician. (I probably should have consulted with my mother,she did manage to have 5 kids successfully potty-trained, but I wanted to be more modern.) And so after research was done,and my daughter indicated an interest with all the correct signs of readiness, we plunged into the realm of potty training.

Unfortunately it was not the quick, clean, success I had envisioned. What I didn't account for in all my research and consultations was the great variable PERSONALITY. My daughter and I suffer from a bull-headed stubborn personality syndrome causing potty training to be more of a battle of wills than a simple milestone to accomplish in the toddler years. We battled daily, washed a lot of clothes, cleaned up a lot of puddles, had a lot of crying (on both ends) but eventually she learned how to use the bathroom.

Now one would think that after a laborious and not so successful venture I would examine my methods before attempting this task again and yet with my second child I dove in with the same determination and list of tactics. Because of course I figured it was my daughters willful determination to control things that made the first venture a disaster, not a lack of proper plan. And though my second child was more agreeable the process was not any faster, easier, or was there less laundry. In fact since my daughter was still in the midst of things when my son started the whole thing was overwhelming. 

Finally when both were potty trained I took a deep breath and relaxed. But only for a moment because my third child was moving into this territory that I now dreaded with every fiber of my being. This time, however, I decided to take a new approach. I pretty much did nothing.  I did start when he was about 18 months old talking about the toilet and what it was for, setting him on it occasionally while preparing for a bath or getting dressed, but other than that I really didn't even suggest he needed to be potty trained. Then one day we went shopping he came across some Scooby-Doo underwear that he wanted and I agreed only if he could keep it dry. And guess what he did! By this time he was about 2 1/2 years old and once he put that underwear on he never looked back.

And so with my 4th I decided to attempt the same method as with the 3rd. Amazingly enough it worked again. I waited until she was almost 3 yrs making only a few suggestions and trying underwear occasionally, then a week before she turned 3 I handed her some underwear and said it's time to be a big girl. And she did great!

So now that I figure I know what I'm doing I actually looked forward to tackling the process with my 5th.  Being done with diapers and having the freedom of walking out of the house without having to pack a diaper bag or wonder if I brought enough diapers for our trip. And so the process began after he turned 2 I began discussing the bathroom, experimenting with having him spend short moments on the toilet, letting him wear underwear occasionally and a couple of months before he turned 3 I let him pick out some underwear at the store, handed them to him and said it's time to be a big boy. And Voila! he was potty-trained. Or so I thought.

Again what I failed to factor in was PERSONALITY. Unfortunately for me, he also suffers from the same bull-headed, stubborn personality syndrome that my eldest daughter and  I have.  So after a few weeks of successful bathroom trips he one day decided that it wasn't working for him. He began wetting his pants every time, fighting me each time I asked/suggested/told him to go to the bathroom and finally after 3 months I gave up and put him back in diapers. I then began to use different tools and techniques I had heard discussed. Rewards, stickers, praise etc. It soon became clear that it wasn't a lack of skill or know how it was simply a refusal to do what he was being asked. And so I took the reward/ discipline approach. If he kept his underwear dry he was rewarded if he did not he lost a privilege. And yet again another plan failed.

This week I decided to try a whole new approach. I told him that if he wanted to continue to wear diapers that would be fine, but he had to change them himself. So on Monday morning when it was time to get dressed I handed him a diaper and said go to it. After about 45 min he came out with his diaper, crooked but on. And we went through the same process every time a change was needed that day. On Tuesday we repeated this sequence. My hope was that he would get so tired of trying to put on his own diaper (I don't know if you've ever watched somebody try to diaper themselves, but it's not easy) he would eventually figure out that underwear was easier and more convenient. So after two days of this, on Wednesday morning as we were getting ready I asked him if he had told his dad what he was doing with his diapers. He looked at his dad and said "I can put on my own diaper, isn't that cool Dad?" My heart sank. He wasn't supposed to think it was cool. And so I said "I think Daddy would think it was cool if you wore underwear like him and kept it dry." My little one looked at me and said "That's not cool mom, that's just boring."

And so I sit here racking my brain as to what to do next. How will I ever get this boy potty-trained? My one hope is that he'll cave before kindergarten.

Grief

Grief is defined as deep mental anguish; to be sorrowful.

