A Blog In Which She Blogs About Why She Rarely Blogs Anymore

(How's that for a run-on-words-title?)

I've been on a blog strike. I know. It's bad. Don't be fooled by the blogs I posted last week; most of them were drafts that'd been stored up for weeks but never seemed to arrive at a punch line until I stripped my brain down and just focused on getting a blog done for once. Just to prove it, this blog was started over a month ago. Yeah... it's taken that long to get a simple blog post done.

So in a desperate attempt to break out of the "I-can't-think-of-anything-to-blog-about-mode" I decided to just come right out and blog about why I've been in a blogging slump.

I calmly click the little "home" icon on my computer. Up flashes my "home" page. (Weird how that works, huh?)

And then I click "My account" and suddenly my eyes blink onto a bunch of hyperlinked options. I select "Blogger" of all things and merely zoom off to Blog spot. Now that I'm here, what was I supposed to be doing? Oh yeah, blogging.

What a novel thought.

Now for the blog...

Normally people blog about things that are on their mind. You know, weighty matters, light-hearted fun or photo tutorials. Some people even blog about their pets or politics. And their projects. Others blog about their kids and husbands (ahem). Pretty much, if it's on your mind and you've self-assigned yourself the title of "Blogger" you can write about anything you want.

Right?

Um, wrong.

Okay, maybe you can write about it but sometimes what's most on my mind, is unspeakable.

(If this isn't making sense, you're welcome to click "Next Blog" at the top of this page or utilize the little red box with the white "x" in it up in the right hand corner. But before you decide, let me tell you that I think this post just might end up being a perfect illustration as to why THIS blogger hasn't been too busy on her blog in the last year. So if you care to know, read on. If not, I completely understand and won't even know that you didn't actually read this whole post.)

Sometimes I visit nice blogs and the blogger seems to have plethora of good experiences, happy days, perfect lives and no tears. They never make mistakes and if they do, they don't cry themselves to sleep over them. Or at least they don't say so on their blog.

I hate those kinds of blogs. They irk me. Irritate me. And make me think that the blogger is either the one and only person with a perfect life who has everything figured out OR they're totally faking it.

I mean seriously... HOW do some of these homeschooling stay-at-home moms do it and get everything done? I'm lucky to get the laundry sorted, let alone create a crafty masterpiece to set on the dining room table, complete with a photo tutorial detailing everything.

And then I realized that I do the very thing I hate seeing in other bloggers. I only let the good things in my life come out on my blog. I only write about what's safe. What's decent. What's funny. And cute. I'm not open about my bad days. Or how hard life has been. Or what I've been learning in the "trials and tribulations" category.

But, now I understand those Always Have Everything Put Together Kind Of People. They may NOT have it all together but because the World Wide Web can be such a heartless place of cruelty and criticism (like I was doing to their perfect blogs), they're limited to only portraying the things in their life that won't be cut apart and criticized.

It reminds me of my days on the farm when I'd watch chickens in their pen. If one chicken had a sore, the other chickens all picked at it until it was a bigger sore. And then finally, the injured chicken would become a victim of what was a little scab at one time. And, because all the other chickens had made the scab become an infected, oozing sore that could possibly monopolize the whole flock because of the bacteria that could freely grow in the infested sore, the injured chicken shriveled to just a little pile of bones and feathers. All because of a little sore.

People on the internet are no different. And when a blogger has a "sore subject" that they could blog about, they're better off hiding it and only showing their good side to the rest of the chickens people on the internet. Because that sore subject could become a big, oozing topic that would leak infection over the entire blog and soon they'd either have to shut their blog down for the sake of saving some of their dignity or avail themselves to even more pecking and picking apart.

So in a nut-shell, I realized that according to my blog, I am also one of the Always Have Everything Put Together Kind Of People. And that makes me feel so accomplished today and that at least I'm doing something right. Ha.