Grief is a subject I've thought much about this week.  I've watched a lovely woman suffer the loss of a brother this week and it's brought back a flood of memories for me of the loss of my own brother. For those of you who don't know my brother Morgan was killed in 2004 while serving in Fallajuh, Iraq. He had joined the Marines right out of high school, went to Iraq in 2002 and was serving in his second deployment when he was killed. I can remember the day I received the call from my dad and then the next few weeks are a complete blur. I vaguely remember the memorial service in Indiana and the funeral that was held in Tennessee. At the time my grief was overwhelming.  I couldn't believe this had really happened and I couldn't understand what had gone wrong.  I recall thinking when Morgan left for this second tour that there was a real possibility that he wouldn't return. We were hearing everyday of men and woman being killed while serving and I knew that he was one of the men going in on the front lines. And yet a piece of me stilled didn't register that this could truly happen to someone in our family. But reality hit me hard on Nov. 12, 2004.

Even though it's been almost 7 years I still deal with the grief of that event day after day. In that time I have learned a great deal about grief  (at least about my grief).

Grief began as an unwelcome guest that burst through my front door with no warning and no chance to prepare. He ripped at everything around me trying to pull it down and shake the foundation of my life. For me this guest stayed for several weeks. But then I began to take control again and tried to set things in order.

Once he had lost his element of surprise Grief  morphed himself into a bully. He would show up at the most awkward moments mocking me with a word, a movie title, a magazine cover, or sometimes just a pack of M&M's (one of my brother's favorite treats)  that would make the feelings of loss and despair come rushing back and the tears and sobbing come pouring forth. Many times this was in front of a cashier, at a bible study, or at a gathering of friends. This was probably one of the most difficult times for me and I'm sure those around me. No one seemed to know what to say to me so they either acted as if nothing had changed, made an effort to be comforting usually saying just the wrong thing, or  simply avoided me all together.  I then would be hurt by those who were casual with me, offended by those who said the wrong thing (and I would be hard pressed to know what the right thing to say would have been), and angry with those who avoided me. This version of Grief often took turns with the next two versions so he was able to anchor himself in my life for much longer than I would have liked.

He was quick to change into a cave in which I hid. This variation allowed me to hide away, conceal myself from others, eat to numb the pain, and gave me plenty of excuse not to participate in life. During this period I looked for reasons not to spend time with my friends, I overlooked my duties as a wife and a mother doing only that which was necessary to get by and used food as a crutch. Like I said before Grief would change between the two and then after a few months threw in the third member of his party.

"The do everything thing you can to avoid feeling anything" side of Grief. At this point in my life I signed up for everything I could get involved in, ran my kids all over town, cooked and baked constantly, actually cleaned my house on a schedule, and had a fourth child. Though nothing I did was hurtful or destructive, it certainly provided me with an opportunity to escape any feeling of loss. I was just too busy or tired to deal with the reality.

These three faces of Grief worked through my life for several years. But now Grief has a new function. He is my friend. Someone I can prepare to visit with and even when I don't know he's coming he is a welcome guest. He gives me moments of pause to recall the life of my brother, remembering fond moments and thinking about what Morgan would have enjoyed about me and my family. He makes me to see in my kids the heart, soul, physical features and mannerism of a man they will never know but helps me share him with them. There moments that happen each day that I think Morgan would have enjoyed that, or Morgan would have thought that was funny. Many times tears are still involved but many times smiles as well.

What I have discovered most about Grief is that it is what we feel when those who we truly loved are removed from our lives. Though I wanted him to go away and leave me alone when he first appeared, now I want him here because it is Grief that helps you to remember the love.

The Tattle-Tale

An always unwelcome guest in our home is the Tattle-tale. This guest seems to make more frequent appearances during the long hot summer when the children are forced to spend vast amounts of time together.  This summer has been no different.  I have become frustrated with repeated visits but recently I stopped to focus in on the motivation for this technique of trouble-making. And what I noticed is the difference in reasons that each child comes running to tattle on someone.

The first I call the "Informant". Her reasoning is "Mom needs to know everything." She is not intentionally trying to get anyone in trouble (though that is often the result), she is simply reporting each event as it is happening or immediately after it's occurrence. So I have to ask myself is this really a tattle-tale or simply providing of information. I decided the former due specifically to the high-pitched whining used when reporting the facts.