Now to further the topic at hand of what's distracting this once-avid-blogger, I'm just wondering if you've ever had a time in your life when your mind pounded with loud, piercing thoughts? Okay, I guess I can't see a show of hands through my computer screen even if you are raising yours so I'll just branch off here and tell you that I have had a time in my life when my mind pounded with loud, piercing thoughts.

For me, it usually happens before or after something big has taken place or somewhere in the middle. And when this Big Thing has happened or is almost happening or is in the middle of happening, I get the Loud Piercing Thoughts Pounding In My Mind experience when I'm alone.

Me being alone is a rare thing these day but I've pretty much figured out that it happens in two different ways.

Way #1: Driving Alone. Which has honestly been all of maybe three times in recent months.

Way #2: Morning Shower. Which has honestly been a daily routine for, well... a long time.

I guess these two times are pretty much the only two times that reality isn't running to me with bloody mouths, head bumps and small objects up their nose. (By "reality" I mean my kids, in case you couldn't tell.)

I noticed one day as I drove down the road all alone, the thoughts, the heavy heart and the swirling questions floating around my van got to be too much. So I turned on the radio. I don't know what was on... news maybe? And it distracted me from thinking and it all felt quiet again even though the sound of the radio filled my vehicle. It's weird how sometimes your mind all by itself can be louder than anything that comes through your ears.

Sometimes when I do stop and think and allow my mind to digest and develop patterns, solutions and ideas, it all starts to look like one big, jumbled ball of yarn and for some reason, it looks too exhausting to untangle it all. The act of thinking only ends up hurting since the thoughts pound harder and harder until pretty soon I feel like my whole head is filled with a screaming white noise that I can't shut off because my brain just simply isn't wired to STOP thinking.

So then I just want to take the Yarn Ball and throw it out the vehicle window as I drive or wash it down the shower drain if I'm showering. Or simply spend time with my kids or husband or help a friend move. Anything to distract my mind from thinking.

Sometimes I wonder where this complexity of life comes from. What it is that makes me react in a I-wish-I-could-shut-my-brain-off-kind-of-way. But then I realize: it happens when something changes.

Change is the culprit of so many things. Change in a good way; change in a bad way. Happy change. Sad change.

Usually life is filled with a balanced mixture of many things and not one ingredient tends to over-ride the whole picture. But when one ingredient overpowers the other additives to life, pretty soon you feel like Chocolate Chip Cookies that have 10 parts baking soda to 1 part flour and no chocolate chips. Yeah, life can be that unbalanced and complicated sometimes.

And that's the way it's been for this blogger on the other side of your screen.

I've had to learn the hard way what I think. What I believe. And what I know. It's made me stop and think about what matters. What life is all about. What the Bible really says. And what my goals should be.

At the end of it all, I come away with a resolved confidence to find The Truth. To know God's plan. And hear God's heart.

Because the one thing I've learned this past year is that God always answers prayer. Though He's rarely early and never late, He's always on time.

And that's something that never changes.

When Knocking On Wood Is Something You Regret Doing

Just the other day, I was patting myself on the back (and knocking on wood) over something I had achieved for so long. In all my 4 years of motherhood, I had never once had to call the life-line for consultation and information: Poison Control. I had never had to endure the traumatic experience of a child ingesting a near-fatal substance or realize my darling baby had just consumed a poisonous substance.

Until the other day...

I was cleaning the guinea pig's cage and diligently performing virtuous womanly acts upon Alice's (the guinea pig) house. It was near sparkling and we were almost done when I requested one of my children give the wailing baby a toy to be entertained by. And what should the child-who's-name-we-will-not-disclose-at-this-time give the baby? A pee concentrated block of wood that has been sitting in guinea pig manure for several months. It was the chewing block for the guinea pig's sharp teeth but I think she had used it for her lavatory instead.

So the baby had guinea pig pee breath and guinea pig pee drool on his shirt and the end of the pee concentrated block had been sanitized with a saturation of the baby's own personal baby drool. I guess that was probably the cleanest the guinea pig's chewing block had been in a while.

As all mothers of the Twenty-first century do when they are in a predicament, I turned to Google and googled, "Infant swallowed guinea pig urine" but only got information about guinea pigs being used for laboratory use and how they're kidneys operate and make urine out of the laboratory-specimenal-concoctions administered for testing. That wasn't much help to me because I knew my guinea pig's kidneys were having no problem excreting urine. Hasn't any one's child ever swallowed guinea pig pee before? Apparently not.

At the suggestion of a close family member, I made the call to Poison Control and explained the dire situation. They concluded that the baby probably did not get enough to become contaminated and that I should just watch for signs of food poisoning... ie., diarrhea. "Wonderful," I thought to myself since he already had diarrhea thanks to all the teeth he is getting right now.

Surprisingly, he had no complications and he didn't even have diarrhea anymore either -- whether related or unrelated to the guinea pig pee block, his messed up bowels were no longer messed up.

And so ends another story on the reasoning that people should just really stop knocking on wood. It's also another confirmation that pride goes before a fall, just like the Proverb says. How sad that I use my baby as a guinea pig to test these theories though.

Bugs And Why Not To Avoid Them

There is a pressing subject I am forced into discussing here. I have had 3 Things happen that confirm I must discuss this, or else. I am not really enthusiastic about waiting for another situation to arise to further confirm the necessity of this discussion, so I will just do it now before Thing Number Four takes place.

Okay, I hate bugs. There, now you know.

What does that have to do with this post? Everything.

Let me explain....

Thing Number One:

I was cleaning up Toby's newspaper one day (a daily chore I enjoy doing whether I want to or not) and was casually leafing through the pages. I stumbled upon (what I was sure was probably) an interesting article but then quickly slammed the next page on top of it, as if closing the door of possibilities for the contents on that page to spill out on my dining room table. You see, the page had a HUGE microscopically magnified bug head and it covered almost half the page. (I hate bugs.) It had hairy particles, defecating substance like shards and was looking right off the page with it's huge, beady bug eyes. (I really hate bugs.)

Now, I'm sure the article was all about bugs and how to avoid them and how they live with us and how we can't get ride of them and how millions of tiny bugs probably inhabit the very keyboard I am typing on and how counter tops in my kitchen are really not very clean because of these hidden bugs that stay behind even when a wash rag wipes across the counter and how being sick is confirmation that a bug is in your house and that kids are very susceptible to bugs because of their germy attraction in life, etc. I didn't want to be reminded of the inevitable. So, I threw the paper out, thankful that the giant bug was going with it.

Thing Number Two:

I thought that was the end of it. Until a kind reader sent me a clipping from the paper and sweetly mailed it to me. I was looking at that bug again. The dear reader just thought a few details about bugs would be a fun thing to blog about. (I must admit it is.)

Okay, I like my blog, I HATE bugs. So, why would I destroy something I like with something I hate? Folks, I have learned that sometimes life is like that. It's reality.

Thing Number Three:

You guessed it: my kid.

So, there you have it. When life throws you bugs, write a blog. When bugs get you down, fight back with a blog. And if you really want to learn some interesting facts about bugs (and even if you really don't want to know), read the inevitable truth. Or else.

“Bugs are an inevitable fact of life. Try to find a deeper understanding. We need them more than they need us, in a weird way..."

(Thanks to PVE for the blog inspiration! And Bug Off? Please don't!)

Resale Isn't Always A Good Deal

Landon has needed a bike. And I've been looking for one for a long time. You know, one of those second hand deals that you just can't pass up.

I priced the new bikes for his size and they were priced at $30. Too much in my opinion.

But, then I got pregnant or moved or did both or something happened and I forgot how much a new bike costs. Suddenly, that $30 jumped to like $40 or something higher. Not a good thing when you're on the hunt for a bargain: you have to know what a bargain is BEFORE you see the item.