The second motivation I've noticed is "Sabotage." This child's whole purpose is to ruin whatever fun the other child(ren) are having. Maybe there's a grudge or maybe it's just for fun but usually the result is the same. The fun and games come to an end. What's interesting about this approach is the person typically has no concern for the fact that he/she will also end up feeling the punishment for being a tattle-tale.

Then there's the "You're not doing something I can't." This technique often doesn't come into play until the tattle-tale has already tried to participate in whatever the behavior is but failed for some reason and has now decided that no one is going to enjoy it. Often in this case the tattle-tale forgets to mention their previous participation in said event.

There's also the "Ego-centered" tattle-tale. This particular person is generally trying to make themselves look good while getting another child in trouble. For example "I'm cleaning my room like you said but (insert name) is playing his DS." I find this tattle-tale particularly annoying because if their in cleaning their rooms I'm probably already upset with them and really not in the mood. And chances are I don't care whose doing what I just want it done.

So next time your kids start in on the "MOOOOOOMMM!!!!! (Name) is ..........." Take a moment to figure which tale-tattle your kid is it might make the moment a bit amusing.

To my mom!!!!

Well I don't how it happened but it's been way too long since I've blogged.  (I guess I do know how. It's called the stomach virus, but you don't need those details.)

Today I have a special reason for blogging: MY MOM!
Here's my opportunity to thank my mother for how wonderful she is.  She has shaped my life in more ways than can be described and deserves so much more than a few words on a blog. 

To the woman who put up with me through childhood and teenage years.  And let me tell you I was not an easy kid to live with.  I fought her tooth and nail on every rule she set forth.  I pushed the limits with everything from skirt lengths to dating. And yet she loved me still. She stood firm and taught me the value of respecting myself, those around me, and those who are in authority over me. She taught me everything I would need to know about being a strong woman. How to stand up for myself, how to make it on my own, and how to value myself.  She taught me what I needed to know to be a good mom.  She taught me how to show love to my children so that it isn't just something I say. She taught me the value of discipline. I learned that while they are kids it's ok for them to dislike me because they will love me all the more when they are adults who understand how I protected and loved them no matter how much they hated my rules.  She taught me how to show compassion and tenderness when my kids need it and how to be firm when it's called for.

But most importantly my mom taught me that she loves me through it all and that she will always be my mother.  And I love her!!

Laundry and Weight loss

Like many moms pregnancy has changed the shape of my body, added several pounds and now I'm ready for a change. I have been working these last few months (well really I've been working for a couple of years, just with more intensity now) to lose that baby weight that has accumulated around my mid-section. It's been much slower than I had hoped and much to my dismay harder than I had anticipated. 

I've learned recently that losing weight has a lot in common with doing laundry for a large family.  In both cases if you are consistent, working each day you can stay on top of things and see progress.  It's not all going to get done at once but it isn't overwhelming.  Your laundry piles will get smaller just like your waistline will begin to shrink. But also like laundry taking a few days off can cause a pile up that puts you back several days or even weeks.  In some ways this discovery can be depressing.  What if you want to have a weekend off or a large piece of cake to celebrate a birthday does that mean all your hard work is for naught? It may seem like that but the reality is that if you have established a good routine/ good habits you can get back on track. It may not be where you wanted to be at that point but it doesn't have to stop you dead in your tracks.  Just get back in the game as soon as you can and before you know it you'll be seeing the bottoms of your laundry baskets and the numbers on your scale (or tape measure) go down.

So as I continue to wage war on dirty clothes and extra pounds I will work or consistency, establishing good routines and soon I'll reach my goal.

Shoes, Shoes, Shoes

Shoes used to be one of my favorite things. If I went to the mall I was almost sure to come home with a new pair. Strappy sandals, elegant heels, sparkling flats, or fun flip flops. In recent years though shoes have become practical.  I only buy what I need and I stick to the basics: black heels, brown flats, plain flip flops. And to top that the combination of shoes and kids is about to drive me insane. From my oldest to my youngest  we have a shoe crisis.