So, when a good relative of mine was garage sale-ing recently, I told her to keep on the look out for a bike. Something nice but still cheap.

And voila! she found one for $20.

Now, I knew $20 was too much so thanks to the convenience of cell phones, I suggested offering $15. The seller agreed to $15.

For some reason I thought that was a good deal. I wish I would've look up bike values on blue book or something. I would've known for sure then what was a good deal.

$15 for a bike IS a good deal but not for a little 12" bike without training wheels. $15 will get you the bike, sure but when you need training wheels in order to use the bike, $15 is a lot of money to only get you part way. I found all this out after the fact though.

Especially when you go to Walmart and find that the training wheels they carry are $15.

And we all know (even when we're pregnant) that 15 + 15 makes 30 so you come to the grand total of... $30.

If you really want to make yourself feel ripped off, just walk around the corner from the training wheels and there you'll find the 12", shiny, new bikes they carry. Don't look at the tag though unless you want to feel sick. $30 will glare you right in the face and laugh as you walk away wishing you would've done your home work better. (or at least remembered the homework you did do.)

We're making do with a set of free training wheels that were found at another garage sale but the challenge to stay balanced is a bit more of an issue. Maybe that'll get the need for training wheels in the past for my growing boy.

Which might be a good thing considering that he treats his bike as if it did NOT have training wheels...

After Landon finished his first attempt at riding his bike, he got off the new bike and promptly knocked it over.

"Landon," I said with alarm, "Don't knock your bike over like that!"

And just as if he had already thought all this through, he said softly, "But that's what peoples do with their bikes, Mom." And he proceeded to show me how to lay the bike down after you get off it.

Hmmm. $30 is definitely too much to spend on something that's just going to be knocked over every time it's done giving rides.

I think we can make do with the free training wheels that don't fit right until it's time to graduate to kick stands. Especially since kickstands don't equal the value of the entire bike.

Or do they? I can't remember what they cost.

<>/

On Potty Training And Going To Bed

(written late Friday night -- 1-19-07)

After a delicious and overfilling meal at Macaroni Grill tonight -- thanks to our kind friends, David and Desiree (LOVED the meal you guys! Thanks!) -- we came home.

Now, there's nothing unusual about coming home after you're done being gone, I'll admit that right now. But when a sudden ailment, disease, plague and tempest strikes both of your children as soon as you cross the homey and familiar threshold into your warm house, you may naturally assume that crossing the barrier of the outside world into your comfortable four walls, can at times cause unusual and unplanned tragedies -- not that any tragedies are ever planned but you know what I mean.

Unfortunately, that was our fate tonight.

Everything was normal until we walked through that door. The entire evening out, the trip home and even the entertaining walk from the van to the house with my two-year old was normal and safe. ("Are the guys gonna put more snow on the yard again, Mom?" Who the guys are, I have no idea but I think Landon has figured out in his own little head where snow comes from and that 'the guys' send it and put it on our yard.)

As soon as I pulled the wet shoes off my son, he walked to the couch and snuggled under a blanket. I knew something wasn't right with him then. Normally a two-year old with the energy and creativity of my little boy, will not be found under a blanket smothering away all of his energetic potential and plans the last few minutes before bedtime. But this little guy was obviously ailing silently as he cuddled himself under the blanket.

He didn't seem in too much discomfort and considering the fact that he voiced his preference to just be left alone, I took it as a good opportunity to wrap up a few things before bed.

I got Janae's milk ready and was making my way to finish up another thing before attending to the rest of her bedtime needs when I noticed her peculiar behaviour.

She had bee-lined it to the kitchen, got her cup of milk and was heading down the hall, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I was coming with as she made her way to her room.

Snatching the rare opportunity to put a child to bed that actually wanted to go there more than I wanted them to, I quickly changed my previous plans and assisted her in her bedtime routine. Toby came in shortly to tuck her in and shut her light off.

Mistakenly, I mentally crossed "Janae" off my list of things to do today before heading to the next project. I just assumed she was done for the day but little did I know of the rest of her plans.

Then it was Landon's bedtime. He obediently and happily went to bed, seeming almost relieved to end his day. Toby tucked him in and thinking I had already changed Landon's diaper, he didn't attend to those needs. That worked fine though because I hadn't kissed Landon goodnight yet anyway.

Now, a little background history here...

Today was Landon's first Potty On The Train Studies. POTTS is a course in potty training that most (and hopefully all) toddlers his age go through.

Why we call it "potty on the train" is simply because somehow our friendly little potty chair has been affectionately dubbed, "potty train" so we seem to refer to the thing as such. I understand the literal translation of those words can seem rather disturbing so thus the clarification.

As for Landon's achievements, I am so happy to say that he passed his classes very well and seems to be doing superb for only one day of training. I'm hoping that the rest of homeschooling goes this way, everyday, forever until he's 18.

Not ironically, the reward upon graduation from POTTS is a new engine to his Thomas Train and Landon has made it very clear that he is definitely planning on the Toby Engine. Understandably, we are thrilled with his choice of engines and are looking forward to presenting him with his reward upon his achievement of forever relieving his dear father of all diaper duties on Landon.

History aside, reality hit when I realized that this aspiring son of mine was making obvious signs that the legendary "number 2" was wishing to present itself. Not only that but when I proceeded to change the diaper that had been worn all evening, I found it to be mostly dry and showed good signs that the wearer was indeed learning the concept of "holding" until facilities are available.

So, I made those facilities available.

Had I been in that predicament, I would've gladly taken the kind mother up on her offer to continue my POTTS education but that wasn't so with Landon. Assuming he needed his bladder made flatter, I quickly sent the child to his classroom for one final lecture on his POTTS education. But, wails and cries were heard instead of the normal grunts and pushes while the little man fought to avoid his final lesson on the little potty train.

At long last, I realized either he didn't have to go at all OR if he did, he was too shook up to go in the potty train now. With the admonishment from my husband to just let him go to bed, I finally gave in.

As soon as Landon was diapered and tucked back in bed, that other child of mine was practicing her inflections on the name/sound, "Mom." Every tone and combination of sound you could conjure from "mom" was hailing out her door and down the hall.

She wasn't giving up nor was she getting discouraged or despondent. Her pleas for "mom" were not being met by anything but empty air and she continued on in a happy attitude. I went in before that attitude changed to see what I could do to help her. I didn't want to encourage despondent behaviour by showing up after she grew frustrated with the lack of response she was getting as she practiced saying "mom."

I went to her side and tucked her blanket around her and put it by her chin just the way she likes it. She seemed pleased and content. I kissed her again and told her to go na-night and then headed out the door. But, before I walked away from her bed, I grabbed her empty milk cup and snuck it out with me. I knew is she saw me do that, she'd assume she was getting more milk. Tonight, she wasn't getting more than what she already had and I didn't want to make it any harder for her to give that up. Thankfully, she didn't see me.

By this time, Landon was becoming more uncomfortable with the nature wanting to take it's course in his diaper. I comforted him and patted him but he preferred to just be left alone.

I went back out and headed to the last of my tasks needing to be done while it was still called today.

Janae started crying then.

This time, her father attended to her and told her to go to sleep. She calmed down for the moments he was in her room but then let out the pent up wail as soon as her door was emptied of her guest.

Landon continued his sporadic wails and I simply ignored or comforted, depending on the needs at hand.

Janae's wailing turned into hiccup-styled sobs and seemed to only increase for the next several minutes. Toby checked her again and calmed her down but the fact that he continued to shut the door and leave made all her symptoms of heart broken syndrome to only keep flaring up.