With my oldest the problem is that she only wears tennis shoes. From jeans to Easter dresses she insists that they go with everything. I can't tell you how many times we've gotten to church and I've turned to look at my beautiful daughter, her hair neatly brushed, a lovely top, nice pants and her old grubby tennis shoes. I'm constantly trying to convince her to wear more appropriate shoes but her reasoning is "no one looks at my feet."

My 9yr old son's problems stem from not tying his shoes.  At least 10 times a day I'm begging him to tie his shoes. His shoe strings are always in tatters and the day always comes when they've been destroyed to the point they have to be replaced.  It's bad enough he needs new shoes every 4 months because he wears them out or grows out of them but to have to replace the shoe strings in between is just down right frustrating.

Then there's C, my 7 yr old. He can't find one of his tennis shoes right now. His solution to that was to wear his basketball shoes. Which was an acceptable solution until he left them outside in the rain. So today I sent him to school crying in his crocs (which of course 6 months ago was all he would wear).

Little K (age4) is another story. She has plenty of shoes and loves to wear them all. The problem she never wants to wear the ones that actually match with her outfit and often spends forever trying to find the pair she believes would properly finish her look. Most days this ends with tears as that pair is MIA.

My 2 yr old doesn't care much which shoes he wears but he can never seem to remember where he left them.

Shoes - those things I use to love have now become a constant headache. Whether I'm tripping over them, arguing about them or searching for that one missing one they just don't bring that smile to my face that they once did. And the new puppy running off with them isn't really helping.

Somtimes Things Can Get a Little Crazy

With a family of 7 no matter what kind of day we're having there is always some excitement.  Unfortunately sometimes the excitement happens all at one time.

Take for example this evening.  It all started when my husband decided to take a short trip into town. I was in the kitchen with my two year old, who suddenly noticed the sound of the pick-up leaving the driveway.  Within an instant he was out the door and around the corner only to discover the truck and daddy were already gone. Well that didn't deter him one little bit.  He quickly hopped on to his trike (which in itself is sad as it has been through all 5 kids, run over at least 3 times which has required the back tires were replaced with lawnmower tires, it's rusty and missing one pedal, but none of that slows Lil' B down one bit). He swiftly started down the driveway towards the street with tears streaming down his face and screaming "I'm coming with you. Don't leave me Daddy!!" Luckily I caught up with just before he hit the street and any on coming traffic.

After wrangling him into the house, calming his sobs and cleaning his tear stained face I finally convinced him to go outside and play with his older brothers and sister.  I reminded the kids to keep an eye on him and went to work in the kitchen.  Checking on the four of them (little K was playing downstairs because she said she was feeling tired of outside) every few minutes, I worked to clean up the mess from dinner while our new puppy that we adopted on Monday, rested on the couch in the adjoining room. Suddenly I looked up and noticed that Lil' B was no longer visible and fearing that he was trying to follow Roy again I ran to the door, flung it open and there went the puppy.  Now not only could I not see my baby but our puppy (an 11 month old terrier mix, named Henry, who can run like a bat out of hell) was on the loose.

I quickly looked for Lil' B whom I found sitting buckled into an extra carseat in the garage. Figuring he was safe I took off after my older three kids and the puppy.  They were already in the neighbor's yard and the kids were trying to trap Henry. That however is about impossible.  Henry is an expert at dodging people and runs fast enough that none of us can keep up with him.  I sent K (my oldest daughter) home to watch the little two and helped the boys pursue the dog. After about 15 minutes of chasing him in circles around the neighbors yard Henry made a break for it into the neighborhood that's under construction behind our 's.  We took off fearing that this we may never catch him.  After we broke through the tree line we were surprised to see Henry jumping around the feet of a guy who had stopped to look at one of the houses for sale.  I yelled "grab that dog's collar!" He quickly obliged and caught the Henry.  After thanking him and giving him all the positives of our neighborhood and school system I took the dog and the boys and headed towards home just in time to see my husband walking across the field to offer his assistance.  His 30min errand turned into a mad dash after a crying toddler and a wild puppy.

Now as I sit here this evening the sweet puppy is curled up sleeping in a chair and my little boy is safe upstairs in his bed and I am grateful. I am however beginning the search for invisible fencing and wondering if it would be considered bad parenting to put a collar on Lil' B. Just kidding :)