After a period of time, I went in and gave her a hug and tucked her back under the fluffy blankets. I got one of her babies to snuggle with and she immediately calmed down and seemed pleased with the company of another little one in her bed. Thinking I had done the trick, I left the room over confident. As soon as the door shut, her wails resumed.

By now, Landon was obviously needing some relief and I tried talking him into trying the potty train again. But, the fact that neither my husband nor my first born son seemed very cooperative with my idea of late-night potty training, I didn't push my agenda too much.

As I left Landon's room, I noticed Janae's sobs had only increased. This time I decided to be serious about motherhood and take my responsibility to all ends. The word "comfort" struck my desperate brain and I suddenly decided that I indeed needed to comfort this child of mine. After all, isn't "comfort" a main characteristic of all good mothers?

I went in and rocked and sang quietly to her in the darkened room. Her sobs had been so deep apparently that her hiccup-styled breaths had evaded her normal paced breathing. After struggling against my arms for the first few minutes, she finally snuggled in and nestled her head into my chest. Her breaths evened out and she started relaxing enough to let her eyes close.

Here again I misunderstood these signs to actually be signs of sleep. Instead, they were deceiving and false because as soon as I laid that little girl down in her cozy bed and tucked her baby next to her as I pulled her blankets up around her face, she frantically pulled her arms out and made a very desperate sign in sign language: "more."

She needed more milk.

Needing and wanting more milk are two different things though. She thought she needed it; I knew she merely wanted it.

As I told her the milk was "all done" and signed that information to her in universal sign language fashion, she made one more desperate attempt to make herself clear to me: she reached for that empty milk cup. But, it wasn't there.

I think the whole scenario was very confusing to her and sent her even further on her emotional wreck. I comforted her again and stole aways from her, wishing I could help her give up the milk she wanted so bad. Unfortunately, that was her choice to make and not mine.

I didn't have long to feel sorry for her because that brother of hers was definitely needing someone to take him to his little potty train. Being the wise and observant mother that I am, I took the responsibility on myself and carried the wailing child all the way out to his little plastic throne.

Seeing this situation as a vital opportunity to teach my first born son that all diaper duties should actually take place in a potty chair or toilet and NOT a diaper, I set the ultimate goal for him. I explained that if he did a "diaper shape" (his word for #2) in the potty train and not his diaper, tomorrow he would get the Toby Train Engine.

Apparently, we had a deal.

Here, I will spare the reader the remainder of the events that took place. I'll just say that the coaxing on the pot for my boy and the comfort in the bed of my girl, were events that continued close to midnight.

But, miracles do still happen and this tired mother witnessed the happening of TWO miraculous events in one evening. I haven't been so relieved at that end of a day in a long time... my little girl was contentedly sleeping in her warm bed and that little boy of mine had succeeded in all his attempts on his potty chair.

Yeah, I suppose I am rather jubilant in their successes that I made sure happened but seeing the look of peace and rest on Janae's face and listening to Landon marvel over the fact that he actually did a "diaper shape" on the potty chair, meant more to me than the fact that at last I could go to bed myself and call it a day.

It was an obvious revelation to contemplate the fact that they both had to choose to do the task before them and accomplish it on their own. I could coach and coax but in the end, it was their choice. Now they are both reaping the joy of a job well done.

Deep in my heart, I kept thinking to myself all along that I knew they could do it. That thought alone compelled me to not give in to Janae's wishes to not go to sleep and it definitely helped me keep my focus when Landon was tragically fighting what obviously needed to take place. I knew Janae could go to sleep and I knew Landon could do the job in his potty chair. But, like the rest of us children of God, kids just don't get it when you tell them: you can do it. They have to try everything else before resorting to the plan that will get them to the end of their task.

You may think the kids were the ones that learned a lesson. I think we all hope that is the case, considering the sooner a lesson is learned, the easier life becomes in those situations.

But, even more than the kids, what a lesson tonight was for me: watch out for the front door.